I wasn’t sure how long I had been walking. I could have measured the distance in how much my feet hurt. I had walked far enough that there were no longer any familiar streets. I only met strangers who couldn’t manage to spare more than a curious glance before their indifference took over and they hurried along with their own busy lives. That was a couple miles and a few blisters ago.
There were downsides to rash decision-making. That, at least, I had finally learned. Now there was time to think – to reflect on the past few months and how the decisions I had made weren’t the wisest. There was time, and the road, and the steady monotony of putting one foot in front of the other. Time to regret, I suppose. Regretting was hard, though, and I preferred to keep things like regret out of mind. There were more important things to think about, like how much my feet hurt or how hungry I was. Perhaps, if I had thought things out a bit more, I would have run away with a bit of money in my pocket.
The road I walked along now was sombre and lonely. Barely any cars passed by and tall, thick trees had long replaced the buildings and bus stops of middle-class suburbia that I had left behind. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my converse shoes, short shorts, tank top and denim jacket. It was almost poetic, considering the life I had left behind.
A truck blared its horn as it passed close to the side of the road. Too close. Or maybe I walked too close to it. I lifted my arm to protect my face from the gravel pitched into the air by the truck’s tires and coughed until the dust cleared. I was able to focus on the bright, red taillights through the cloud of exhaust until they shrunk and disappeared as the truck turned off the main road a few hundred metres ahead.
I was alone. It felt strange after the whirlwind four months I just had. Strange, but I was used to it. Used to being strange and alone. Someone like me could only hope to pretend they were anything but a lonesome loser: the type who would always be out of place, no matter where I showed up. The fake smiles didn’t matter. Neither did pretending I cared about music or people I didn’t understand. It didn’t matter what I drank or smoked; or how much of my legs, or midriff, or cleavage I left exposed. It didn’t matter who I let touch me, or kiss me, or use me. I couldn’t stop feeling like I was always chasing after the crowd. Like the happiness they found in the parties, and the sex, and the drugs, and the disobedience was always just out of reach for me. If I could let go of who I was – if I could manage to care about just one thing less – I could find that happiness too but I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, and now I stood here at the side of the road. Alone after having sacrificed everything I could muster and gaining nothing in return. But I was still me and I could still put one foot in front of the other. That was enough, I thought, though something to eat and a hot shower weren’t luxuries I would turn down if I were given the opportunity.
I continued along until I met the fork in the road where the truck had turned off. There was a rest stop here. The type that had a gas station with a convenience store, a little motel that couldn’t quite manage to be shitty enough so that you wouldn’t spend a night, and a diner that probably served re-heated food more often than they cooked something fresh. The rumbling in my stomach didn’t really leave me much room to discriminate, though.
There were several people at the rest stop, more than I would have imagined. They were all older, middle-aged, transient people who looked like they couldn’t exist anywhere else if this place wasn’t here. I stood at a vending machine that sat in one of walkways outside the motel and pressed buttons. It was absent-minded idleness, really, but I couldn’t help but think it would be great if something, anything, managed to fall out of it.
The stench of gasoline filled the air and mixed with the smell of hot grease and cooked food that wafted towards me from the diner. I wasn’t sure if it smelled good or not, in my state, I would have eaten anything. I made a conscious decision not to head over that way, though. I had no money and still had enough pride not to beg for something to eat. I wouldn’t even bring myself to look in that direction because I knew my will would not last.
Well…perhaps it wasn’t too bad to just take a walk nearer to the diner.
I clasped my hands behind my back and moved as casually as I could. Inside the diner wasn’t busy, as the truck from earlier was the only one in the lot and, I supposed, he would be the only customer if he was inside. Still, I couldn’t help but peer through the window.
There was an older woman in her forties that stood behind the counter. She wore a pristine uniform but looked like she had way too much makeup applied. She and I caught each other’s eyes for just a second but she paid me no mind other than that one moment. The counter had a glass display and I could see several different types of foodstuff: pies, sandwiches, and some type of deli meat arrangement. My stomach grumbled, even if everything there looked like it would have the crisp aftertaste of wet cardboard.
