Impervious.

I wanted to run as soon as the dreaded doorbell rang.

I squirmed uncomfortably as his beady eyes swept over me as soon as I exited my room, slowly eyeing me from my head to my toes, lingering at my chest. I visibly shuddered, cursing my mischievous friend internally for setting me up on this pathetic blind date.

Apparently, the thickheaded imbecile took this as a sign of approval. He held out his hand in a way that was meant to be charming, and I slipped my hand into his own albeit reluctantly; I was nothing if not polite. “Hello, my name’s Claire, and you are..?” I broke off, unsure of this man’s name. “Paul.” He smiled and winked, and it took all my will power not to cringe.

Paul was not an attractivecreature man, as my friend described him to me to get me to agree to go on this blind date. His stringy hair was “creatively combed” to make up for his receding hairline, and his teeth were chipped and borderline-yellow. His greasy face seemed to have oil just oozing at the pores, and his clammy hand grasped my hand tightly.

“Shall we go?” I asked smoothly, wanting this night to end as quickly as possible. He grunted in reply, tugging me along out the door, down the steps, and into his car.
“I hope you like Italian.” He said, glancing at me as he steered the car.
“My favorite!” I exclaimed, inwardly sighing. Dishes like spaghetti were the most unattractive things to eat when out on date- basic common knowledge.
An awkward silence commenced in his car, the absence of radio music mocking me as I searched for something to say.

Thankfully, Paul made a left turn, easily finding a spot in the restaurant’s almost empty parking lot. He stepped out the car, walking to my side and opening the door for me. I smiled politely, hesitantly grabbing his arm he offered to me.
We strolled through the doors of the restaurant’s doors. I caught my reflection in the mirror panel, miserably watching my reflected self hold this repulsive man’s arm, brown eyes screaming ‘help me!’ and a slight frown upon my lipstick covered lips.

After a few minutes ofawkward polite conversation, (“I think this weather is great, how about you?,) our buzzer rang, and we were led towards a table to the back with a candle on top.
He pulled out my chair kindly, and then situated himself across from me. Every time I peered up from behind my menu, I would find his creepy intense eyes watching my every move, and I would stare down quickly at my menu again, pretending I had no clue what to order.
A few moments later, we placed our orders and the hostess took away myshield menu and went to the kitchen.

With our waiter gone, Paul seemed to lighten up, leaning forward over the small table. I did’t want his bulbous nose that close to me as I tried to discreetly scoot my chair backwards.
“So,” he licked his chapped lips, “what kind of stuff are you into?” He eyed me perversely, confusing me.
“What do you mean?” I said, unsure of how I felt about his question.

He smiled at me leeringly, teeth looking even more neglected in the candlelight. “I mean,” he dropped his voice, looking around quickly before shifting his eyes back to me, “ what are you into sexually? I myself am fond of certain... toys.”
I was dizzy. I scooted back my chair immediately, my wide eyes reflected in his greasy scalp-mirror. This man was repulsive. Thank God the waiter chose this time to arrive with our food.
The rich pasta barely registered as I tried to eat as quickly as I could without making a mess. Do you know how hard it is to eat with some creep pervertedly staring at you, not even looking as he forked noodles into his mouth? Do you?

Time went agonizingly slowly as it went buy, lingering through the billing process and other restaurant procedures. I walked quickly to his car, not giving him a chance to latch on to my hand or offer me his arm.
Once we were both in his car, I calmly asked him to take me home. He watched me from his peripheral vision, before shifting his attention onto the road after shifting into gear.
I fiddled with my purse, not looking up or noticing where we were going. I was determined not to make eye contact. A few minutes later I reluctantly looked up. “Where are we going?” we were in an area unfamiliar to me, I nervously noted.
I became panic-stricken as he replied “I just thought we could stop by my house first for a little fun.” He chuckled. My heart raced.
“Take me home. Now.”
“Oh don’t play coy!” he exclaimed, “You’ve been looking at me all night.”
I told him that I was merely observing his grotesque appearance.
He was not amused, to say the least.

He parked the car in front of a medium sized house, walking quickly to my car doorm opening it and then closing it with a loud slam. He grabbed my hand, pulling me into the house with him. I struggled to be released, but his grip proved firm. We reached his bedroom, and he closed the door behind him tightly. Worst case scenario scenes were passing though my mind as I was pushed down to sit on the bed, his rotund form taking up a larger space next to me.
“You never answered my question.” He smirked, and made a move to get away but his arm blocked my escape.
“It’s none of your business you creep, now let me go!” I shrieked, clawing at his arm. He paid no attention as he laid out a condom on the bed. I would have laughed at the lameness of this move had I not been in such an uncompromising situation.

He flattened me onto my back pinning one of my wrists down as he ran his stubby fingers up my side. Tears escaped as he ripped my skirt, a revealing slit extending almost all the way up my thigh. I squirmed hopelessly, as his face loomed closer to my own. I reached out with my hand something, anything, to help me.
I ended up grabbing my high-heeled shoe. I slipped it off quickly; twisting it just so that it would practically stab him in between his shoulder blades.

He growled loudly, and I hit him again, this time smacking him with the flat part of the shoe on his head. “You little bitch!” he sneered, and I hit him again. He was disoriented enough to lose his grip on my other wrist as I stood up quickly, throwing my other heel at his face and dashing out of the room.

After running away on the sidewalk, I finally slowed down, at the corner of the street. As a police car stopped for a red light, I walked over quickly, tapping on his window to ask for help.

I was arrested for prostitution.
Life is so fair.