by S. Moose
The paralyzing feeling of being in front of him in my panties puts me in a trance, and every sense of fighting dissolves. I do my best to cover my boobs, and try to quickly look if there's anything I can use against him.
Everything’s happening so quickly that it’s not registering in my mind. I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s going on. This has to be some cruel joke. Zane wouldn’t do this to me.
My torn dress lies on the bedroom floor at our feet, symbolizing the intensity of the situation. That’s when I realize if I don't do something soon he's going to hurt me.
There has to be something I can do. I’m a fucking smart girl! Ideas come to me so easily.
Why is my mind blank? Why am I standing here in just my panties while he stares at me, licking his lips, as if he’s about to have his way with me?
Why?
I’m shivering from his angry grasp as he pulls me tight against him, and his lips press on my bare neck. His hand roughly grabs my boob and squeezes, and then his callous fingers pull on my nipple.
“Ow,” I cry. “Please don’t do this.” I’m pleading with him, begging him to let me go. "No. Stop."
"You're saying no, but your body's telling me yes, keep going." His harsh voice makes my skin crawl.
Each spot of my skin where he’s touched, burns like a fiery explosion. I twist and turn, doing everything I can to escape from this nightmare.
“Shut up.” He bites hard on my shoulder, and I scream in anguish.
When he throws me on his bed, my body bounces with the force. I recover and get up. My hands form into fists, but he's faster than I am. When his fist connects with my cheek, and I’m thrown back on the bed, the stinging burn rushes to my skull, and I cry out in pain. My hands cover my face, and I roll to my side to find any type of comfort.
“Don’t be stupid,” he hisses as he pulls my body up, tightly gripping my arms, so I’m sitting upright.
“Let me go!”
Before he can grab my wrists and hold me down, my instincts kick in, and I raise my leg to kick him in the stomach. When he’s down, I quickly get up and run to the door. My hands grasp the handle, but before I can open it, he’s pulling me back, and he slams my body against the wall. My head hits it hard, jerking forward and back again.
“Don’t do that again, Reagan,” he warns. He uses his forearm to push against my throat while he takes his other hand and rips off my panties.
I wince and groan, finally deciding to stop fighting him. It’s no use.
His fingers roughly enter me, and I close my eyes and move my head to the side, crying from the pain and invasion of my body.
“Looks like you do want this,” he whispers. He licks my cheek before taking my face in his hand and he forces me to look at him. “You’ve been flirting with me all this time, and tonight, you were all over me. I know you want this, baby. Don’t fight it.”
I let him.
I let him do whatever he wants.
He pushes his fingers into my mouth, making me lick him clean, and all I can do is cry and do as he wishes. I’m not the strong, sweet, and happy girl anymore.
No.
My body has been invaded, and I’m on autopilot, not caring about what he’s doing to me and not trying to stop him.
I give up.
When he guides me to his bed, he’s a little gentler. He strips out of his clothes and stares at me. I close my eyes again and imagine myself disappearing to somewhere else, to another place where I’m not feeling this immense affliction of pain and shame.
He slides into me and thrusts hard, harder than I’m used to. He bites my shoulder, and I let out a scream. This excites him, and he goes faster and harder. My whimpers are soft and low. When his fingers grip my hair, he tightly holds it and continues to yank it with each plunge into me. The pain of knives and fire rip through my body. Everything disappears around me. There’s no sound, except for when his body collides with mine.
I’m weak underneath him. My body is his to take for his own pleasure.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I open my eyes and stare into the darkness. My eyes haven’t fully adjusted, and I feel light-headed from what’s going on.
“Tell me you love what I’m doing to you.”
I whimper again, moving my head to the side, but he grips my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
“Tell me now!” he screams. That angry look on his face once again returns with a vengeance.
“I love it,” I mutter, fearful that, if I refuse to do as he demands, he might hit me again or worse.
“Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had!”
“You’re the best I’ve ever had.”
In the moments that follow those last words, everything I know, everything I love, turns cold and dark. I can’t see tomorrow. I can’t breathe for anyone.
I’m the girl who drank a little too much and flirted with a stranger.
I’m the girl who shouldn’t have left a party with a man I didn’t truly know.
2
Drew
“Babe! I’m home.” I set my car keys and briefcase down on the circular glass table in the foyer and hear the music from the TV playing in the living room.
When I walk into the living room, there are empty plates and bowls on the coffee table, some clothes on the couch, and baskets of laundry piled against the wall.
Dawson's on the floor sleeping with a box of crackers and his cup with juice next to the box. Quickly, I pick up Dawson and he instantly buries his face into my check.
What the fuck happened while I was at work?
When I go into his room, I place Dawson in bed and bring the light cover over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Daddy," he mumbles. "Love you."
"I love you too."
As tired as I am from a ten-hour workday in the office and the impending argument with Jennifer, I let that shit go and enjoy this moment with my son, watching him sleep.
