She Survived Read Online Free

sliding glass door, or the women in the apartment below, would hear her.
    He kept repeating, in a threatening manner: “Shut up, bitch! Shut up. . . .”
    â€œThe more he told me to shut up, the more I would scream. And I just kept fighting and fighting,” Melissa said later.
    Melissa considered what every self-defense class taught women: Poke him in the eyes. But then, as soon as that thought occurred, she told herself, No. If I miss, or don’t do it hard enough to stop him, it’s only going to piss him off more .
    Plus, as it stood, he was the one with the weapon—and surely angry enough already.
    With the idea of poking him in the eyes swept from her mind, Melissa had a second thought.
    Use your legs—and start kicking.
    Melissa felt he did not have a firm grip because she was flailing around so much and giving him a difficult time. She even thought she should begin punching at him and kicking at the same time.
    And so she did.
    As they fought, Melissa managed to strike him with one of her legs in the face.
    Then she grabbed the knife blade.
    â€œI didn’t even know it was a knife, really,” she later said. “I didn’t know what the hell he had.”
    Reaching out and punching and kicking and grabbing, Melissa wound up with the knife.

CHAPTER 6
    WHITE LIGHT APPROACHING
    Realizing the knife was in her hands now, Melissa’s attacker started to punch her in the face.
    Blow after blow after blow.
    Melissa was fighting for her life. She also still believed without a doubt that his one true motivation was to rape her. She wasn’t about to allow that to happen without a fight.
    As she punched and kicked her legs (almost winning at one point), slowing him down at least, Melissa started to feel the effects of losing so much blood. The sheets around her were soaking wet. Blood had engulfed her face and hands and body.
    Then, suddenly, as if the air was let out of her body, Melissa became weaker and weaker.
    â€œI really couldn’t fight anymore. . . .”
    Her next thought was: That’s it . . . I’m dead .
    As Melissa faded, her attacker reached down and put his hands on her panties.
    Then he started to pull them down her legs.
    All Melissa had now were her thoughts and words. She had no fight left within a body suffering from the effects of losing so much blood. It was so dark in the room, she realized, Melissa didn’t even know how much blood she’d lost, but she could sense all the tackiness and wetness around her, on the bed, on her body. She could taste the steeliness of her own blood, the salty, metallic bitterness. She could feel her head spinning, the dizziness, the light-headedness.
    He was winning.
    Melissa’s attacker was about to rape her.
    Melissa realized she was probably going to die.

CHAPTER 7
    SECOND WIND
    As Melissa later explained in her own words, she would learn in those harrowing days after her attack that her attacker had actually used a hockey stick he found inside her apartment to beat her that night. His choice of weapon would have a detrimental psychological effect on Melissa forever.

    I guess I should back up for a minute here, for a couple of reasons. First, before any of this happened, I was really into going to hockey games, comedy clubs, and watching bands. That is why it came as kind of a sad shock to me that I was beaten with one of the hockey sticks I had collected. It made me question how I would react if I tried to go back to watch a hockey game.
    I was blessed to have a great sense of humor. It was something I seemed to get from my father and my grandmother. Like I said, one of my “vices” before this happened was comedy. I had season tickets to the local hockey team and I would go to the comedy club as often as I could. I had also been fortunate enough to make friends with several local and national comic—some known, some unknown (at the time). Before my attack, I used to date a couple of local