Between my legs, the fingers stop poking.
They freeze for an instant, then start a slow rub as if trying to
get back up to their previous frenzy. I don’t move. I can’t see a
thing with my head down among these trash bags and I have no idea
where that gun is aimed.
“Am I not speaking English?” this new voice
asks.
It’s the guy from the grocery store, the cute
one with the gun that was in his pants and is now pointing in this
direction. “Let me say it slow. Little words so you can
understand.”
Then he starts to enunciate like he’s
speaking to a child. I want to tell him hurry it up, my butt is in
the air here, these aren’t guys you fuck around with, but he’s the
one with the gun, right? So I keep quiet. “Get your hands off his
ass or I’ll shoot.”
It’s not working. I still feel those thick
fingers between my legs and at any minute one will shove up in me,
I’m almost sure of it. God, please, that’s not
something I want right now. You listening?I pray. I hope