Year 28
Page 22
The broken-hearted part of me, which is to say all of me, basks in the attention he’s giving me. The flirtation is definitely helping to put the pain on mute. “Come on,” he says lightly tapping the top of my hand that is still resting on the gear shifter. I war with myself for a moment and peek at the time on my dash. “I have to be home by eleven thirty so don’t let me get in trouble,” I warn smiling.
“You got it,” he nods, hopping out of my car. Josh rounds to my side and opens my door.
Like Sylas, a voice whispers. I stomp it down and follow Josh into the small house he and his mom are renting. “So, uh, it’s just you and your mom, huh?” I ask looking at a spread of picture frames on top of a worn console in their living room. The place is small and shabby but it’s more in a homey way instead of the trashy way.
“Yep, just me and my mom. I’m taking classes at the community college and working at the store. My mom is a front desk manager at the Palmetto Inn and Suites.” He shrugs. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.” He motions his head to follow and I do. He shows me his room and the single bathroom, then his mother’s room. I watch as he goes to a cabinet in the corner of her bedroom. Josh turns to me and puts his finger over his lips making a shushing sound while grinning. I smile back but frown at him.
“What’re you doing?” I ask leaning to see what he’s doing. I watch Josh produce a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. He drains his glass of juice and fills it to the brim with the dark-golden liquid. I recognize the brand because it’s the same one Daddy drinks.
“Want some?” he offers but I shake my head vigorously. “No thanks. I don’t—can’t drink. I’m driving anyway,” I shrug trying to play it cool. Josh tilts his head, motioning for me to follow him and I do. I follow him into what is obviously his bedroom. The space is small and minimally furnished but it’s clean and organized. His backpack is on the floor at the foot of his full size bed. He has a TV atop his dresser. There are a few posters pinned to his wall, mostly bands I don’t listen to but know of. A skateboard covered in stickers is leaning in the corner. I turn in a circle checking out his bedroom then turn back to see him sipping his drink, staring at me.
“I like your room,” I say nervously, tucking my hair behind my ears.
“Yeah well I like you,” he says prowling toward me. “I’ve been dying to kiss you since I first saw you.” Josh slips both arms around my waist and tugs me to him. Momentarily Sylas is out of my mind completely. Josh’s attention is suddenly very appealing. His lips cover mine and the taste of him and alcohol floods my mouth as his tongue slips against mine. He breaks away for only a second; whipping his shift over his head then coming right back for me with determination.
“Josh,” I whisper against his mouth. I try the name on and immediately hate that I don’t like it as much as I like Sy’s name on my lips. He’s moving so fast. Sy didn’t get this far for months. Any girl in her right mind would love to be where I am right now with his mouth on mine, his tanned chest bare, his hands up my shirt, working my flesh in his palms. He growls in my mouth and presses his hips forward, grinding his erection into my belly. Nervous butterflies flock around in my stomach like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
“Want you so bad,” he mumbles against my lips and it emboldens me. “Stay with me darlin’,” he says herding our tangle of lips and limbs toward his bed.
“I—I, mmm,” I stutter and moan when his hips grind against mine once more. I don’t give him an answer but I allow him to lie me down and climb above me. Our legs scissor together and I realize that I have never laid with anyone else like this. Right away I kiss him deeper and clutch at him, hoping that this rebound—or whatever this is—with Josh will chase away the hurt. Blasting right through first and second base is definitely not something I’d even consider normally but Josh is proving to be an excellent distraction and I am desperate to forget. Sy and Brooklyn are probably hooking up right this minute. Josh flicks the button of my jeans and rolls the zipper down. Before I can think about how slutty I am being right now, I lift my butt and he drags my jeans and panties down my legs. He licks his lips then leans forward again, tugging my work polo over my head, which is quickly followed by my boring white cotton bra. His mouth lands back on mine heavily, our teeth clicking with contact. His tongue still tastes of the whiskey he’d stolen from his mom’s stash and I’m not wild about it, but it’s not terrible either, just different. Of course everything about him is different to me.
