This is my first time writing anything explicit, let alone a rape scene, so any helpful suggestions would be very much appreciated! More to come!



It was completely deserted when I pulled into the parking lot alongside the Metal Arts building, but at eight on a week night that wasn’t surprising. The majority of campus classes ended by five, so even the most devote students had given up on their masterpieces for the night and gone home, leave the entire area quiet as a graveyard. Come Friday and the beginning of the weekend, this lot would be packed end to end with beat up old cars like mine, as students swarmed to the bars downtown. But on a Tuesday, my beat up old Audi A6 was the only vehicle around.
I tried not to frown when the old girl gave a tired sigh as I turned off the ignition, but the car had held out a lot longer than many of it’s peers. I had worked my butt off in high school to buy it from my parents at full value, although I always expected the price they quoted me wasn’t really the true Blue Book, only to hand it off to my grandma for seven years after hers broke down. Now, almost twenty years old, it was back in my hands and on its final miles. Just getting downtown from the suburbs where I lived caused her to sputter along the highway, but I tried to blame it on the cold and her stubborn personality. I knew nothing of cars- other than I had seen the steel frame of the Audi annihilate the side of a Nissan when some bimbo decided to run a red light in front of me- so I wasn’t anxious to diagnosis the car’s issues. I only prayed it was going to survive to spring, and thaw out into a well working machine.
The slamming of my car door echoed loudly, but I had to put a little force behind it or else the darn thing wouldn’t close. The beep from the alarm arming when I locked the Audi wasn’t much better, bouncing off the sheet metal siding of the Art’s building. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets as I made for the backside of the building and the old train tracks, which were the quickest short cut to the friend’s house where I was spending the night. I had walked the same path dozens of times before when I had been a student, going past the set of abandon train cars that had been turned into trendy office spaces before, and the place was always quiet once the sun set. It was still earlier enough in the season to that there was no snow to mark my path, so there was nothing to indicate the path I took.
I loved walking by these old trains. The building where the walkway was used to be an old station, just a tiny one between the two big ones on either end of the city, but that too had been turned into office. The farthest office from the Metal’s building had been turned into a bike shop, but the neon signs advertising foreign sounding companies were usually turned off by this time. Instead, the old train cars parked right next to the station created a little cave, lit by a single bulb midway down, and then whatever street lights shown through from either side. When it got blistering cold, it was the perfect place to walk and hide away from the heat stealing winds.
The trains had this way of inspiring thoughts of entrepreneurship in me. I always imagined buying one of the empty ones- most of the trains and a good chunk of the station was pretty much abandon- and turning it into some ritzy knock off of a fifties dinner. I had gone to school for Psychology, not Business, but dreams of running a restaurant or hotel seemed to be about as common in girls my age as wedding dreams in little girls. Maybe the thought of nurturing a business from the ground up, creating some little mom and pa shop, was our consolation prize when we grew up and realized how unlikely the ‘perfect marriage’ really was. But walking on the old brick pathway, it didn’t feel like such a bad trade off to me.
But then again, part of the appeal of this place was its isolation. I doubted I would have had the same wild fantasies if I wasn’t completely alone in the dark, walking along side the old monsters of steal and iron.
The first thing I felt was the pain in my arm when they grabbed me. There was strength in the fingers that clutched my bicep, and the arm that was roped around my chest felt like it was carved from the same material as the trains. I would have yelped, but there was already a second forearm pressed firmly against my windpipe. Instantly I panicked, trying to bring my hands up to shove away those which held me, but their owner was a lot stronger than me and it only caused their grip to tighten. I realized that too much more pressure on my windpipe, and I wasn’t going to be breathing easily anytime soon, and if anything that only made me more fearful. What was going on? A prank of some kind? Aside from the friend I was visiting though, no one would have any clue I was here though, and I couldn’t really think of a friend who would find this funny. But I couldn’t be being attacked, right? That was only something you heard about on the news…
‘Stop and think,’ my oxygen craving brain shouted, realizing quickly the danger I was in of passing out with the minimal air going through my trachea. I closed my eyes, trying to think back to the few self defense moves I had learned from wrestling and an over-paranoid friend, but nothing came to mind. I could remember executing them perfectly on the mats, but right in that moment I hadn’t the slightest clue even where to begin. ‘Weak points, weak points, what did she say? Eyes, throat, groan, knees, ankles. Hit them.’
So I tried, but my attacker pretty easily stepped aside when I aimed a stomp for their ankles, and the arm around the throat got tighter. Obviously, I was that easy to read, and they seemed to have enough experience to figure out what I was going for. My panic grew as I realized the pure disadvantage I was at with them at my back; the arm around my chest kept my own arms pretty much trapped to my sides, and the arm at my throat was making it hard to think. They were quite a bit taller than me- not hard when you’re barely skimming five feet- so I couldn’t get an angle in which to kick them. ‘I can’t even reach their weak points!’ came the desperate cry of my brain.
But I struggled anyway.
I don’t know when I blacked out, but at some point I did. I knew from the paranoid friend that you usually only lose consciousness for a few seconds at most, but the attacker must have done something to keep me unconscious for longer. Waking up felt like being hit in the head with a text book, full force to the front of my skull, and my throat felt like it was collapsing in on itself.