The sound of water lapping at the shore was faint over the sound of Taylor Swift crooning through earbuds. The gentle waves sparkled and reflected the light of a not quite full moon.
The smell of salt and brine faded to neutrality, as smells do with time.
She found her mind wandering backwards. Her husband’s face as she shouldered her bag and walked out to meet the waiting Uber.
Uninterested.
Accustomed.
He probably had his own plans for her annual solo trip. She hadn’t even asked. Was he seeing someone else during this time? Did he think that’s what she did?
He’d never asked.
The sand between her bare toes was starting to scratch. She gripped her sandals more tightly and let the water tickle her feet.
The therapist had suggested a week apart each year might help.
And it had, she supposed.
It had lowered her expectations. Given her something to look forward to. Taken away the need to explain herself.
For one week a year, they could do whatever they wanted - no questions asked.
The rest of the time was business as usual.
He dropped the kids off and she picked them up.
He went to the office and she retreated to the study to write.
A boiled egg and avocado on toast at midday.
Weights and a run in the afternoon.
Tuna steak on the table when he walked in at 6.
Pecks on the lips were warm but dry.
Smiles.
How was your day?
They worked together to extract details of math tests and poetry recitals from their children, then shared their favorite TikToks and Instagram reels.
Laughter.
A good life.
The sound of a stick breaking invaded her inner monologue.
She turned her head but didn’t break stride. No sign of another soul.
So lucky to have found what felt like the last beautiful quiet spot on Earth.
There was another noise.
This time she quickened her step. Looked towards the tree line.
The moon offered some light but no one was there, she was pretty sure.
Pale yellow sand reaching the trunks of palms, loosely scattered into the distance until they ate up the moonlight.
Wait.
Was that a movement?
Yes, the solitude was broken. Two men. Where did they come from?
She let her gaze drift over the peaceful sea, then focused on her path forwards but touched the lower volume button on her earbud.
They were laughing and jumping. Maybe drunk. Their dark skin had kept them so well hidden.
She quickened her step, then felt racist and slowed down again.
What’s the right thing?
Turn back?
That would be too obvious.
Carry on as if they weren’t there.
But now she was conscious of each step. Was it closer or further apart than the previous one?
They spoke English with an accent so strong she couldn’t understand more than a word in three. Was she imagining things like ‘her’ ‘that girl’ ‘you go’?
One called out. “Hey!”
She touched pause on the music but didn’t answer.
Sped up a little more.
“Hey, girly!” said the other one. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yourself?”
She let her chin drop and looked back at them. Didn’t reply.
They ran to catch up to her. “Come on, we won’t hurt ya.”
“Nothing,” she said.
Abruptly, she turned back in the direction she’d come, pushing past them with forced confidence.
More words were exchanged that she struggled to grasp, despite her current state of heightened senses.
Laughing.
Playing.
Turning to follow her.
“I’m not alone.” Her voice sounded weak and without conviction. Not herself.
She cleared her throat. “My friend went for a pee. He’ll be back soon.”
“Ah, did he now?” teased the first one.
His muscular arms emerged from a white sleeveless top with a rose on it, pectorals visible above a stretched and worn neckline.
“I better go too,” she said.
“Ah yes, you better.”
The second one wore no top. Just a pair of faded blue jeans that sat below the elastic of his underwear.
She was still nodding as she ascended the shallow slope to the trees.
For a moment it seemed like they would leave her alone.
They kicked the water, frolicking like children.
But just before she arrived at the first palm, her dress swished.
There was no wind.
She spun to face them, broadening her shoulders and squaring her hips.
“Stop that!”
They stepped back out of her personal space.
More laughter. “Come on, we just playing,” said no shirt.
She looked towards the resort. The lights were distant. Too far.
Going out at night was not recommended but she always had. It was too nice out here not to. Too peaceful to resist.
“Yeah, come on. Play with us.” Rose t-shirt took a step towards her.
Her options flashed before her eyes in an endless cycle - run, kick, push, shout, scream, run, kick, scream, run, run, run.
She ran.
No shirt made a lunge but she slipped past, swifter and more lithe than he was expecting.
