I Know What You Did Last Summer

Megan is dressed in a schoolgirl outfit: colourful trainers, flowing black skirt, tied-up white shirt and pigtails in her hair, garnished with pink pom-pom hairbands.

She is left stranded in a city which is foreign to her and doesn’t have a plan (for once).

Her phone is extremely low on battery, so she chooses who to call carefully. Not her parents, they’ll be too worried. Not her ex, he can’t drive. Most of her friends are out clubbing, so they’ll be no use.

She scrolls down the contacts in her phone and calls her therapist. She’s in her thirties, probably has nothing better to do, and can drive.


“It’s me. I’m stranded in [unfamiliar city]”

“Can’t you find a friend or something?”

“No. I’m on my own and I’m lost. I have zero battery, so my mobile will be dead after this call.”

“Megan, what have we said about getting yourself into these situations? I can’t come and simply bail you out.”

“What do I do then?”

“Write down my number with something.”

Megan whips out a Max Factor Two-Stage lip-stain and writes down [said number] in ‘candyfloss pink’.

“Read it back to me, let me make sure you wrote it down correctly.”

“[said number]”

“Perfect. Look after yourself. You’re a resourceful girl. And if you get into any difficultly and can’t find a safe way home then call me again and I’ll collect you.”

“Okay, but –“

The phone ran out of battery. Worst-timing ever. EVER.

Okay, but – I’m actually really scared and I need you to come and get me now.

A taxi pulls up. “Hello, sweetheart. Let me take you into town centre. I’m a nice guy and I’ll do it for free for you. You are crying, it makes my heart ache.”

Megan wiped her face, she had no idea that she had been crying until this man pointed it out.

Let’s call him: STD, for ‘Strange Taxi Driver’.

“I’m alright,” Megan replied. “Point me in the direction of town-centre and I’ll walk to find a policeman or something.

Talk about stranger-danger…

“It’s very far. Miles and miles,” STD said. “I’ll take you. You’ll be safe.”

Fuck. Okay?

She checked that the phone number on her arm hadn’t smudged, shrugged her shoulders and got into STD’s car.

Megan turned her face away from him, to look out of the window. Within minutes, they were in town.

“Pull over,” she shouted.

He did as instructed and waited in the cab, as she ran up to the police officer. He was mid-twenties with short ginger hair and a friendly smile.

“You have to help me. I’m lost here. I live up in [home town] and I have barely any money. Could I please borrow your phone to call my friend?”

They’re eyes both studied her arm in unison.

Fuck. I should’ve used stage-two to make sure that the colour locked in! That’s what [pop icon] says to do in the television ad! Fuck.

“Do you know it off by heart?” the officer said.

“No. No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to smudge!” she began to cry.

“I can help you, pretty girl,” STD said, climbing out of his car and approaching them. “I’ll give you a lift back for cheap. Very good price for you.”

Megan turned back to the officer, “I need your help…”

“This guy will take good care of you, go with him.”

“I don’t trust him,” Megan said. “Could I please log-in to [social networking site] on your mobile and call my friend?”

“No-can-do, sorry,” the officer replied.

Megan gritted her teeth, “Then, when do you finish? You could give me a lift.”

“Look,” the officer said. “If it were any other night and if I was off duty, I would take you home in a heartbeat – you’re a gorgeous girl. Go with this guy, he’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

How fucking unprofessional. Sexist, predatory twat. Fuck off.

“Okay,” Megan said. “I’ll go with him… What’s your name by the way?”

“It’s [I know his name]” he replied.

Gonna report the fuck out of you tomorrow, fucking knobhead.

Back in the taxi, driving down the motorway, heading North.

“I can’t believe it,” Megan says. “I lost my fucking cigarettes in all the confusion. Could we stop at a station so I can get a pack?”

“No, child. We not stop,” STD said. “I have plenty. We can smoke in car. It will relax you, loosen you up.”

Megan took a cigarette, lighted it and inhaled as fast as she could.

Worst end of a night ever.

“Why so dressed up?” STD said. “Did you just finish school?”

“I went to a concert. Everyone dressed like this.”