He’s not Sy.
My subconscious scolds me as though I’m about to cheat on the only person I’ve ever been in love with. But that’s bullshit and unfair. I bet Brooklyn has already thoroughly enjoyed Sylas by now. The bitch would strip naked and seduce him without a second thought. My awareness snaps back to Josh just as he tugs his jeans open and shoves them down his thighs but doesn’t bother to take them off completely.
Am I doing this?
His middle finger slips into my heat and curls forward. A devilish smile spreads over his lips and his eyelids grow heavier with lust and alcohol. He’s hot and god his fingers feel amazing. Feels so much better than the hurt in my chest. I screw my eyes shut and roll my hips forward meeting every plunge of his finger into my body.
“That’s it darlin’,” he coos in his raspy voice. His finger slips out and my eyes lazily open to spot him reaching for his nightstand. He gulps the whiskey in one shot, which seems like way too much for any one person, but I wouldn’t really know a thing about it. He tugs the drawer open and fumbles with the contents for a moment then produces a condom.
I’m doing this. To hell with Brooklyn and Sy. They can have each other.
Josh rips the foil open and covers his length like he’s had plenty of practice and that makes me feel a little dirty but who am I to judge? I’m about to have sex with a guy I don’t even really know and quite frankly he’s handsome and older than me so of course he’s had his fair share of girls. Josh leans forward roughly working his lips over my nipples one and then the other. I squirm against him, seeking contact. His lips seal around one nipple and he sucks hard then abruptly releases it with a wet pop. The scent of whiskey on his breath is stronger than it was before and I hate that it’s distracting me. I reach for him wanting sex to make me forget the whiskey and the guy that has me all out of sorts. Josh angles his hips between my legs and without a second guess, enters me with one rough thrust. I shiver against his invasion. He rocks forward, driving into me fully then immediately pulls back to drive forward again. Sylas doesn’t do it this way. He’s never this rough. Always tender. I peek up at him and see his eyes nearly black with dilated pupils; his breath is heavy and humid with whiskey. He huffs with effort as he takes my body and it all feels so terribly wrong. He isn’t Sylas and suddenly I feel so stupid for letting Josh replace Sylas in this way. I don’t want my memories of Sylas against my body glazed over by a sweaty stranger who has had too much to drink.
“Josh,” I whisper but lost in his efforts and probably a serious buzz he hasn’t heard me. “Josh,” I repeat louder this time with my palms lightly pressed against his chest. To my shock he still doesn’t acknowledge me. “Josh, I can’t. Stop,” I say loud and clear clutching his shoulders firmly. Sweat beads on his brow as he drives on, invading my body with his. Disbelief makes room in my head for stunned realization. He had to have heard me but he’s choosing to ignore me. My eyes widen until they begin to water. I shove against his chest and try to draw my body away from him but his weight only seems to increase. “Stop it,” I screech, slapping at his chest, panic and shock causing adrenaline to fill my veins. The sweat on his forehead gathers into droplets and the splatter down on my face, making me grimace. It hurts now and true fear is cresting over me. “Josh, please, stop,” I plead using all I have to push him off me but again his black eyes and determined focus is unwavering. I begin thrashing beneath him but that was a mistake because he immediately flattens his weight against me and all air leaves my chest under his much larger bo
dy. He grips both my wrists in his much bigger hands and pins them above my head. His waist pins me down further while his thighs widen, forcing my much shorter legs impossibly far apart. My hips ache and cramp. “Stop,” I wheeze, still fighting to undo this but the more I fight the heavier he seems and my vision is already splotchy and white at the edges. I’m going to pass out if I keep fighting like this.
Stop, a voice inside whispers, calm but commanding. Am I hallucinating god’s voice? I must be because the god I was raised to love and respect wouldn't resign me to this fate. No, god is definitely not with me tonight.
