“Fine,” I blushed. “Rocking party.”
“It’s a little loud.” He wrinkled his nose in the direction of the stereo. “I don’t really like parties. Want to go someplace a little quieter?”
Is Madonna a crack-ho? I thought stupidly nodding my head.
Rodger took my hand and practically dragged me toward the stairs. For some reason, I never thought this was strange or out of character. I was Cinderella being granted her chance; no longer the dumpy housemaid I was someone special, someone worthy of the hottest guy in school and the most promising quarterback Mora High School had seen in decades.
God, how I was wrong. Present me wanted to tell past me to turn around and run away now; save myself all the pain and heartbreak.
With my hand still in his, Rodger barreled down the hallway and threw open a door at the end. “Come on in,” he said.
I followed him into the room, the bedroom, hesitating in the doorway. The realization that this was strange was starting to wiggle its way into my brain, rooting there after the seed of doubt had been planted.
“It’s okay,” he said. “No one’s gonna bother us up here.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at me with puppy dog eyes. “And it’s quiet too.”
He had a point. It was relatively in the room. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. Rodger patted the space next to him on the bed. I crossed the room and sat down next to him. “Want a drink?” he asked, leaning over and producing a bottle of Boones Farm Wine from under the bed.
“Um… sure, yeah, I guess so.”
Rodger unscrewed the lid and pressed the bottle to his lips, tipping it back and taking a long swallow. When he was done, he handed it to me. I pressed it to my lips and took a small sip. It burned on the way down; I fought the urge to vomit.
As soon as I handed the bottle back to Rodger, he set it down and turned toward me, angling his face, more appropriately his lips, toward mine. In my chest, my heart skipped a beat.
Yes, my subconscious cheered. Finally!
He kissed me, pushing his tongue sloppily into my mouth. I let him kiss me even though he was terrible at it and tried desperately to catch my breath.
Then the world turned upside down. Rodger pushed me back onto the bed, pinning me between his legs. He reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled on it, pulling it up. I grabbed the hem and pulled it back down, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Rodger,” I said. “Stop. I want to go.”
“No you don’t,” he retorted. “Quit playing hard to get, you know you want me.”
“Please,” I said. “I just want to go.”
To the left, a door – the bathroom door – opened and two guys came out, smug grins on their faces, a video camera in the hand of the taller boy. “Smile for the camera geek,” the taller of the two said. I recognized him from school. Tyler Crow and his little asshole sidekick, Arnold Ames
“Please,” I said again. “Just let me go.”
Rodger reared his arm back and struck me across the face. I gasped, my vision blurring as tears filled my eyes. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he sneered, his handsome face a contorted mask of rage and repressed anger.
I arched my back, kicking my legs here and there, trying desperately to get this boy off me. He reared back and slapped me again; the sting brought tears to my eyes and made me fight harder.
He glared at Tyler and Arnold. “You two dipshits want to hold her?”
Tyler dropped the camera, standing to the left of my head. He grabbed my arm and pinned it down, then lifted a leg and kneeled on my arm. The pain was instantaneous and Tyler laughed manically, pressing down harder once he saw he was hurting me. On the opposite side, Arnold did the same thing. Both had a wicked gleam in their eyes as they stared down at me. Rodger reached for the button on my jeans and unsnapped it.
“No, no, no,” I pleaded, feeling weak and helpless. I kicked my legs, aiming my feet at his crotch, missing completely, kicking empty air instead. I kept kicking; kicking and screaming for help.
He cocked his arm back, this time punching me in the stomach. I cried out as my breath was stolen from my lungs and my jeans were ripped from my body. I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I was anywhere but here, about to do something that wasn’t this.
When my breath returned, I struggled against Arnold’s and Tyler’s grip, kicked my legs in Rodger’s direction, each time I struggled one of them would hit me. I could feel the bruises already swelling under my skin.
Then the worst happened. With brutal hands that forced my legs apart, and forced intrusion burning the inside of me, I cried and pleaded, begging him to stop. As he shoved himself inside me, grunting and digging his fingers into my thighs, the door opened and I screamed, “Oh my god, help me!”
A girl’s disgusted sigh entered the room. “Fucking pig,” she spat. “I thought you loved me Rodger.”
“Help me, please,” I cried.
“Fuck you slut,” she hissed at me. “Sleep with my fucking boyfriend, see if I give a shit.”