Being the CFO of a high-ranking financial company puts me under stress I can’t let go. Luckily, I work for my parents, so the hours are flexible and manageable. In the next few years, my parents will be retiring and giving the company to me and my cousin, Remy.
Leaving his room, I walk into our bedroom and see Jennifer passed out on top of our bed in a sports bra and booty shorts.
“Babe.” I do my best to control my temper.
How the fuck is she upstairs, sleeping, while our son was downstairs, unsupervised?
She doesn’t like the idea of a nanny in the house or hiring any help because she constantly tells me she can do it herself and doesn’t need me to be tempted by someone younger and hotter. Nearly every day, I reassure her that I love her and only her. I’d never do anything to jeopardize my family and hurt them.
Jennifer gave up her career as a fashion designer when she got pregnant with Dawson. Throughout the entire pregnancy, she was happy and glowed. She’d wake up every morning with energy and positivity. We rarely argued, and her pregnancy wasn’t complicated. Those were the best nine months of our lives.
When Dawson was born, Jennifer and I were happy and complete. Dawson was an easy baby. He slept through the night, and was rarely fussy. After he turned two months, Jennifer slowly changed. She’d sleep more and refused to hold Dawson. I wasn’t sure how to handle her moods or what to do until I went to one of her checkups with her OB-GYN and listened to her lie about how she’d been. Stepping in, I told her doctor the truth, and he suggested Jennifer talk to a therapist. That lasted for about a week, and when Dawson turned seven months, a new side of Jennifer came and stayed.
“Babe.” I shake her a little.
She swats my hand away. “Leave me alone, Drew. My trainer kicked my ass today.”
“Your trainer? Did you leave to go to the gym?”
“Yeah. There’s a daycare center at my gym, so I left Dawson there and worked out. You hired a trainer for me, asshole.”
I rub my tired face. It’s the same argume
nt again and again.
“Jennifer, you asked for one,” I remind her.
“And you were supposed to tell me I didn’t need one and that I looked fucking beautiful.”
“I do! All the time!”
She laughs, shaking her head, and pulls herself up into a sitting position. “Whatever. I saw the new girl your mother hired. Brianna? Ha. I guess you want them young and stretch-mark free, don’t you?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I love you, babe. You’re the one for me.” I rub my hands over her arms and cup her face. “Why don’t we go out tonight, and I’ll take Dawson to my parents’? They won’t mind.”
She narrows her eyes. “You know how strict my diet is, and you want to take me out? Are you insane? Are you trying to sabotage my health? I’m finally where I want to be. I’m skinny! I wasn’t even this small in high school. Oh my God. You’re trying to fatten me up!”
“Wh-what?” I’m fucking lost. “I want to spend time with my gorgeous wife and take her out because I know she’s been under a lot of stress.”
Before she can answer, Dawson cries for me, and I quickly go to him.
He's sitting upright on his bed, holding out his arms, and mumbling daddy. As soon as he's in my arms, he's back to sleep and I walk around his bedroom, rocking him in my arms, and softly singing a lullaby. After a few minutes, light snores fill the room and I gently place him back in bed.
When I go back to the bedroom, Jennifer’s out of bed and putting on her sneakers.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the gym. My husband doesn’t love how I look. Don’t worry though; I’ll work my ass off, and you’ll love me again.”
“What?” I ask in confusion.
“When was the last time we had sex?”
I close my eyes and slowly count to five. “Two nights ago.”
“It’s not enough. Do you know how many guys would love to fuck me two or three times a day?”
“I work ten-hour days, and I want to spend time with you and Dawson. Sometimes, you push me away, not wanting to have sex because you’re too sore. I love you. All of you. Having sex with you is amazing. Being with you is amazing.”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “Whatever. I’ll see you later.”
I let her walk away and go to Dawson’s room to spend more time with him.
As much as it pains me to watch her walk away, Dawson needs me, too. She can throw her temper tantrum, and when she comes home, I’ll make sure to let her know how much I love her. For now, I’m pushing away the fight with Jennifer and focusing on Dawson.
3
Reagan
“Are you still in bed?” Aimee asks as she flops down on the edge of my mattress, making the entire thing shift beneath me.
I quickly move to my side, facing away from her. I don’t want her to see the bruises already turning different shades of deep purple.
She keeps talking, but I’m not registering anything she’s saying, so I continue to stare ahead at the same blank spot on the wall. The same spot I’ve been watching for longer than I can comprehend. The blank spot makes me wonder why the walls are bare. Why are the walls white? It seems pure and untouched, unlike the way I feel.
Bile slowly rises in my throat, and I have to will myself to remain calm.
Repeatedly reminding myself that Aimee’s here with me.
Zane’s not here.
I’m okay.
I’m okay.
He dropped me off at my apartment last night and walked me inside. I told him I was fine, and he kissed my lips. I let him, still feeling as if the entire event of our evening was one big nightmare I’d wake up from soon. Only it wasn’t. It was my reality.
When I walked into the apartment, I was alone, and I stripped out of my clothes in the bathroom and stood under the scalding water. I took the loofah, pressed the bottle of body wash over it, and lathered it up. Roughly placing it on my body, I scrubbed as hard as I could.
