MY FRIEND JENNA CALLED AND TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED IN HIS BASEMENT
The phone rang just past midnight, and I knew from Jenna’s choked sob something was terribly wrong again. She couldn’t stop crying, her breath hitching erratically, a thin, reedy sound over the line. I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles were white, urging her to just *breathe* and tell me what happened this time. It was something about Mark, she finally choked out between gasps.
Not clearly at first, just fragmented words that didn’t make sense together in the dark quiet room I was sitting in. “He… downstairs… the door…” My blood ran cold, a shock that left me trembling, clutching the phone tight against my ear. The sheer disbelief made my head spin.
“He *made* me,” she finally whispered, the sound like tearing fabric, barely audible over her ragged breathing. The air in my small bedroom suddenly felt thick, suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. I sank onto the floor, the rough carpet scratching my knees through my pajama pants.
She described it quickly then, a flood of whispered horror that painted a picture I never wanted to see in my mind. It wasn’t just what he did to her; it was *how* he did it, calmly, methodically, like it was routine and she was just an object there.
He promised he would never come back to this house after last time.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”He promised,” I repeated, the words flat and hollow in the sudden silence that fell after her confession, after the details that twisted my stomach. “He promised he wouldn’t.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of absolute horror, of history repeating itself, crueler this time because of the broken vow. The implication hung heavy in the air: this wasn’t the first time Mark had hurt her, but it was the first time since he’d made a *promise*.
Jenna’s crying intensified, a fresh wave of anguish. “He said… he said I made him do it,” she choked out, and the sheer, sickening absurdity of it made me want to scream. *She* made him? The calm, calculating man who forced her into his basement, who treated her like an object?
“No, Jenna. No, he didn’t,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “He chose to do it. It was him. Always him.” I pushed myself up from the floor, adrenaline starting to cut through the shock. “Are you safe *now*? Is he there?”
“He… he left,” she whispered. “Just… left. Like nothing happened.” The quiet after the act, the cold departure – it was almost worse than the act itself.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Okay. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?”
A pause. “I… I don’t know. Just… numb. And dirty.”
The word “dirty” sent a fresh pang through me. My friend, feeling soiled by someone else’s monstrous act. “Jenna, listen to me. You need to get somewhere safe. Not there. Can you get out?”
“I don’t know where to go.”
“My place. Come here. Or… or the police, Jenna. We need to call the police.”
The suggestion brought on another round of sobs. “I can’t. I can’t. He’ll… he’ll be angry.”
“He *hurt* you, Jenna!” My voice rose despite myself. “He *promised* and he did it again! His anger doesn’t matter! Your safety matters! What he *did* matters!” I took a deep breath, forcing calm back into my tone. “Okay. Okay, don’t call the police right now if you can’t. But you need to get out of that house. Can you pack a small bag? Just clothes? And your phone? Can you get in your car?”
I heard her sniffle, a tiny sound of consideration. “Maybe. My keys are on the counter.”
“Okay. Take your keys, your phone, and get out. Don’t think about anything else. Just get out of the house. I’ll stay on the phone with you. Just walk out the front door and get in your car.”
The minutes that followed were agonizingly slow, punctuated by her shaky breathing and the rustling sounds from her end of the line. I stayed silent, listening, urging her on with my presence, praying she could just *move*. Finally, a car door creaked open, then closed. The sound of an engine starting.
“I’m in the car,” she said, her voice still fragile but with a hint of action behind it now.
“Okay, Jenna. Drive to my place. Don’t stop for anything. Just drive. I’ll be waiting right outside. We’ll figure out everything else when you get here. Just drive.”
My heart was still pounding, but a fierce, cold determination was settling over the fear. Mark was not getting away with this. Not this time. Not ever again. But first, I needed to get Jenna safe. I hung up the phone, threw on the first clothes I could find, grabbed my keys, and headed for the front door, ready to watch the street until her headlights appeared.