“Everyone? How exciting,” he said, rubbing his free hand against his left thigh.

“What’s your name anyway?” Megan asked.

I should make a fucking tally of every fucked up bastard I meet tonight.

“It’s [I know his name too],” STD said.

“You got any kids at all? Tell me more about you,” Megan said.

Here comes his whole life story: where he lives, how many children, his wife etc. Megan found out almost everything – making a record of it all.

“I see you as a daughter, you see?” STD said. “I have all sons, so seeing you in all your school outfit, makes me think of me as your father. You can call me father if you like.”

Would. I. Fuck.

“No, thanks,” Megan said. “I already have a dad.”

“This,” he said, touching her blouse with his left hand. “This is very see-through. What have you got on underneath? You can tell me, I’m your father.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Look, I’m doing huge favour for you, getting you home safe. I’m a friend to you. You show me. There is no-one on the roads, no-one else will see.”

Megan looked around, there really was no-one else around. No-one to save her.

She carefully pulled back part of her blouse revealing a black-sequined push-up bra.

Really wish I wore my T-shirt bra instead…

He hooked his fingers around the cup of the bra and pulled it back so that her pierced nipple was on display.

Megan moved away and forced out a giggle, “Don’t do that, I’m very shy.”

What do I do?

“You’re a very naughty girl with those piercings,” STD said. “Are you impure?”

“Not at all!” Megan replied. “In fact, I have arranged to stay pure until marriage. I’m a Christian through’n’through. See my ring?”

She showed him her left hand which, luckily, had a large amethyst ring on the wedding-finger.

“We’re getting married next June, I’m so excited,” she said. “That’s actually who I’m meeting now. He’s waiting for me to come home, I text him before I got in your cab.”


“We may be a little late, traffic is bad.”

Again, there was zero traffic to be seen.

“I can’t text him now,” Megan said, channelling her inner Bree Van De Kamp (Desperate Housewives). “It would be so rude since I am in company.”

I knew I should have brought a portable charger.

“You want to see mine?” STD said. “You showed me yours. I’m a fair man. You can touch it if you like, I won’t tell the husband.”

“No,” Megan said with a shaky voice.

He clocked this immediately and used it to his advantage. “You show me yours – now.”

It was an order.

Megan pulled down her skirt and pants slightly. He reached out his hand and felt down, trying to claw his way inside.

Not happening.

Think – What would Bree do?

“Enough of that,” she said. “But: I am engaged so NO MORE.”

“You are disgusting,” he said. “Why do you not shave?”

“Excuse me, I wax. My next appointment is Monday.”

“I like my girls shaven,” STD said. “My daughter would be clean. Anyway, I’ll show you mine now. Only fair.”

Megan noticed a sign for [home town], 10 miles away. She could recognise the road.

Then a sign for a service station.

“Could we make a quick stop?” she said. “I really need a wee and I can’t hold it.”

“You can hold it,” STD said.

“Nope. I’m embarrassed to say – but I think I’m going to wee in your taxi, I can feel it coming in the next few minutes.”

“Okay. We stop.”

He pulled over in a lay-by, under a fucking bridge, dark as hell.


He leaned over to grab her, but she unbuckled her seatbelt quickly and grabbed her coat. She was wearing a bumbag. She had never been more thankful to have her possessions strapped to her in such an old-fashioned and disgusting purse.

“No,” STD shouted. “You keep your things here with me.”

“I’m so cold though!” Megan shouted back.

Someone will drive by soon and I can flag them down.

“Piss in front of me, like a good daughter.”

“I’m shy!”

Fucking leave me alone.

She pulled down her pants and squatted, waiting for anyone to drive by. No-one did. Megan was so nervous that she pissed all over her shoes and began to cry. She looked at the smudged phone number on her arm and juicy tears shed over her wet shoes.

“You been five minutes. Get back in right now, you bad girl.”

There was nowhere to run, no-one to flag down.

Then it hit her: I can see his number-plate. I can see it. That’s why he wanted to keep me close to the car. Okay, remember [XXXX-XXX]… [XXXX-XXX]

[XXXX-XXX] (I know it)

“Get back NOW,” STD shouted.