“Get the fuck out Blair,” Rodger grunted.
Then the door slammed and I was alone with the three of them again. How could she just stand there and not help me? How could she think I wanted this?
“Please, stop,” I cried, cringing as a fist flew at my face.
I wondered if he would ever stop, if I would ever leave this room. But the attack didn’t stop. As Rodger finished, he pulled out, he reached down and slapped me. “You shouldn’t have fought,” he said, teeth gritted. “You should have done it the easy way, because now we’re really gonna fuck you up.
He stepped aside and traded places with Tyler. Tyler was more brutal. He shoved himself inside me, ripping my hips forward as he plowed himself deeper and deeper into me. As he raped me, Rodger knelt on my shoulder and jerked off over my face, spraying his fluids all over my eyes.
I wanted to throw up, scared and alone and violated. Then the attack continued as Tyler finished and Arnold took his place. Each assault was worse than the previous as they defiled my body with their act and their fists.
When the three of them were done, they threw me off the bed. I landed on the floor in a heap, struggling to make it to the door, the pain so intense I could barely think. As I crawled, I could hear them behind me then the first foot hit my ribs, breaking them. I collapsed onto the floor as the assault went on.
The door opened and I was dragged down the hallway. At the top of the stairs, someone pushed me and I tumbled down each step, landing in a bruised and bloody pile on the living room floor.
After that, everything became sort of blurry. I woke up in a hospital, a kind old doctor staring down at me as I came to. My eyelids fluttered and he smiled. “Welcome back,” he said gently. “I was beginning to think you’d checked out permanently.”
“Wh- where am I?” I tried to look around but everything hurt. I felt like I’d been hit by a Mack truck and lived to tell the tale.
The doctor smiled again and said, “You’re in the hospital dear. You had a terrible accident. This young man out there said you fell down a flight of stairs.”
I didn’t say anything. Fell down a flight of stairs my ass, I thought wishing I could look around for Curtis so that I could beat him as badly as I was for making me go to that stupid party in the first place.
“I need,” I said biting back the tears. “I need to take a shower, I feel dirty.”
“You’re going to have to wait,” the doctor said.
“No,” I said adamantly. “I need to take a shower now!”
“I’m going to give you a little something to calm you down,” he said and produced a needle with clear fluid in it from his pocket.
“No I don’t want that,” I said as he injected it into the IV bag.
The fog swirled around my head again, dragging me back under. I was unconscious for three days. When I finally came around again Dad was waiting for me. Tears filled his eyes as I blinked at him.
“I was so worried ab
out you,” he said rushing to the side of the bed.
I didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say, so I nodded and mouthed the words I’m sorry. The doctors kept me in the hospital for three more days before they finally let me go home.
When I got home, I spent a week in bed pretending I didn’t feel good and showering compulsively while Dad was at work. No matter what I did, I could feel their hands on my skin, touching me. Anytime I thought about it I threw up and showered. By the end of the second week, Curtis came around to find out why I hadn’t gone back to school yet.”
***
“What did you tell him?” Steve asks.
“The truth,” I reply. “He already knew. He overheard the three of them regaling the other football players with the details of that night. He apologized profusely, but there was nothing that could’ve been done. I blamed him, part of me still does. If we had just gone to the movies that night like we planned, none of it would have ever happened. But we went to the party because he wanted to.
“That was the last time I talked to Curtis Duggar. I dropped out of regular school, choosing to go at night. It was easier, there were no constant reminders, or whispers of what happened. Then at graduation I found out I was pregnant. If I told Dad I was pregnant, that also meant I had to tell him what really happened at the party. So I didn’t. I bumped into Curtis one day at the library and, in a moment of weakness, told him instead.
He told me about his brother who lived in San Francisco that wanted to adopt a baby. It was the perfect cover. I contacted his brother who was thrilled at the prospect of finally starting a family with his partner. I told Daddy that I was accepted to the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and that was the end of it.
I went to California, met with Curtis’s brother, and started the process of giving away my baby. On the day Clay, Curtis’s brother, and Ryan, his partner, were supposed to sign the paperwork, they never came. I sat in the lawyer’s office for over three hours waiting for them to show up. When the realization that they weren’t coming finally sank in, I hyperventilated in the lobby and passed out, taking an ambulance ride to the hospital.
