The Wicked Truth

by Pru Schuyler

  “Come on. Stop fighting this, Stels. You know you want this just as bad as I do.” His ice-cold eyes bored into me.

  He smashed his lips back against mine. But I pulled away instantly.

  “Austin, please. It’s cold out.” I faked a smile, praying it hit my eyes. Flirt your way out of this, Stella. “I’d rather be in bed with you for this.” I winked, but he didn’t flinch or respond. Fear began to beat through my chest.

  I mean, he wouldn’t actually try anything, right? For God’s sake, he was my boyfriend.

  He pulled my wrists down into his chest, and my heart was starting to pound out of control.

  “Stels, come on. I’m trying to be nice. I just want some stupid sex. It’s not too much to ask. You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. And it’s not like we haven’t before.”

  I didn’t owe him shit. “Austin, you’re the one who fucked up. I want to give us another chance. Why can’t we just do practically everything else, except sex? I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  He ran his fingers down my hairline. “Oh, Stels. Baby, I just want to feel you—that’s all. Okay, fine. We can skip sex tonight, but tomorrow, your body is all mine.” His sharp, cold voice pierced me to the core.

  Pushing my best faux smile on my lips, I responded, “Okay, deal.”

  I leaned, trying to get out of his lap, but he hooked his fingers around my hips, yanking me back down.

  He leaned in, planting his lips against my ear. “Where do you think you’re going, Stels? Like you said, there’s still other stuff for us to do.”

  I mean, he did agree to no sex. So, no harm, no foul?

  His kisses began trailing down my neck before finding one of the ultra-sensitive peaks on my chest. Any doubts I’d had before got burned away by the flames coursing through my body.

  His hands explored me, and I could feel his enjoyment growing beneath me.

  Pulling back, he whispered, “Please say yes. I don’t know if I can even go twenty-four hours without fucking you, Stels. You’re just too hot.”

  Ugh.

  His fingers followed the trail his tongue had, really pushing me to give in.

  “I can see you want to. Come on, baby, pleeeease.” He dragged his words out and gave me those damn puppy-dog eyes. He sucked his lip in his teeth.

  I mean, we’ve already had sex, right? So, it’s really not a big deal. Let’s just get this over with, so he stops asking.

  “Okay, fine. Do you have a condom?”

  He reached around me, opening the glove box. A shiny silver box was tucked under the manual.

  “Always do,” he replied.

  He lifted me up, so I could wiggle my pants down. Scooting out of his own pants, he tore the foil wrapper, unraveling the condom.

  “Thank God,” he grumbled.

  As I began lowering back down to him, I got hit with this feeling I couldn’t quite decipher. But suddenly, my body was screaming for me to stop, to wait. To just give myself a second. “Austin, w-wait.”

  He sighed and threw his head back against the seat. “Seriously, Stella? Goddammit. What now?”

  The innate feeling in my chest was growing with every second, begging me to get out of this car. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tonight. I thought I could, but I just can’t, Austin. We need some time before we have sex again. I’m sorry. I think I’m gonna head home.”

  He just sat there, unresponsive, eyes locked dead on mine. When he opened his mouth, his voice was crystal clear. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I was patient the first time. You’re my girlfriend. I can have sex with you, and I already have the damn condom on.”

  Everything happened so fast. Yet at the same time, everything froze, like my mind was committing every single millisecond to memory. He slammed me down onto him. Excruciating pain erupted between my legs.

  It took me a second to even process what he had just done. But he thrust again, and everything clicked into place.

  I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.

  “Austin, stop! No!” I screamed, but my words sounded a world away.

  He didn’t say anything. He just kept moving beneath me, the pain building and worsening.

  I need to get out of here. I need to run.

  I reached over to grabbed the handle, and it hit me.

  This door didn’t open from the inside. My blood went cold.

  “Austin, I said, no! Stop! Please!” My voice cracked.

  No response.

