The Call - Part 1

Tayla is the only person to whom I have ever mentioned that I write a blog. She's very supportive of this reaching out to the internet gayborhood and has loved reading about my life and thoughts. Considering she's a Woman-of-the-Night, she's down with all of this sharing intimate parts of myself with strangers. She also likes how she's even gotten a mention up here. In fact, the name I use for her in the blog is the real name she uses when she's on call. Her idea, I swear.

Anyway, I got her approval to write about this next story. What you're going to read should raise a lot of questions and comments. Because there's so much for me to say, this story will be done over 3 posts. This first two will cover the retelling of the actual event, which took place last year. The third post will try to cover the thoughts and questions regarding the event. You, the readers, could potentially have a lot to say in response to these 3 posts. Of course I don't have many readers so I might get no comments at all. Either is good and fine. Just remember: nothing is simple; everything is shades of grey.

So let's get started.

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I don't remember what I was doing before the call. In the end, it really doesn't matter. Before the ring of my cell phone, I don't even remember anything that happened during day. It was probably a good, normal day. Or at least I assume.

My cell phone rings. It's about 9pm. I skip across the floor to answer it.

Hello?

A scream into the phone
FUCK, THOMAS, THIS IS TAYLA I NEED HELP NOW.

I'm confused, surprised and amused.
What? Huh?

She cuts me off over my words, screaming and half sobbing into the receiver:
IT'S TAYLA. THIS IS NOT A FUCKING JOKE. I'M AT [nearby motel name and room number] WITH A TRICK.

I'm not confused anymore. I'm serious. And scared. She keeps yelling into the phone, without pausing.

HE FUCKING ATTACKED ME! I'VE LOCKED MYSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND HE'S TRYING TO BREAK IN! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! FUCK, COME NOW! HE'S BANGING ON THE DOOR AND FUCKING YELLING! I'M FUCKING SCARED! THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY BUT GET HERE NOW! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! HELP ME!

I don't think at all. I just answer. I'm not yelling, but I'm speaking fast and with a tone like I'm ordering someone with the utmost seriousness.
I'm coming right now Tayla! Get anything to use as a weapon! I'm running out the door! I'll be there! Block the door! Scream! Make noise! I'm coming!

I slide my shoes on and I run out the apartment. I don't lock my door, although I have my keys simply because they were in my pocket before.

She's crying and screaming. It's muffled and scratchy.
OK! GET HERE FUCKING QUICK! HE'S SCREAMING AT ME! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! GET HERE NOW!

I'm fucking coming Tayla! I have to go now. You're going to be ok! I'm fucking coming!

OK! OK!

She hangs up.

I'm in a full sprint toward the motel. I know exactly where it is and how to get there. It's about a 20 minute walk from my house. I'm dodging people and running through intersections while barely checking for traffic. I'm still holding my cell phone, but dialing a friend's number. He doesn't know Tayla, but he lives close to the motel.

My mind is absolutely terrified and but so singularly focused at the same time. I'm counting everything because nothing is going fast enough. My legs aren't fast enough. The cars don't move out of my way fast enough. My friend isn't picking up fast enough.

Hello?

It's Thomas. where are you?

Hey Thomas, I'm at home. Not doing-

I cut him off. I'm speaking with the same serious, fast, ordering tone as before.
This is not a fucking joke. My friend's getting attacked by someone at [motel name]. Get there now.

Dude, what? What are-

I'm not fucking joking. Get to [motel name] now. I need you.

You're serious-

Yes. I'm running there now. I'm scared. Get there now. Just go!

I'm coming.

I hang up.

I'm still running. It's the fastest I've ever been in a long time. At the same time, I think I'm just too slow. I'm terrified for Talya. I don't know how I'm keeping up this pace. I'm not imagining anything. My attention is only on one thing. Running.

I rush around a corner and I see the motel at the next block. I see my friend too. I can tell he's confused and freaked out just as much as I am. He's twisting his head around in every direction looking for what I'm running toward. As I get up to him, I don't stop running. I yell out the number of the motel room and rush past him. He yells something to me, along the lines of "this better not be a joke" but I don't answer. He believes me and runs behind me.

We run to the back side of the motel. I see the number of the room. The window's curtains are pulled in front of the windows. I run up to the door and stop. My friend is right next to me. For a second, I don't know what to do.

I freeze. I look at my friend. He looks at me. I'm not a person who really fights. I don't know what to do. Do I just open the door? Do I knock to get the person's attention? Can I stop him? What if he's bigger than me? Maybe he has a knife? Maybe he has a gun? Now I can't stop thinking.

She's in there? my friend asks in the same tone I used before.

Ya, we need to get her out. A guy's attacking her. She's in the bathroom.

Let's go then.