After I was released from the hospital, scared and alone, I started looking for a job, a permanent place to live and I did the one thing I’d been putting off. I called the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and informed them that I would not be attending classes that fall.
“I haven’t played the violin since that day. I packed it up and buried in the back of my closet. Then when I married Kyle I put it in the attic and forgot about it.”
Steve sitting beside me, tears streaming down his face.
“Don’t cry,” I plead, “It’s… well, it is what it is.”
“No,” he croaks. “It’s more than that. You should never have had to go through something like that.”
Exhausted, I lay my head on Steve’s shoulder and close my eyes. “If you don’t mind I’d like to head home.”
“Okay. Do you want to stay here while I get the car?”
“No,” I say tiredly. “I’ll come with you. I don’t want to be alone.”
Out on the street the night is quiet. Silently we walk back to where Steve’s car was parked. I wonder what he is thinking about what I told him. It is a lot to dump on someone, especially when it was so new, but he has to know. He has to understand why I am prone to random freak outs and why I freeze up when strange men get close to me, or why I send longing looks in his direction then freak-out when he tries to kiss me.
“Sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”
“No,” Steve defensively shouts. “I’m glad you told me. I can understand you better now.”
Something about the tone of his voice sets off alarms in my head. “Steve, I’m not some enigma wrapped in a mystery. There’s nothing to figure out.”
He stops and turns toward me, his hands reaching out for my arms. “I know that. I just… well… I mean, I knew something happened after your birthday. I tried to kiss you and you totally tensed. I need to know what my boundaries are, what you’re okay with, and what you’re not okay with.”
“Just don’t –“
“Don’t what?” he interrupted.
“Don’t get any ideas, or do anything stupid. I’ve dealt with this and I don’t need saving. It is what it is and that’s all there is to it.”
“What would I do? What could I do?”
Try to find the sons of bitches and kill them, I thought. Like Kyle tried to do. Hence, reason number one for the divorce. He paid a private investigator to find Rodger, Tyler, and Arnold, then he supposedly paid said private investigator a boatload of money to “Get rid” of them.
When I told him that he was being irrational, he freaked out on me and told me that I was the irrational one for being too damn afraid of them to ever speak up about what happened. He was right, but that wasn’t the point. Wasn’t I supposed to be able to deal with this in my own way?
“Nothing,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Steve unlocked the car door and opened it, taking my hand as I climb inside. As I buckled the seat belt, he shut the door and crossed the front of the car climbing in behind the steering wheel. “I wish there was something I could say or do, something that would make all this just a little easier for you.”
“You can treat me like you always have, that would be the best thing you could do for me. I don’t tell people because they treat me with kid gloves and it irritates me.”
“I can do that,” he smiles. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road. “Is this okay?” he asks resting his hand on my knee.
“Mhmm,” I murmur sleepily. “That’s great.”
Chapter Six
Once upon a time, my life was pretty much perfect. Of course, it really wasn’t, but from the outside looking in, it was. Then one day everything that was right was made wrong. Very, very wrong. Kyle decided to hire a private investigator to track down Rodger, Tyler, and Arnold.
I didn’t find out until much later what his intensions were after he found them. When he finally told me that he planned to have them “taken care of,” I totally freaked. To me, anything he did to them would make him the same as them – one human violating another. It wasn’t something I could live with.
The first time he brought it up; we got into a huge fight about it.
“That is not the way you solve a problem, Kyle,” I said exasperatedly, my eyes darting to his in the mirror.
He ran his hands through his hair and turned toward the bathroom, taking a few steps before turning back around. “No, JoJo, burying your head in the sand is not the way you solve problems. You have the opportunity to do something good not only for yourself, but for others as well, and you just want to sit there and act as if it never happened.”
There was no argument I could utter that would ever make him understand what he was asking me to agree to. Behind me, the bathroom door slammed, the shower turning on just on the other side of the door. I sighed and set the bottle of moisturizer down on the vanity. Why did he have to go and do this? I thought staring at my reflection in the mirror. I was perfectly content with the way life was, I didn’t need him paying some private investigator to track down those monsters.
Part of me understood why he wanted to do it, why he wanted to find them and make them pay. For the last ten odd years, he’d been in a relationship with a woman who could hardly bring herself to touch him, let alone anything more.
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