A Novel by Nicola Trwst
© 2011 – Nicola Trwst
All rights reserved
Currently seeking representation for this novel.

Prologue
He’d pinned her to the soft earth. Caught her unawares. She squirmed, turning her head an inch by inch. Her hair, wedged beneath his hand, pulled at the roots. She bit into his fat wrist like a snapping turtle, tearing and holding until he rolled off.

“…filthy whore…”

She sat up and sucked in a breath. Ah, sweet summer air. “You two bricks shy or what? That ain’t no way to treat a lady. Now, get me up.”

He turned his head away. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

The blow came fast, knocking the breath from her lungs. Something deep inside cracked. She gasped. Gulped. Searing pain shot across her chest. Tears bubbled up. His other fist caught her upside the head. A flash of white lightning and everything went dark.

* * *

Her eyes burned. They wouldn’t open. For a second or two, she tried to figure out where she was. Then, she remembered.

Panic squirmed like mud worms in her chest, but she lay still, listening, and taking in every noise. She must have passed out for a spell. Now, she felt like she was floating on a lily pad. The moon was gone or maybe t’weren’t. With her eyes stuck shut like this, she couldn’t much tell.

The night’s cooling breeze raked her raw skin. The air thick with the scent of night blooming flowers. She relaxed. She was safe.

Finally.

The Cadillac’s door slammed, its heavy sound carrying across the empty field. She stiffened. Bit her lip to keep from crying. The motor roared to life. She listened as it faded with the distance. She listened until the hum seemed to be coming from inside her head.

She’d liked the car. Flashy. She liked flashy. Before tonight, she’d liked him, too. Hell, everyone did. Was high in the cotton, but could hold his own. Always left decent tips.

Damn, she knew how to pick ‘em.

The weeping sounds pulsed up from her throat, but she couldn’t feel the tears. Her face was wet, sticky wet. Had been for awhile. But where were the tears? Why weren’t there no tears!

She caught her breath. No time to panic. She had to hightail it out of here. But her chest really, really hurt. Just lifting her arm felt like someone shoving a knife ‘tween her ribs.

She lay still again, smelling the night gladiolus. If not for the pain, she might already be home, curled on her smooth, clean sheets.

* * *

“What was that?” Her twitch sent a ripple of hurt through her chest. A bullfrog croaked. Not close, but close enough to wake her.

She was cold. Too cold for this time of year. And her stomach felt a bit queasy. She’d best get over to the road. Her eyelids felt swollen to the touch, the left worse than the right. Ouch! She couldn’t find her left cheekbone. Was like it weren’t there no more. Weird. Maybe her face was just too swollen. That jerk. Wait till she told Clyde what he did. He’d go after him with a stick.

Her dress was bunched up around her breasts. Thank God she weren’t naked. Probably couldn’t make it all the way home, but if she wanted to get help, she’d have to get over to the road. No one would find her back here.

Let’s go back in the field, away from the road. It’s more romantic.

And she’d followed like a giggling school girl. When would she learn? Why the hell did men always have to hit! Was she wearing a sign that said “punch here”?

And this guy was the champ. Hit harder than her ex on a good day.

More tears that had no place to go welled beneath the lids. That anxious feeling was growing in her belly again. She had to get out of here. She pushed up with her hands, but lightning bolts of pain shot through her chest. Oh, hell.

That wasn’t going to work. Hurt too bad. She’d have to roll over and crawl. It was the only way.

“God, I’m done with men. Done, I said.” Her voice sounded strange, lower. She rolled over and pushed up to her hands and knees. “I know I said that just a few weeks ago, but this time I mean it. Lord, if you can just see fit to get me home I will never so much as look at another man.”

“I can help you with that.”

She swung her head towards the sound of the voice. Her eyes were still glued shut. Her arms started to tremble, risking to give out. She hunched back, rested on her knees.

“Thought you could help me relax, but you let me down, Sweetheart.”

Her lower body still throbbed. He’d torn her up down there. “I done what I could. Please, don’t hit me.”

“No, you didn’t. You kept passing out. And I’m still in need.”

“Okay, okay, well…” It’d hurt worse, but she couldn’t let him hit her no more. “I can do it better. Let’s try again. Just don’t hit me.”

“Heard you’re through with men. That’s good because I’m through with you.”

The kick caught her between her ribs and her stomach. She was flying, weightless. And for an instant, pain free. Then, thunk. She crashed.

Facedown. Arms splayed.

She spit away the grass. Coughed. She coughed again, but couldn’t clear her throat. Couldn’t catch a breath. She struggled to her knees, fighting for air.

There was none.