The lack of customers and the abundance of food on show made me think, though. The restaurants in my hometown would throw food out all the time. It wouldn’t be long until sundown and this place would certainly do the same. I swallowed and found my throat dry as I contemplated what I was planning to do. Eating out of a dumpster wouldn’t be that bad as long as I took things from the very top and if I didn’t take too long to do it. I wasn’t the first person to resort to eating out of the trash and I certainly wouldn’t be the last.
It only took an hour or so of loitering behind the diner until I saw a man come outside with two large trash bags. He hoisted them up and dropped them into the dumpster behind the building, took a smoke break for five minutes, and then disappeared inside once more. As soon as I was certain he was gone I made my way to the dumpster and climbed over the edge so I could tear at the garbage bags.
There was less garbage inside than I thought and I could only reach the bags with just the tips of my fingers, even if I leaned most of my upper body into the dumpster. The rim of the opening pressed against my midriff while I used my legs to balance my weight. Just an inch or two more of stretching would get me what I wanted and I grunted in frustration as beads of sweat started to form on my brow.
“Drop something?”
I paused once I heard the words. I was resolved to eat out the garbage, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be seen doing it. I reached back and grabbed the dumpster before lifting myself out, almost falling on my ass as I climbed down from it.
It was a man who had spoken to me and he stood several feet away. He was middle-aged, with a round, jovial face that looked like he had skipped shaving for one day too many. His clothes were sweat-stained and stretched tight over his very apparent beer-belly. He had a cheery voice that didn’t quite match his appearance.
“Sorry,” I said, then realized that I had nothing to apologize for.
“Sorry for what?” the man said. “For digging through the garbage?”
“Yeah,” I said, laughing, “that was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, I’m just…”
“Hungry?” the man said. He looked at me with a discerning eye and I could tell he knew I was homeless.
“A little,” I admitted.
The man laughed. “You have to be more than a little hungry to eat out of the garbage now, don’t you?”
I returned his laughter but I couldn’t hide the nervousness in my voice. “Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“Oh?” the man said. “No, not really. Just came back here to have a smoke while I filled up my truck. Had to get away from the pumps, you know. Guy out front said it was cool.”
The trucker. Right. Obviously. That’s who he was.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Someone else was smoking back here earlier. It’s fine.”
I wasn’t sure whether that was the case but I said it anyway. The trucker looked at me as he drew the cigarette from a carton he kept in his pocket. He lit it and took a long, slow drag. “You smoke?” he said as he offered it to me.
“No,” I lied. “I mean, I quit…very recently.”
“I see,” the trucker said. “I’ve been trying to quit these damn things for years. Never any luck. It’s the boredom, I think, road is long and lonely.”
I felt like he was trying to tell me something. “Do you…think I’m a prostitute?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I think you’re homeless, and you’re hungry, and I’m telling you that I’m lonely. Bored too.”
I held onto my elbow and bit my lower lip. “You have money?” I asked.
“Do you think I drive the truck for free?”
“No,” I laughed nervously. I looked at the trucker and thought about it. He wasn’t bad looking, I suppose, and he wasn’t wrong about me being hungry. It wasn’t like I hadn’t already had sex with guys I just met. “I’m not a prostitute,” I said.
“Didn’t say you were.”
I shifted my weight nervously then decided to agree. “Alright,” I said. “Okay, you have money and I’m hungry. You’re lonely and I have time to hang out. We’re just solving each other’s problems, alright?”
“Makes sense to me,” the trucker said. “Wanna go do this?”
“Yeah,” I said, “it’s just…is there a toilet around here? I really need to pee.”
The trucker sighed and used his thumb to point behind him. “Other side of the lot,” he said. “Public bathrooms.”
“Thanks,” I replied and walked past him, putting my hands in the pockets of my jacket as I did.
“I’ll be waiting right here,” the trucker said. “Don’t take too long, I’m pulling out soon. Got a schedule to keep, you know?”
“Sure thing,” I nodded and hurried towards where he had directed me.
