Born to Lose Read Online Free

for a chance to run for it, but Bill kicked her arm out from under her and she fell back down. “Off with the clothes, and shut up.”
    Kathy squirmed free of the culottes. She sat up, leaning forward with her arms to cover her naked legs. Bill knelt beside her, knocked her arms away from her legs and said, “You forgot the panties, sweetheart.” When Kathy made no motion to comply, her tormentor pushed her down. On her back, she stared up at a black heaven. Positioned above her, he bent his knees to reach the ground and laid the gun down. From his coat he pulled out a skinning knife. Kathy felt a hand grab the waistband of her panties, then the knife cutting and ripping through to the crotch. Bill worked the blade, pulled, and the panties were in his hand. He put them in his pocket.
    Kathy knew all was lost. Bill put the knife aside and swept the gun further away. With no choice but to suffer the fate of this terrible night, Kathy said, “It’s so wet and cold. Can we go in one of the cars?” “Yeah, all right,” came the response, then, more agitated, “Get the hell up and get in that one,” gesturing at a nondescript two-door hulk squatting onfour flats. Kathy pulled open the passenger door and crawled in the back. After maneuvering past an old battery and generator left on the backseat, she sat upright. Making his way in, Bill shoved the auto parts to the floor and told Kathy to lie down. Both made attempts to get situated; the quarters were cramped, chilly, and dank, conditions hardly better than outside. Further, the car’s upholstery gave off a sickening musty odor. When Bill’s ankle got caught for the second time between the battery and generator on the floor, he cursed, started disengaging arms and legs and began backing out of the car door muttering, “This ain’t workin’. Come on, out on the ground!” Standing outside the car, Bill reached in, taking hold of Kathy’s hand. She was pulled out roughly and sent sprawling. Bill’s hands grabbed her shoulder, twisting Kathy onto her back then lowered himself onto the teen who, numb with terror, no longer felt the cold. First, the crude hand, then the invectives. “God damn you! You on the rag?” His face was close to hers. She felt a fleck of spittle. Turning her head aside Kathy said weakly that yes, she was. Inexperienced with men’s attitudes on such matters she had, of course, listened to girl talk and was now uncertain whether wrath would descend upon her. Bill cupped her chin with his hand, forcing her to look at him. “Too bad,” he said, “you’re gettin’ it anyway.”
    During the rape the gun was held at her temple and she feared it would go off at each movement. Kathy remembered two recurring thoughts: When will this be over? Is he going to kill me? Though defiled by force, the teen was already feeling guilty. Did she struggle enough? Did she resist in every way? Maybe she should have bolted into the night, chancing a bullet in the back, or clawed at his face, risking a knife across the throat.
    Then it was over, her body and mind stung by the coarseness of the attack. She turned onto her side, grabbed for her culottes, and placed them over her lower body. She pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and lay in this fetal position as a light rain began to fall.
    How much time had gone by Kathy, in her stupor, didn’t know, but when she lifted her head, Bill was sitting Indian style on the hood of a junker, idly twirling the revolver on his index finger while talking with Ron, who had apparently just returned. Kathy tried to climb into her clothes but Bill called over, “Sweetheart, hold up with the clothes, it’s Ron’s turn.” Bill slid from the hood, then both men walked over to Kathy. Badly hurt and tormented, Kathy felt ripped inside. She couldn’t face this, just could not. She held her clothes against