It was back to being quiet. Castillo's body was gone; it had been dragged out, but a nasty, lingering stain still marked the carpet. They'd mopped, scrubbed, even brought in heavy-duty cleaners, but I could still smell his blood.
I felt like I was losing it, bit by bit. Every little movement and sound made me feel like someone was lurking in the shadows. I tried to push it all away, tried to stop the horrifying images that kept playing in my head: his rough hand tearing at my clothes, his heavy body pinning me down.
More than anything, I tried not to think about the awful truth, the fact that he would have succeeded in raping me if I hadn't managed to get my hand on my pistol.
My throat felt tight, too tight. I had vowed never to be in that position again, I had vowed never to let myself be at the mercy of men again. But tonight I had been so close to that, I had been so close to being helpless.