The toilets were filthy but had everything I needed, namely water and a mirror. I took my top off and grabbed a few handfuls of tissue that I wet with water from the sink. I used it to clean my armpits and around my neck then, when I was done, I leaned over to wash my hair. I did it halfway but it was better than it being greasy.
When I stood up, I looked at myself in the dirty mirror. From my wide, green eyes to my straight nose that led to my full lips, I saw someone I barely recognized. My black, shoulder-length hair clung to my face and I remembered a time not too long ago when it was longer, straighter, and clean. Before I decided that shorter hair made me look more approachable. I suppose I wasn’t wrong.
I used the inside of my jacket to dry my hair and put my top back on before I returned to where the trucker waited. I had the damp jacket folded over my forearm as I approached him and he looked me over once more. He probably thought of himself as quite lucky. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah. Are we getting a room at the motel or…”
The trucker laughed. “Fuck no,” he said, “I’m barely here for a half hour more.” He pointed across his own chest to the edge of the compound and the trees further beyond. “It ain’t glamorous but you seem like the rebellious type to enjoy fucking in the woods.”
“Yeah,” I said, lying again. It wasn’t unusual to me. Every time I had fucked someone was based on some lie or another. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
“Alright.”
The trucker led the way and I followed close behind. He was a good seven inches taller than I was and it took some effort to keep up with his stride. He didn’t say anything else as I walked behind him until we were out of sight of the rest stop, and then even further beyond.
“Here’s good,” I said, “I don’t think anyone’s going to come by this way.”
The trucker stopped and turned towards me. “Nah,” he said, “I wanna go a bit further away just to make sure. I prefer to fuck without being disturbed.” He kept that same cheery tone from earlier but now, in this situation, it made my skin crawl.
“If you wanted privacy,” I replied coldly, “you should have bought us a room.”
I didn’t mean to speak as harshly as I did, and I could tell from the change in the trucker’s expression that he took offense. “Come on,” he said, “just a little further.”
“No,” I said.
He stopped beckoning me towards him. “What do you mean?” he said. He sounded confused.
“I mean ‘no’,” I replied. “As in I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do this anymore and I don’t want to follow you into the fucking woods.”
The trucker stared at me for several seconds before raising his hand to the back of his head to scratch his scalp. “Alright,” he said. “Okay, okay, that’s cool. Sorry if I freaked you out. Let’s head back.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “Sorry,” I said. “I just really don’t feel comfortable. I’m sure you understand.”
He held his hands up. “Hey,” he said, “I get it. I’m cool. You’re young and pretty. Gotta be safe.”
I turned around and began to head back up the path towards the rest stop. “Thanks for understanding,” I said. Or what I would have said if blinding pain hadn’t cut my words short.
I crumpled to my knees and managed to brace myself with my open palms before I my face hit the ground. “What the fuck,” I said. I wasn’t alarmed, mostly confused. I had never been hit that hard in my life and, though I felt the pain, I didn’t quite register it.
“You wanna tease me, you little slut?” I heard the trucker say. I felt him grab my shoulder and turn me towards him which caused me to fall on my backside.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he reached for me once more. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?!”
I tried to scurry backwards on my hands but he managed to grab hold of me. I kicked wildly while he held my forearms and then my shoulders. By the time he had his hands around my throat, I was finally able to fully understand the situation I was in.
I had never been in a fight before. I tried punching but there was no space. Even when I made contact, it was with his arms and shoulders which, despite his appearance, were as hard and firm as stone. I hadn’t considered, at any point in my life, how much weaker I was than a man. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and squeezed hard enough that it felt as though my bones would snap under the pressure. Once he grabbed hold of me, I moved how he wanted me to move, no matter how much I tried to resist. He manhandled me as he would a doll and I felt powerless under him.
My wild kicking managed to graze the bottom of my shoes against his inner thigh. In response, he cocked his fist in the air and punched me right across the jaw. I tasted blood as the inside of my lip cut against my teeth and he let me fall onto the dried, dead leaves that blanketed the forest floor. I coughed and tried to crawl away while the trucker spoke to me. He was angry but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Bright lights popped in and out all over my vision and there was a ringing in my ears that drowned out everything else.
