I lock the door and check its bolted three, no four times, a chair leaning against it for good measure.

Turning around I pull my jade peacoat off letting it drop at my feet and sit in the foyer on the cold floor, knees pulled up to my chest forehead resting on them, trying to sort my brain into some sort of normal, some sort of less addled state that my senses have just endured.

My hands and knees are red from the cobblestone street and my ankle hurts, the dress is ripped so bad, I can't save it, it's more rag than dress now.

The telephone rings and I can't rise off the floor just yet, my mind is stuck in a circling melee of a storm, me being the eye.

And the phone rings again.

Silence for a while.

Then it rings again til it rings out; on and on the shrill ring went.

I stand and falter slightly as I regain my balance. Stepping out of the dress I slowly shuffle toward the kitchen to find the wash basket. The underwear I had on when I went out are missing. I grab a clean pair and my nightie.

Showering, I scrub like I am covered in dry caked mud, my nail scourer brush covered in soap, my arms, my legs, my body now red from the cleanse and I change into my nightie. 

I do everything like I'm in a trance. Slowly, methodically.

Even sitting in the living room on the piano stool is a drawn out process.

The phone rings and I should answer.

Slowly I make the telephone bench seat across the room and sit awkwardly. I know who it is, hopefully I can get through the conversation without any issue.

I will speak quietly, my voice will quiver I just know it.

Me: Hello Mister Ramone.

Bill: Nah it's me, he's pissed at ya, you missed the bus again. Correct?

Me: Hmmm

Bill: All ok then. Jim's good?

Me:

Me:

Bill: Alright then luv?

Me: Oh yes sorry I, I fell asleep (I hadn't I was just staring into la-la land, I shook my head and tried to focus on Bill, on his words). Jim is doing well, could do with his sons here but that can't be helped can it. We can't all have what we want.

Bill: Well Ramoneo will check in tomorrow right. Talk to you then Abby

Me:

Me:

Bill: Abby, is there something wrong, are you alright?

Me: Yes wonderful, just peachy couldn't be more perfect the world is round, the sun is golden, the sky is blue, the bluebells are budding. I'm grand....And tell me Bill, you being a man of the world. Does touching down below with fingers, with force, constitute rape?

Bill: Arrr, hang on, did I just hear you right?!?!?

Click.

I drop the telephone, hanging up the call with a finality clatter as it falls heavily into its base. 

Why did I blurt that?

Oh my god.

I just blurted THAT.

Why did I utter that; and to a man I don't even know, what am I?!?

Crazy!

I'm a fool.

I deserve being attacked. Silly foolish girl I am.

Why!?

I should have been more alert and not put myself into such a situation...