  I pulled my hand back and swung it as hard as I could at his face. He said nothing. I repeated it once more, and he finally looked at me. But he didn’t say a word. He just smashed my wrists together and wrapped his one hand around them.

  Shit. Think, think, think!

  He was strong; he was too strong. The lump in my throat grew. If I hadn’t spilled my clutch, I would never have come out to his car.

  My eyes burned as tears began to stream down my face. The pain was overwhelming, consuming me.

  “Au-Austin, please don’t do this. Please. I won’t tell anyone what happened. This isn’t right. Please! AUSTIN, PLEASE!” My voice rose as he continued to thrash into me.

  I reared back and threw my head against his. His hold slipped. I would not go out without a fight. The tears continued to flood my cheeks while I rammed my head into his again, causing him to drop my wrists. His hands flew to his face.

  I wasted no time. I threw myself to the other seat and fumbled to grab the door handle, but he wrapped his hand around my bare thigh, squeezing so hard that it felt like my skin was going to burst.

  I dropped my hand from the door handle and twisted around to face him.

  His nasty voice cut through the screams. The screams I hadn’t even known were coming out of me. “Stop fighting, Stels. Stop fighting. It’s getting annoying.”

  I reared my hands back and hit him, repeatedly slapping his face as hard as I could. His cold laugh filled my ears.

  “STOP, AUSTIN. STOP.” I turned my slaps into fists and slammed them into any part of him I could hit.

  No fear. Show him no fear, Stella.

  I tried to stop the tears, but there was no use. They continued to flow down my face.

  Austin’s hands lifted as he growled, “Stop hitting me! Just stop fighting, Stels. I’m almost done.”

  He drew his left hand across his body, past his shoulder, and crashed it hard on my cheek, his championship hockey ring drawing blood. I whimpered, but I didn’t stop fighting. I wouldn’t. He couldn’t make me stop.

  My hands struck hard into his chest again and again. I pulled it back for my next strike. This time, I aimed right for his nose. As my left hand connected, I felt the bones crunch, and a burning heat spread through my fingers. Red gushed from his nose, splashing down on me. I broke his nose.

  Yes! I broke his nose!

  The victory was short lived.

  He raised his right hand into a fist. The last thing I saw was the dark, twisted smile that spread across his lips. And then my world went black.

  When I came to, I was cold and wet. My body, my mind, the ground beneath me. I sat up and took in my surroundings, confused and dazed.

  Everything flooded in at once, overloading my senses. I slammed my eyelids together.

  Austin.

  Oh God, Austin.

  The pain finally registered. The pain between my legs, the pain in my head, on my face, on my soul. I slowly lifted my hand to my cheek and winced when my finger touched the deep gash from his ring. I reopened my eyes and saw a big slide and monkey bars.

  I was at a park. It was the one right by my house, two blocks exactly.

  He dropped me in the grass two blocks from my damn house.

  Tires screeching filled my ears. My mind and body came together, and I jumped into flight mode. I flew upward, and the world tilted a little. The agony between my legs was begging and pleading with me to stop. But my mind wouldn’t give in. I needed to get home.

  I took off running, running as fast as I
could. Rain soaked through to my skin. But it didn’t wash away. He wouldn’t wash off of me.

  My feet pounded the ground. My mind felt numb. Yet my body could still feel his hands. I could still feel them smothering me, choking me.

  The streets were black; small lampposts were my only light. Even the stars were hiding tonight.

  SEVENTEEN

  My entire body and soul are tired when I wake up the next morning, crushed by the night.

  I shut my phone off after my big panic attack. I had never passed out from one before, but I did last night. I needed to disconnect.

  I don’t know if Cade texted or called yet. A part of me doesn’t want to know. But I need to know. I roll over and grab my phone, holding the power button. It lights up after a few seconds, and the notifications start rolling in.

  Eleven texts. Four voice mails.

  All from Cade.

  I click the texts first.

  Cade: Hey, what’s going on?

  Cade: Are you okay?

