Page 68 of The Last Fire

One minute couldn’t hurt me. But I don't know their names, I only know their color and shape, so it takes me more than a minute to find them. My heart pounds as I read the leaflet. My mother had been giving me contraceptives for so long that I wonder if I might have become infertile. Nausea washes over me, and I bring my hand to my mouth, bursting into even louder sobs, feeling so confused. I want to be angry at my mother, to vent my frustrations and hold her accountable, but her condition won’t allow it.

The rain still hasn't stopped, and I step out of the car, feeling like I'm about to puke. The dog hops out alongside me, and a noise catches its attention somewhere at the far end of the garage. It's mostly dark, with the only source of light coming from outside, the yellowish neon lights surrounding the hall. I bend down and cover my mouth, the noise resounding once again. My pulse races in my throat, and my stomach clenches as the dogs start to stir in the junkyard. The metal bench across catches my eye. Above it, there are several keys, and one particularly big one grabs my attention.

The outside neon cuts through the aisle between cars, casting a diffuse, yellowish glow. I can see the dust dancing in the air, as if someone had hurriedly passed by moments ago.

It must have been a dog, I try to man up, and without hesitation, I dash toward the tool bench.

The sound of rain and my own breathing fill my ears, and I lift a foot, bracing myself against the edge of the metal bench. The trembling of my hands doesn't help, nor does my height, so I reach for the enormous pair of pliers, which not only turn out to be heavier than expected but also caught on a hook that I can't seem to detach from the suspended holder. I climb up with both feet and pull on the pliers with both hands, realizing too late what the problem is - the pliers are trapped, secured by a metallic carabiner of sorts.

An eerie, raspy breath emerges out of nowhere, sending a chilling wave down my spine.

“Are you lost, Crasnic?” a deep, gruff voice whispers from behind me. My knees weaken, and I suddenly find myself colliding against a solid, hot chest.

I can't feel their breath, only hear it as if burdened by something. My gaze is stolen by the shadow spreading before me. Pointed ears and a big head rise above me, taking the form of my darkest nightmare.

Behind me sits a hunched over Crasnic.

“Stay away from me!” I scream as I desperately tug at the pliers in front of me, which stubbornly cling to the panel.

The laughter beneath the mask is the same as I always remember. Thick, heavy, dense, much like the pungent smell of formalin in which the pig's head had been immersed, so that the skin wouldn't dry out and the meat wouldn't decompose in the embalming process.

Two hands grab my hips, and I let myself fall onto my arms, my wet clothes slipping through his fingers, kicking the Crasnic in the stomach, desperate to escape his grasp. I struggle, my zipper comes undone in our tangle, and my coat falls off my shoulder. I hear his cry of pain, and I can sense the rage emanating from him through his every pore. Angrier than ever, he grabs my leg and flips me onto my back. Seizing the opportunity, I try to strike him once more, but I see a wide palm raised in the air, bandaged, as it strikes me across the face so hard that I feel dizzy, and my head falls backward.

I whimper, and tears instantly gather in the corners of my eyes. My face burns, and my body crumbles under the terrifying tension of the moment, becoming an easy prey.

“I'm done with this,” he growls furiously, and I feel his fingers encircling my throat, while two strong hands strangle me in a fit of rage.

“I can't breathe...” I desperately kick his arms, and I look at the metallic panel behind, the image beginning to fade away gradually.

My legs wrap around his hips, and I struggle in vain, suspended in the air. His strong arms press against my chest, intensifying the lack of air.

“Why do you hate me so much, Becca?” he screams, and all I can see is his towering figure and the shape of my teenage nightmare gradually taking possession of me.

My blouse is torn from the collar down to the abdomen, and I feel exposed.

“Manasseh...” I say his name desperately, and he pauses for a moment, as if awakened from a trance. “Please, don't do this... I’m begging you.”

His grip on my throat begins to weaken, and his hands rise above me, the scent of his cologne mixed with the sharp odor of the mask engulfing me.

“It's always about you. But have you ever thought about me?” His voice seems weighed down by the pig mask.

“Always...” I keep him engaged in conversation as I try to reach for the smaller key on the side, which is better than nothing.

“You're lying! You've never cared about anyone else but him. No one else has ever mattered to you, and I don't understand why!” His hand descends from my throat, lightly brushing against my collarbone, then he pulls down my bustier, causing my breast to escape from under the elastic fabric.

Panicking, I hit him with the key.

The mask flies off his head, and I see his face, sweaty, in the dimly lit, murky garage. A yellowish, diffused light blankets the space. Golden strands of hair cling to his face, damp at the tips. When his gray eyes begin to flicker with a dirty gleam, I realize that I have no chance of escaping his rage.

He grabs the key and throws it from my hand, then takes the rope from the right side and secures my hands above my head, the metal tool supports making his job easier.

“All you ever knew how to do was betray me, every single time,” he barely breathes, his hands trembling as he binds my hands, angry. “I've had enough!” his tone is icy, and his hot body presses against mine.

“Manas...” I try to speak, but his mouth covers mine, and I feel his wet tongue penetrating deeply between my teeth.

Panic surges through me, and my breath comes in erratic patterns, struggling against the tightly knotted restraints, but I can't budge him. His massive body crushes mine, and his broad hand roams freely over my body, his palm capturing my breast. The evening's coolness hardens my nipples, and I groan in his mouth as I feel the rough grasp of his index and middle fingers on the mound of flesh. I taste his saliva throughout my mouth, and anxiously, I bite his tongue, making him rise and strike me again.

“If you bite me one more time, I'll smash that loose mouth of yours,” he grabs my chin, and I see his lower lip starting to bleed.

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