The trees were sparse but the brush on the ground tore at the soft skin of her soles. The moonlight created shards of light that she somehow had the presence of mind to try to avoid, though with limited success.
Her pale legs and arms felt like beacons in the night.
The two men hooted and hollered, sometimes echoing so loudly that they might as well be inside her very mind, but somehow she evaded each of their lunges and they fell back again.
A hand reached towards the back of her dress and she turned and swatted with her sandal.
A shout rang out, giving her a brief sense of satisfaction, but it was short-lived.
The second hand snatched both sandals from her hands, causing one fingernail to tear painfully as her tight grip was easily broken.
Her feet pounded through loose sand, the direction only vague and frustratingly random.
The shouts had become fainter; maybe they’d given up. Maybe they were just mucking around.
An ache in her legs and a stitch in her side told her the initial burst of adrenaline was fading and her pace slowed despite herself, stumbling onward, trying desperately to put as much distance as possible between her and them.
Her breath was heavy and too loud. Water clouded her vision. Branches and twigs broke.
Don’t stop.
Don’t slow down.
Rounding a thin trunk, she ignored another shooting pain in her foot and pushed on and on.
She couldn’t hear the men over her own gasping. Were they gone?
She reached for a thicker trunk to steady herself and stopped short.
Stepping out from behind it.
Someone else.
Someone … huge.
He towered over her like a mythical giant.
She stumbled backward, a scream caught helplessly in her throat.
The whites of his eyes glowed around black irises.
A smile that grew wider as she fell into the waiting arms of the two pursuers who had stepped into the small clearing moments after she had.
She had lost.
Her dress no longer hanging down.
Her bikini torn from her body.
Pinned.
Sightless.
Grunts and excited words.
“Hold her.” “My turn.” “This way.”
It all bled together and mixed with whatever noises were emerging from her own strangled throat until her senses were overpowered.
Nothing left but sweat, adrenaline, pheromones, and heavy, heavy weight.
Pure sensations.
Violation.
Penetration.
When she opened her eyes, there was nothing but darkness.
She remained still.
Silence.
Gripping the thin cotton, she untangled her dress from her head and neck. The moon illuminated the sparse forest around her.
Struggling, she sat, then stood.
Rearranged the dress to its correct orientation.
Touched her skin.
Inhaled through clenched teeth as she found scratches one after another.
Ran a thumb over the dry blood around her fingertip.
The sound of the waves led her back to the beach, and emerging from the tree line, she was surprised to see how tiny the lights of the resort still were.
The walk back felt endless.
She smoothed her hair self-consciously and held the bottom of her skirt low to cover her nakedness. Asked for the room key with a soft smile.
Emerging from the shower in the white toweling robe, she stood in front of the mirror.
Leaning in, touched the creases in the corners of her eyes.
Examined the strands of gray at the roots of her hair.
She sighed.
A knock at the door made her jump.
She gave her reflection a final frown and went to open it.
The figure standing on the stoop gave her a little burst of adrenaline.
She looked from the rose on his t-shirt to his face.
His smile was open. Proud. He held out her sandals and bikini, neatly folded.
She took them, along with the earbuds he extracted from his pocket.
She placed them on the tray table by the door and picked up the floral purse that was there, waiting.
“Here you go.” She passed him a bunch of rolled up notes and he gripped it in milk chocolate-colored fingers.
“Was it alright ma’am?” he asked, then frowned and cocked his head, his eyes drifting down to her bare feet.
She nodded quickly. “The scars won’t last.”
“Good.” He looked genuinely relieved. “See you next year then?”
“I think so.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
Alone, she lay back on the bed, letting the excitement of the evening settle.
A tingling that faded along with the pain.
Easily the most exciting week of the year, each one different from the last.
She’d almost used the safe word.
Almost.
Her mind drifted back to her husband, no doubt sleeping with another. Maybe in their own bed.
She wouldn’t ask.
Neither would he.
Twisted. Nicely done!
Not a cocktail then...
Have you read this short story by Margaret Atwood, which explores the dynamics of fantasy and power from a woman's perspective? : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_Fantasies?wprov=sfla1