**Rated T for coarse language and adult themes**

I manage to get my pants back on and stand up. A little too quickly it turns out. My head swims and I let out a moan, putting a hand to my forehead in a futile attempt to compress my brain into the skull it’s determined to escape. Dimly, I hear a male voice

“Hey babe” there’s an infuriating smug smile in the words. Oh HELL no, I think. This guy, whoever he is, is the last person I want bothering me right now. I continue to gather my belongings from around the trashed room. My backpack is in a corner, ripped open. Wrappers from the condoms I had, in a rare showing of forethought, packed, are strewn over the floor near my bag. Well, at least there was a fairly low chance of me being pregnant with the cretin’s child. The boy’s voice slashes through my consciousness again.

“J,” it’s half question and half statement. Why does it have to be so grating?, I think, wincing. No way I’m speaking to him. I can barely stand to hear his voice, let alone look at the hideous creature. I’m not sure how sleeping with him ever sounded like a good idea. “J, did you hear me?” Every word feels like a thousand, red-hot needles spearing into my brain. Not helping the headache. I can’t ignore him much longer or my head will explode.

“What?” monosyllabic speech is about all I’m up to at the moment. Moving to grab my hoodie from its resting place on a bar stool, I ponder ways of extricating myself from this situation without having to kill the guy.

“Someone have too much to drink last night?” There’s a maddening condescension in his voice.

 “Don’t remember.” Good, I can manage two words with no unfortunate consequences. To be honest, though, I wouldn’t have minded a great deal if there had been. Drake was looking forward to that party tonight though. I’d hate to ruin it for him. Damn, the party--, the boy shatters my reverie,

“Nothing? Shame, I certainly enjoyed myself.” The emphasis he puts on ‘certainly’ makes my stomach turn. Coupled with the aftereffects of way too much alcohol, this jerk’s comments may leave him with a more lasting memento than memories to remember me by.

Suddenly, he’s right behind me. Must’ve zoned out for a bit too long. He reaches around my waist and runs his free hand down the curve of my back to my butt.

 “Want me to help you remember?” He says quietly into my ear. That’s it, this dude has rapist written all over him. So not happening. I disengage and whirl around, mace in hand.
 
“Nope.” Monosyllables work for me. I aim an expertly placed stream of pepper spray into his eyes. The moment I had sensed danger from the guy, I had silently retrieved the weapon from its hidden compartment. Concealed in a pouch I had sewn into the lining of my backpack, the small, lipstick shaped canister is one of the few things I always carry with me. It’s come in handy more times than I care to remember.

The creep reels back, screaming like an injured rabbit. I see with satisfaction that he’s clutching his eyes. He tries to grab me but I’m faster. By the time he’s registered my hands on his shoulders, I’m already bringing my knee up between his legs. Hard. He groans and goes down, one hand covering his face and the other, his groin. It seems as if his appendages are desperately attempting to decide which area is most vital.

 
“Please” the word is forced out from between his clenched jaws, pushing its way past drawn lips in a last ditch effort to save himself. At least he’s realized that he’s down to pleading as his only option. The bastard’s arrogance was really getting to me. I feel no pity for him. It’s impossible to tell whether the tears coursing down his cheeks are the effect of the burning substance I employed moments ago or simply him being a pussy. I suspect the latter. Yanking a bar stool from its position next to an overturned trash can, I stare at the man on his knees before me. He really isn’t attractive. I bring the seat of the stool down, cracking loudly against his skull. He’s out before he knows what hit him.
 
 
The boy crumples to the floor, a limp rag suddenly relieved of support.  

“Creep” I mutter and crouch down beside him. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do much lasting damage other than that inherent in any concussion. Just in case, I roll him over into the recovery position, taking a possible neck injury into account. Yes, I have sat in on a couple first aid classes in my past. I take his pulse. Normal. So there’s an exceedingly low chance that I’ll be hauled in by the police for this. To shatter any safety that may have afforded, I do a quick pat down and find what I’m looking for: his wallet. I open the tattered leather pouch and see his ID. “Brent Tobinsky” I read aloud. At least now I know his name. Skipping down to his DOB, I see with horror that he’s twenty-one. This guy really is a perv. Then again, I probably didn’t mention the fact that I’m sixteen. “Well, Brent,” the unconscious man offers no response “you owe me.” I dig in the wallet for a few seconds before coming out with fifty dollars in cash “This is for the condoms,” we really did go through a ton, I’m completely out. Those things are expensive. “and THIS,” I say, fishing out another ten bucks “is for my pride.” I stand up, dropping Brent’s wallet next to his head.
 

He won’t press charges, even if he had known who I was. The law would never rule in his favor. I could easily find a way to make this seem way worse than it actually was and he would have no way to fight my accusations. Courts always rule in favor of the girl in these situations. It’s unfair but it is the truth. I’m in no danger from him now.  
 

I sling my backpack over one shoulder, turning and walking towards the door. Money securely stashed in my pocket, I swing the screen door of what must be a basement open. He’ll wake up eventually and I certainly don’t want to be anywhere nearby when he does. After hopping over a few fences, I’m in a street I recognize. I walk to the side of the road and stick my hand out, thumb pointing upwards. I’m not walking all the way back to town. A few cars come by here every so often, so it shouldn’t take too long for one to pick me up. I swing my backpack off my shoulders. It thuds to the ground, I’m not far behind. Not the most comfortable seat in the world but it’ll have to do. “And now… we wait…” I grumble, settling myself on the makeshift chair. Might as well be comfortable. Resigned to the long stretch of time I’ll spend sitting in my near future, I sigh and let myself relax. I'm out of danger. I hope.