Megan climbed back into the taxi and turned up the radio.

“I love this song,” Megan said. “I’m just gonna sing all the way home!”

She unzipped her bumbag as STD drove off, and grabbed her lip stain. She sang at the top of her lungs for distraction, and wrote down [XXXX-XXX]. He didn’t notice. Fantastic.

Okay, stage one is on, give it a sec to dry… and then stage two (to colour-lock).

Megan pretended to apply the lip stain in the side mirror of the car, then pulled out the stage -two. She continued to sing along to the Pitbull song playing.

One minute my arse. This is taking a lifetime to dry.

Ready: She smeared the stage-two over her arm swifty and then on her lips.

Look on the bright side. A least when you talk to the police, your lippy will be perfect…

“Enough singing, child,” STD said, turning off the radio. “I like blowjobs. Do you like blowjobs. Very sexy. Sexy girl. I can pull your hair. You’ll like it, new girl to this. I’ll help.”

He unbuckled his trousers with his left hand, whilst his right hand remained steady on the stirring wheel.

“I don’t want –“

Too late. He forced her face down to his crotch and thrusted his hips. She could smell the disgustingly-familiar smell of ball-sack. And the tip of his dick slotted into the crest of her mouth.

Men are revolting.

“Oh-no,” Megan said, whimpering, with him pulling aggressively on her pigtails. “I’m going to be sick all over your dick.”

He pushed her back up and she feigned gagging with her head in between her legs, smelling her own piss from her shoes.

“You’re a bad daughter,” STD said. “You do not please your father. Wait…” he grabbed her arm and inspected the symbols. “This is my number. I don’t like that. Rub it off. RIGHT NOW.”

Fuck you. It’s Max Factor lip-stain. This shit is on FOR LIFE.

Megan massaged the message with her right hand, but it was no use. The second-stage had it locked and loaded.

“Get lipstick,” he insisted. “Scratch it out.”

Megan pulled stage-one from her bag and made two large crosses through the centre. He forced her hand to scribble the whole thing out.

Sign to [home town]: one mile.

I can’t tell him my real home address, it’s a quiet street and I don’t have my keys on me, I’d have no escape.

“Where is your house?” STD said, trousers still open. His trouser-snake eying her from over the top.

Fuck. I only know a handful of addresses off by heart. My house is a no-go, my Dad’s is the same, and my grandparents… please… My work! But that shut hours ago… My old work: a nightclub. Busy, full of people, open ‘til late…

Megan gave STD the address of the busiest club in town. She had friends who worked there, friends who go there, and people who care about her.

He entered it into his Sat-Nav.

Almost there…

He started to rub his cock with his left hand, making it hard and ready.

He was going to rape her.

“Wait,” STD said, cock on full display. “This is not your house.”

It’s a one-way street, so he had no choice but to drive past at least.

“I live above it. It’s so noisy!” Megan said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

He began to drive faster.

Megan open the door of the taxi and jumped out whilst it was still moving. She ran straight into the arms of her friend and doorman.

STD shrieked his car to a stand-still, got out and walked towards Megan and doorman.

“She was sad,” STD said. “I tried to get her home safe, she’s not home. I’ll take her the whole way.”

I fucking bet you would.

“She’s safe with me,” Doorman said. “Thanks for taking care of her. I’ll make sure she gets back from here.”

Megan avoided STD’s gaze. He had no choice but to get back into his shitty car and drive away.

“Are you alright?” doorman asked. He had kind eyes and a soft voice.

“I need a pen,” Megan said and rushed to the guy on the door, re-scrawling the number-plate onto her hand. Not as if she’d forget. It’s ingrained in her memory for life now. She licked her right hand and spread the saliva across her left arm. The top layer fell off like putty, the stage-twoed number plate remained.

Got you.

“What’s that?” Doorman asked. “The plate of that [make, model and colour of the car]?”

Megan made sure to write that down as well.

“Meg,” the bar manager said. “You look pretty fucking shaken, here’s a drink on us.”

This place is my fucking home.



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