I managed to roll over to my stomach but barely made it a couple of feet when I felt him grab my waist. I screamed and a moment later I bit into the dirt and leaves as he shoved my face into the ground. I thought he would hit me again but he didn’t. Instead, I remained completely still as I felt him fumble with my shorts. They were tight, fashionably so, and that only frustrated him. He managed to get them down around my knees and, soon after, I felt him wrap his fingers in the waistband of my panties and easily tear through the flimsy fabric.
The familiar sound of a belt unfastening filled the air. As I felt his weight on my body, a calmness came over me as memories of what I had run away from came flooding back to me. He used one hand to hold my face into the dirt while the other reached between our bodies so he could guide his cock inside me. It felt as though he tore me open but I continued staring forward. If I tried, I could convince myself that I was somewhere else. Anywhere else.
His grunting was all I could hear. My hips ached as he thrusted into me. Again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again for what felt like an eternity. It hurt but it was a pain I was all too familiar with. The numbness that kept me calm washed over me with growing intensity each time his hips smacked against my ass. Soon I felt as though I was no longer me. I was less-than-human, his plaything, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. I was somewhere far away. Somewhere where I was happy and safe and I had things I could afford to leave behind.
Despite how it felt, the entirety of the experience only lasted about two minutes. The trucker came as unceremoniously as his brutalization had begun. With only a deep grunt, and a stiffening body, he shot inside me and pulled out seconds after. I felt him raise off me, though the throbbing below my waist shot waves of pain up my spine that slowly grew to be unbearable.
He dressed himself and didn’t say a word. When his boot walked past my face, I shut my eyes tight. I didn’t want to see him. I heard him stop, and then I heard the impact of several heavy objects as they hit the forest floor. Then he was gone. Just gone. When I opened my eyes, I was alone.
I cried for a long time afterwards. Curled on the ground, I bawled, even as I reached down and tried to pull my shorts back up. By the time I was done crying, I had managed to dress myself but I remained in a small ball. Before the trucker had left, he had dropped some money on the ground: three bills and a few coins that added up to seven dollars and sixty-five cents. I held the money clenched in my fist as I dry-heaved.
After what felt like hours, I managed to stand up. I fixed my clothes, and fixed them again. I buried the torn shreds of my panties under some leaves and made sure my shorts were set properly on my hips. I fiddled with it but, no matter how much I did, it never felt as though it was right. I refused to move until I dressed myself properly, though.
It was only when I made my way back to the truck stop that I felt my heart begin to race again. My legs froze in place at the edge of the compound and I began hyperventilating. I felt as though I would cry, but nothing would come out. Eventually I managed to bring myself towards the front of the diner and saw that the truck was gone. He was gone. Just like that.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
When I entered the diner, there were more people inside than earlier. People who looked like they wouldn’t exist anywhere else if it wasn’t for this place, and now I was one of them. I sat at one of the booths and waited for the waitress to come attend to me.
It was the same woman I had seen earlier, though now she looked even more tired and frustrated than she was then. I felt a rush of anxiety when she looked at me. I wondered if I had managed to get all the bits of dried leaf out of my clothes and hair. I felt as though anything, a scratch, or a scrape, or a skewed bit of clothing would let her know what had happened to me and I reached down instinctively to make sure my shorts were fixed properly.
“What do you want, hun?” the waitress said.
I managed to disguise the movement in my hands by reaching into my pocket where I had stuffed the money. There was some difficulty getting it out because of how tight my shorts were. I heard her tut disapprovingly as I used my shaking hands to unwrap the bills and slid the two singles towards her.
“Can I get something to eat, please.”
She seemed to look at me for a long time. I felt as though she was studying my face and, more than that, I felt as though she could see everything that I had gone through. In reality, it was no more than a passing moment. Her gaze lingered only so long before her indifference compelled her to move on. “I’ll see what I can do,” she grunted before taking the money and leaving me where I sat.
“Thank you,” I said, and waited. Alone.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/cieg0h/the_runaway_mf_rape