  Cade: Stels, please just talk to me. Brooke isn’t telling me anything.

  Cade: Are you okay? Why won’t you talk to me? I need to see you. Please, Stels.

  Cade: I came over, but your mom wouldn’t let me come see you.

  She found me after my panic attack. She helped me calm down and stayed with me until I fell asleep. After a thousand questions, I told her that Cade and I broke up. She let it go after that. And I told her I didn’t want to see anyone.

  Cade: What’s going on?

  Cade: Stella, please answer the phone.

  Cade: Brooke just told me.

  Cade: You stole her journal months ago, multiple times? Why? None of this is making any sense! Please talk to me!

  Cade: Stella, did you break into our house? When? What the hell is going on?

  Cade: Please just tell me what’s going on.

  Two hours pass before he sends his next text.

  Cade: Fine, you don’t want to talk to me. Then, I won’t talk either.

  Tears stream down my face, burning trails as they fall. Every text cuts deeper and deeper, the knife twisting in. I click the voice mails next.

  “Stella, baby, what’s going on? Brooke just came back, pissed off and crying. What happened? Please tell me you’re okay.”

  I click to the next voicemail, every muscle in my body is tense, hanging on his every word.

  “Hey, I’m at your house right now. I’m going to wait outside until you let me in. Stella, please just talk to me.”

  The next one is agonizing to listen to. His voice broke the entire time, like he had been crying.

  “Stella, please just talk to me. I don’t want to walk away right now. I can’t lose you.”

  The tone of his voice in the next voice mail is cold and mechanical. He was pissed. This is the moment I lost him.

  “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, fine. I’m done trying. Just, ugh, why? I don’t fucking get it! Did what we had mean nothing to you?”

  I drop the phone in my lap, frozen, my fingers bleeding from squeezing my new necklace. That’s it. I’ve lost the only other person I had left. Why did I ever take that journal in the first place?

  Because you wanted to help her.

  That’s right. All I wanted to do was help her. I wanted to get her the truth about what had happened to her. She deserves that. She deserves to know who raped her in her own goddamn house!

  Something clicks into place in my mind. The sadness dissipates, leaving an ache so deep that it cuts to my soul. But I can move with it. Determination and fire flood my veins, and I know what I need to do.

  Once and for all, I need to find Brooke’s rapist and expose him for who he really is. It is the only way they might forgive me. I need a plan, a trap, and the largest cup of coffee.

  A cold shiver rushes down my spine when I realize the only way to set a trap is with bait, and the only bait I have is me.

  I make a quick Target run. I pick up a video camera, lingerie, coffee, and a brown leather journal. When I passed the notebook section, I had no intention of going into it. But once I spotted the leather-bound journals, I thought maybe that was just what I needed right now. I need a friend to share this with.

  Leaving Target, I have a new drive and a mission, and I know exactly what I am going to do. I know exactly how I am going to take Callum Jones down.

  I get home and unload my haul into my bedroom. I tuck the lingerie into the corner of my closet and put the camera in my sock drawer.

  I then dig my laptop out and start my research. I need to know as much as I can about Callum. I start with his Facebook. Most of his pictures are of him and the football team. Often surrounded by cheerleaders or girls from the school.

  Gross.

  The further I scroll down, the more pictures of him and Becca appear on the screen. It looks like they were pretty serious. They even made it Facebook official.

  Oh, that’s right. Cade did say they had a past together.

  I never really knew they’d dated though.

  I click on his mom’s page, and the first post includes a picture of her and who I imagine is Callum’s dad on a cruise. Posted today.

  Perfect.

  His family is out of town. From what I can tell, he doesn’t have any siblings, which means he’ll be all alone.

  Next, I need to see if they posted their address by accident somewhere on the page. Lucky for me, his house is geotagged in one of his mom’s posts. I’ve got an address.

  Every piece of my plan is falling right in place. I just need to get ready and then set it in motion.

