James Turnbow

I tried not to panic.

When you panic, you make mistakes, and I couldn't afford one right now.

But more than anything, I needed to get away from this monster.

I gathered my strength and heaved myself out from underneath him.

His laughter followed me as I made a run for where I thought the door was.

The worst the storm could do was kill me.

Fingers seized my hair, and the pain wrenched me to a stop.

Don't run, he whispered.

I fought with the man's grip while I screamed and kicked against stone.

The words spilled out of my mouth through gritted teeth.

I heard metal hit the floor, and then his hands were around my throat.

I am not a freak, he said, forcing me to the ground.

The man's strength was overwhelming.

A vice was around my windpipe, squeezing every bit of oxygen out of my body.

I clawed at his face, ripped with everything I had, but my movements were slowing.

My fingernails were blue.

I got them done to match my prom dress.

Would Dad bury me in it?

I'm not a freak.

The words were on repeat.