He carries on raping me with vacant eyes and determined jamming movement of his hips. My mind floats away, maybe in shock, or maybe I’m oxygen deprived, maybe both. As Josh’s rancid sweat and criminality rains down on me one drop at a time, as his boney breast bone rubs a terrible bruise on my chest, as his body tears at mine making my flesh burn in protest, tears leak out of my eyes for the boy I called my best friend. They trail one by one, marching forward for the young man I fell for and ultimately walked away from. I did this. I left Sy, and I walked right into this vile monster’s arms tonight. Perhaps this is what I deserve.
Minute by minute drags by under this abuse and with my mind somewhere else I can’t exactly say but awareness returns when I feel the twitching man on top of me slow then halt completely just to collapse deeper into me. Breathing gets even more difficult but I find myself pushing at his torso. With his exhausted state and his pleasure attained at my defiled body’s expense he doesn’t fight me. He simply rolls, his body exiting mine as suddenly as it had entered, his limbs lolling weakly. “Darlin’,” he mumbles then sighs, sending more of that wretched scent of whiskey my way. I wince in pain and absently wonder if I’m going to need medical attention. I stand up on weak, shaking legs and back away from him numbly, in total disbelief that I’ve just been raped. The sudden upright position and renewed oxygen supply makes me dizzy. I teeter on my feet for a moment then gather myself enough to make my escape. His eyes shut as though I am not even here with him. I’m not sure if he would rape me again if he woke, and I was still here but I won’t stick around to find out.
It wasn’t the violent sort of thing you think of when they warn girls about rape. They tell us to keep a look out for guys lurking in shadows, to always watch your drinks at parties, but this is a guy living down the road, a coworker with a pretty smile and a nice tan. No one said shit about this brand of bad guy. This was consensual until it wasn’t. I wobble when I lean down to scoop up my clothes. I’m lightheaded and mentally reeling. I dress as quickly as I can, constantly looking at the snoring, naked guy whose flaccid dick is now lying against his lower stomach all traces of it being used as a weapon gone along with its erect state. I notice the thin material of the condom looks weird now with his dick shriveled up. The sight causes nausea to consume me, leaving a bitter, tingling sensation in the back of my throat. I’m going to be sick. Without wasting another moment, I rush to my car, double over by the driver’s side door and heave for several minutes. The shaking in my hands is growing exponentially with every step toward realization I take. The events of the entire evening tumble through my brain, bumping around drunkenly because none of it makes sense. Nothing adds up. I never should have been here. I never should have been in this house with that guy. I never would have. If things were the way they were supposed to be I likely would have been safe with Sy tonight, probably watching some movie we’ve seen a hundred times while he steals gentle touches and sweet kisses. This night… this is just as much his fault as it is mine.
I’ll never forgive either of us.
Chapter 26
Raegan
“The condom looked odd because it had actually broken. The roughness I think…” I trail off swallowing down the sudden taste of bile. “I went to get an abortion on my eighteenth birthday,” I confess on a whisper, my eyes fixed on the horizon.
“My god, Rae,” Momma breathes. I glance at her to see her face is paler, her eyes wide.
“I went back to the clinic on my birthday where they confirmed the pregnancy. I didn’t want to. I hated it how torn I was. I planned to use my birthday money,” I hiccup as tears pool in my eyes. “When I got there, the nurse took me back and helped get me ready. I was a wreck. When they did the ultrasound before—the rest, they found that there was no heartbeat,” I rush out then blow out a breath of air forcefully.
“The baby knew I didn’t want it. It knew I couldn’t—wouldn’t… and it died. I wished it and it died.” I shake and cry violently as though a dam has broken. Momma wraps her arms around me and we sob together. For the girl I was that had to make very grownup decisions after being brutalized. We cry for the woman that I became whose solution to her own haunted mind is to push the world away. For Sylas, who has no idea and whose only mistake in life was to love me in the first place.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Momma sniffles but squares her shoulders with a determined expression. “You’re gonna listen to me now, you hear?” Unable to speak I only nod.