  I spend the next hour and a half curling my hair and doing my makeup. I make sure to do it a little darker than normal. I even add a deep red lipstick to complete the look.

  I change into the black lace lingerie and slide into a short slip dress Brooke left here a while back. I take off the necklace Cade gave me. Feeling naked, I set it on my dresser.

  After throwing sweats and a hoodie over everything, I grab my new video camera and head downstairs. Grabbing a bottle of alcohol from my mom’s stash, I zip my backpack up. I was just going to use my phone to record. But I didn’t want the film to get interrupted for some reason. So, we’re going old-fashioned.

  I type the address into my phone as I walk out to my car.

  Fifteen-minute drive. Damn, he lives across town.

  I start my car and back out of the driveway. Instinctively, I turn my head to the Carvers’ house, and the deep pain sets in. I’m doing this for them. I’m doing this for every person who might never know what really happened to them. For every girl or boy who suffered the same endless pain I did but never got to face their demon head-on.

  I follow the instructions that take me to Callum’s house. Hopefully, he’s there. I park in front of his house. The neighborhood is a lot smaller than mine. The houses are a little run-down with unmowed yards and damaged shingling. I thought Callum’s family had money, too, but apparently, only their online-selves do.

  I shrug off the sweatsuit and pull down my mirror. I smudge my makeup down my eyes and smear my lipstick slightly. I unpack the bottle of vodka I stole from my mom’s liquor cabinet. I take a swig, and it burns all the way down my throat.

  “This is for you, B,” I murmur to myself before I hop out of the car.

  I take a quick scan of the neighborhood and his house to check my surroundings. One deep breath later, and I make the short walk to his house. His red Chevy Charger is in the driveway. I walk up to the blue-paint-chipped door and ring the doorbell.

  Soft footsteps grow louder as someone makes their way to the door. There are no windows on it, so they have to open it to see who it is. The door swings open, and Callum stands in black sweats and a gray shirt. His brow immediately furrows.

  “What are you doing here?” he barks at me.

  Okay, Callum, let’s do this.

  The camcorder is already rolling in my purse. All I really need is the audio anyway. It’s next to the pepper spra
y—my only escape. Honestly, this plan isn’t the most thought-out, but it’s all I’ve got.

  I droop my eyelids and wave the bottle of vodka in his face. “I-came-to-see-you.” I let it all come out in one slur.

  He steps outside and looks around, but no one else is in sight. He sighs. “Come in.”

  He steps aside. I stumble my way into his living room. The furniture is a little worn, and the kitchen is full of dishes. They definitely don’t live the life they advertise.

  He takes a seat on the recliner. “You can sit there.” He gestures to the couch across from him, I stagger over and sit down. “Where’s Carver?”

  My heart strains at the mention of Cade. “Not here.” I put on my best come here eyes.

  “How did you find my house? No one knows where I live,” he says, sadness in his eyes, maybe embarrassment.

  Why would he be embarrassed though? He lives in a decent house and must have food and water. And he’s always dressed in nice clothes.

  “Your mom’s Facebook.” I continue to slur my words.

  I stand up and walk over to him, swaying my hips. He sits up straight, uncomfortable. This is not how I was expecting this to go at all.

  I stop right in front of him and lean down, putting my hands on either side of the couch by his head, framing him in. I throw my leg up, trying to straddle him. But he scoots out of the way, and I fall into the soft cushions.

  “Stella, you’re clearly wasted. I’m giving you a ride home,” Callum says factually as he walks to the kitchen.

  An old, worn woman’s voice calls from a room down the hall, “Cal, who’s here?”

  “Just a friend, Gran. I’m going to give her a ride. I’ll be right back.”

  “Let me meet her,” she calls from her room.

  “Your grandma lives with you?” The question slips out, unslurred.

  He tilts his head, noticing. “Yes, and I’d prefer if you kept that to yourself.”

  “Of course,” I clearly state.

  “Cal, you’d better bring that young lady in here, or I will jump out of this bed!” she threatens.