It's has begun to rain. I'm walking home at night, in the rain. I blame it on the town. 

My mother and I recently moved across the country from Arizona all the way to Georgia, a tiny town in the middle of bustling Atlanta and quaint Savannah. I'm not happy about the move, at all. I love Arizona. The mountains and lakes and the desert, the city life. All of it is home to me. And now I am thousands of miles away in some country boy-infested town full of farmers and druggies. Two weeks here, we'd both found jobs and a cute little yellow cottage-style house by a lake. Its cute and quiet here, with mowers going off every Saturday morning and cows mooing somewhere close by. Everyone wears cowboy boots or cowboy hats or they have a piece of straw sticking out of their mouth... It's horrible. I miss Arizona. My mother is happy here though. She's the assistant manager of a popular and huge hotel out here, and she's already talking to some guy. And I am working at some Piggly Wiggly style grocery store where everyone knows everyone. Except me. It is so hard to be nice to these people, when they all seem brain-damaged and slow. But I am trying. I really am. 

I just can't take the heat or the southern hospitality that's completely over-exaggerated. People open doors for me (men namely, young and old), they greet me in the mornings with 'Howdys' and 'Mornin' sweetie pie' (old, withered woman and overall-wearing rednecks), but they don't seem to care for outsiders.  As nice as I am to them, they will ignore me to talk to the people they have known since they were in diapers. They talk about the same damn thing day in and day out. Doesn't it get boring? 

But enough. I'm complaining, I know. I'm just not used to being ignored. I'm beautiful and smart and people have always told me I can captivate a room just by walking in. And here, they hardly seem to notice me. Except the old creepy men and the druggy guys.

It's not all bad though. There are a few people who hang out at the hotel, have since they were little. It offers free endless coffee in the mornings and a great view of the lake. Whenever I hang out up there, Harry and Larry (50-year old twin brothers) are up there. And they're hilarious and nice and they've welcomed us with open arms. 

The grocery store I work at is half a mile from the hotel, and a 15 minute walk from our cottage. So in the mornings, I brave the 80 degree weather to walk to work and usually my mother will pick me up as she's leaving the hotel. I don't have a car. It's unfortunate. I know. 

It is pouring buckets and I think about calling my mother, but I know she's asleep. We're usually up at 4 in the morning working out at the local gym and in bed by 8:00 at night. But today my boss had me scheduled for a late shift. It's 8:32. The streetlights barely provide enough light to see with the rain so heavy, and thunder rumbles angrily in the distance. As yet I haven't seen any lightning, but if I do, I am definitely calling my mother. 

Finally, after another 5 minutes of getting soaked to the bone, I reach our cottage. The porch light is on and there are candles burning in the kitchen window. I sit on our porch swing and light a cigarette, a habit I really need to quit. Finally, after finishing my cigarette and forgetting about the stresses of work, I go inside. My mother is asleep, snoring like a freight train. My story Mach rumbles but I ignore it and fall on my bed, exhausted. I've always been mildly depressed, but I can feel myself sinking even more with this town, these people I don't know, this job that stresses me out more than anything. I've just moved here, but already I'm dreaming of getting away, taking a vacation. 

 Early in the morning I wake to the sound of rain hammering on our roof. It's 4:15 in the morning, the normal time my mother and I wake up to go to the gym. I get dressed in my sorts bra and burgundy stretch tank and my favorite pair of grey sweatpants. They've got huge holes that are hidden behind my pockets and they hug my ass enough to define that I've got one. I stretch and follow mom to the car. We're both yawning, just barely awake. 

And so the day goes by, and the week, and the next month. We've been here two months now. We're fully settled. I'm used to my job, yet still unloving of it. I'm used to this town, and the people, but I still feel no love for anyone here. 

I finally clock out at work, and wave goodbye to Hanna. She's a year younger than me, loud and boisterous and very popular with all the townsfolk. They love her, and greet her every time they see her, acting as though they haven't seen her in forever. But they saw her yesterday, when they came in, to buy the same shit.

It's a clear night with a full moon as I put my earbuds in. I turn on Pandora, letting the voices of Celtic Woman wash over me. I light a cigarette as I leave the parking lot, crossing the two lane road to get on my street. 

I'm singing along softly to Enya, oblivious to everything when I faintly hear the sound of screeching tires behind me. Headlights illuminate my shadow and I subtly turn my head to look behind me. A black van idles a few feet behind me, and the driver stares directly at me. My heart beat picks up a little as I turn back around and continue walking. I flick my cigarette butt away and am just about to turn my music off for the time being when someone grabs me from behind, immediately covering my mouth with one hand and grabbing both my hands in the other. My phone slips from my grip, hanging on my earbuds for a moment before he jerks them from my ears. It clatters to the ground. 

My heart starts hammering as I try to jerk free, but I'm small, only 5,4 and 112 pounds. It's not a difficult thing to subdue me. The mysterious person wrenches me backwards toward the van, pulling me in jerks until he shoves me into the van. He jumps in deftly and the van is on the move before he shuts the door completely. 

"Let me go!" I snap, trying and failing to sound tough. He says nothing, just lights a cigarette, and blows smoke at me. "Please let me out! My mother is on the way to pick me up. She's going to look for me!" I urge, trying to sound concerned for his safety. I open my mouth to say more, but suddenly he snaps his hand out and slaps me so hard I fall back from the inpact. Tears fill my eyes as I bring my hand up, cradling my cheek. 

"Shut yer mouth, bitch. Yer momma ain't gonna find you, is she?" He chuckles as he takes another drag on his cigarette. 

"Please let me go. I'll give you all the money I have, just let me go. I have took home. I-i have to work in the morning. And-and I-" I stop, because I have no real excuse. I have nothing to say. I start to cry then, quiet sobs that shake my body as the tears run down my cheeks. "Please let me go. I've done nothing wrong." I tell him inbetween sobs and gulps of air. 

"Hall," the driver glances back at the man. "Make her shut up." 

Hall stand up, leaning over me. My heart is hammering so bad it hurts. I wait for him to do something but he just stares at me. He's a big man, stooping in the vehicle. His hair is black and grey and greasy, partially hanging in his mud-colored eyes. His skin is dark tan, dirty, and marked by acne scars and new pimples. And he's huge, muscled and tall. When I think he's about to sit down, he quickly leans down, grabs my hands and wraps a length of rope around them, tying it securely. I scream as loud as I can and he slaps me again, knocking me back against the van wall. He grabs a roll of duct tape as I struggle to blink stars from my eyes and try to sit up. As soon as he's cut off a small piece, he presses it over my lips, cutting off any sounds but muffled mumbles. Tears slip down my cheeks and I collapse against the side, exhaustion suddenly creeping over me.