“You did nothing wrong. Nothing. Miscarriages happen every day to women everywhere and you have no say so in it. You can’t stop it and you certainly can’t wish it into reality. You did nothing wrong!” she insists forcefully, shaking my shoulders slightly. “You hear me?” I merely nod my head and work at catching my breath.
“I know you said you believed god wasn’t with you that night but I know in my heart he was with you in the end. God took that struggle—the weight of that decision from you.”
I had never thought about it that way. I prayed and spoke to god during those weeks that I privately wrestled with making the choice to terminate my pregnancy. Then, I went to have it done, and I felt as though I was being brutalized all over again, not physically but mentally, emotionally. I was being raped all over again. I was put in an impossible position, wondering how much ownership I needed to claim in all of it. I had gone willingly to Josh’s house hadn’t I? I had decided to keep my rape secret, which prevented medical intervention that would have prevented pregnancy, didn’t I? I plotted and planned and lied and waited for birthday money to kill my child, hadn’t I? I had made the appointment and had showed up for it, hadn’t I? In my mind I had more ownership over my circumstance than I ever wanted to acknowledge but did, nonetheless.
Then, the baby was just… gone in the same way it had come. Without my knowledge or consent. And still, I felt as though I had lost. No matter how events transpired, or how it all shook out in the end, I stood to lose. And I did. Feeling abandoned by the sense of peace my faith normally brought me, I pushed god and spirituality out of my mind until I saw Sylas in the hospital after he’d been injured overseas. Then… I’d begged, pleaded, bargained.
God, save him and keep him.
And he did.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Momma insists once more, but it’s a gentle whisper.
“Yeah,” I nod sadly and take a deep cleansing breath. While I hate seeing Momma so upset by my confession about what happened to me, I revel in the feeling of relief sweeping over me. A weight has been lifted. Rape is the hardest kind of thing to confess—to talk about mostly because your mind splits into several pieces. One part refuses to believe it. One part acknowledges it like you’d acknowledge a car accident. You see it but you don’t linger around to stare at the wreckage. One part of you finds culpability everywhere including in yourself even when you know blame can’t be doled out like a losing hand of poker. Another part just denies it all, content to swim in a sea of out of sight out of mind.
It’s difficult to reconcile all these facets long enough to muster up the courage it takes to confess what has happened and to actually go through with it. Nonetheless I am glad I told her about my rape and the pregnancy that came as a result. My mother is an ally. She is an advocate. She is a warrior in her own right. She is a woman. She gets me. She gets it.
“And Sylas? Is this why you won’t give him a fair shake?”
“Guilt,” she whispers looking back out across the painted sky.
“Yes and Sy has a soft spot for children. I’m afraid if he knew what I was prepared to do how would he view me? I don’t think I want to know,” I snort humorlessly.
“And anyway it isn’t just that it’s also the fact that my career is toxic to his non-profit. He would lose donors simply for being connected to me. He already has. I won’t sink his charity work. It’s a good thing he does, and it’s the only thing that he finds therapeutic in terms of managing his own PTSD. I won’t ruin it for him,” I say resolutely.
“Is he worth giving up your career? Maybe you decide to do something else,” she suggest lifting her shoulders.
“Momma even if I quit my job right here and now and ran off into the sunset with Sylas—if he’d even still want me,” I pause shaking my head. “My enemies would happily follow me. They’d still drag my name through the dirt. They’d still find a way to punish me and my soft spot is Sylas. They’d sniff him out like wolves after fresh meat.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’m catching a flight back tomorrow and I’ll get back to my life.” I shrug.
“You’re a grown woman and I hate to tell you what to do like you’re still a little girl but young lady you need to get your tail to a professional to start working through some things. Once you have a better handle on things, then you can decide what to do about Sylas. Don’t give up.”