It didn’t work. I could still smell him, still feel him.
I stayed in the shower for over an hour, hoping to wash away what had happened and forget everything. The water sprayed over my reddened body. Steam filled the bathroom. Every time I closed my eyes, he was there. He was above me. I heard the words he’d whispered in my ear, and I cried. My body violently shook.
I lost control and fell in the tub, curling in the fetal position. I wished the water would fill the tub, and I would drown. I wanted the feelings and the visions of what he had done to leave my memory. More than anything, I needed for all of it to wash away and disappear.
Each grunt of his and the feel of his hands on me echoed in my mind.
The intrusive violation of my body played over and over in my head. It was a horrific nightmare playing on repeat in my mind, and each time, he destroyed the girl I’d once been a little more.
“I thought we were going shopping today,” Aimee says as she places her hand on my hip and playfully shakes me.
I attempt to hide the reaction of my body to her touch, the way every muscle tenses and goes into defense mode, but it’s unstoppable. Instantly, my stomach rolls, and saliva pools in my mouth as the realization of how he changed me rushes through me. An intense amount of nausea fills me, and though I try to fight it, there’s no way to stop it from taking control.
Scrambling from the bed, I move toward the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet before I begin to cough and sputter. My hands grip the sides of the ceramic bowl as my stomach tenses just before I begin to heave.
“Holy hell.” Aimee’s voice is laced with worry as she steps into the doorway of the bathroom. “I thought you stopped drinking after our shots. You never drink that much.”
“Yeah, I didn’t know I had either.”
Aimee gasps. “What the hell happened to your face? Oh my God! Reagan, what the hell’s going on?”
“You know how much of a klutz I am.” I laugh and pull myself up from the bathroom floor. “I was way too drunk last night and fell up the stairs, landing face-first. It’s really nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll just put on a pound of makeup to cover it.”
Aimee looks at me again, like she doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go.
I lift my hand and begin rubbing roughly over the spot where he bit me on my shoulder. I need the memory of last night to go away. A feeling of desperation pulls at me, begging me to just forget. Every time I close my eyes, I see him, and his smirk eats away at me. There’s nothing I can do to push him and what happened last night out of my mind.
“Please,” I whisper, not meaning to say it aloud, as I continue to rub the same spot.
The agonizing anguish it’s causing doesn’t faze me. In fact, I welcome the ache. For the first time, I don’t feel the aftereffects of his stubble, or his unwelcomed intrusion.
“Reagan, stop.” Aimee grabs my hand, and a scream rips from me before I have time to stop it.
“No.” I jerk my hand away and move toward the wall on the opposite side. “No,” I repeat in a desperate whisper, lifting my hand back to the same spot on my shoulder. I pinch, and I begin rubbing at my sore flesh once again.
“What’s wrong?” Aimee asks. I can sense the concern in her voice. “You’re scaring me, Reagan. Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
I can’t do what she’s asking. I’m not strong enough. His face flashes in my head, pulling me deeper into a dark hole. It’s hard enough since my mind won’t let me forget. The words to explain what he did will never be spoken.
I blink several times and stare at the bathroom tiles.
“Reagan, please talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”
Frantically shaking my head, I hold up my hand to stop her from talking. I instantly notice the way her shoulders sag in defeat.
“Reagan,” she says my name in one last attempt to reach me. “I’m going to be in the living room. Whenever you’re ready to talk, come out of the bathroom, and we’ll talk.”
I don’t nod or acknowledge her. I hear her footsteps and look up to see I’m alone with the demons in my head. Alone to face the darkness consuming me.
There’s nothing that can ever take away this pain inside me. It’s something I’m not sure even time would heal. It is the ugliest kind of pain, the kind you feel so deep that it bleeds into the depths of your soul and becomes part of who you are.
For days after, I'm in a zombielike state.
I’ve stopped going into the coffee shop. I’ve listened to the disappointed voice messages from Carla, my manager, yet I never took the time to call her back.
Aimee comes into my bedroom every night, startled by my screams when I wake up from nightmares, remembering Zane’s invasion of my body. Each time, she sits by my side and is simply there. Finally, I let go of the hope that I might share my terror with her and things will go back to normal.
Aimee attempts everything possible to get me to do something other than stay in my bedroom. I know she's a good friend and wants me to be happy and hang out with her. At times, I feel horrible for constantly rejecting her, but the anxiety is crippling.
Tucked beneath the security of my blankets in my room is the only place I feel safe.
But, at night, the fear hangs over me like a dark cloud, waiting to invade my mind and fill it with Zane.
Soon, Aimee stops asking me to do something and leaves me alone.
At this point, I’m always alone. I do nothing other than wake up, take a shower, watch TV, read a book, and try to sleep. On the outside, I might appear as if I’m functioning, but on the inside, I’m only spiraling further into the depths of hell, into a deep, dark hole I’ll never recover from.
