Track three: If I don’t kneel, he’s going to force me down, and I believe that threat instinctively. Men who speak like that, with that much authority and certainty in their voice, don’t make idle threats. They certainly don’t break into women’s homes, throw them up against a wall, and clamp gloved hands over said women’s mouths if they don’t intend on following through with whatever they came here to do.
I lower myself to the floor, slowly, and turn to face the wall. My knees press into the cold hardwood. I lace my fingers behind my head.
As I go through all those motions and my mind whirs in three-plus separate directions simultaneously, I’m feeling all the usual suspects.
Fear, that ever-present feminine terror that comes from living in a world full of rough, violent men.
Anger, tha
