I run the four miles back to my parents’ house, nearly dragging myself the second two miles. The second I reach the house, I drop down against the garage door and cry. I cry and cry, until I throw up, both from the sobbing, and memory of the violent encounter I just experienced.
I’ve been sitting outside for what seems like hours when Trent whips into the driveway, shining his headlights directly into my parents’ bedroom window, probably waking them up. “Where the hell did you go?” he asks, flinging his car door open. “I was looking all over the place for you.”
“I was molested and I probably would have been raped if I didn’t get out of there when I did. Why the hell would you bring me there?” I yelled.
He doesn’t yell back, though. Instead, his hands are all over me—he’s touching me everywhere like I’m some kind of expensive silk. He’s petting me. “You’re so damn soft, Daphne.” He holds his cheek up to mine and nuzzles his forehead into my hair. “I have something for you.” He backs away a little and reaches into his pocket, retrieving something and hands it to me. “Take this. It’ll make you feel like the world is made of fucking cotton.”
“I’m not taking one of your stupid drugs, Trent.” He grips his hands around chunks of my hair and stares at me without saying anything. He’s creeping me out, so I shove him off of me. “Get away from me.”
Anger forms in his eyes, the red veins becoming apparent under the dim light of the garage. ”What did you just say?” He shoves me into the garage door and squeezes his hand around my chin, forcing his lips against mine. He bites down on my bottom lip until the metallic taste of my blood fills my mouth. I try my hardest to push him off of me again, but he’s easily twice my size, and he isn’t taking “no” for an answer.
He drags me to his car, and I fight him, pleading with him to get a grip and snap out of it. I’ve only been around him a few times when he’s been using, but this is different. It’s like I’m powerless against him. Why should I even have to fight him? Locked in the car, he keeps his hands clamped around my wrists the whole ride to his house. “You don’t have to do this,” I say, scared out of my mind. What is he doing?
“I’m not doing this. You are,” he says. He isn’t making any sense. The second he releases my hands and opens his door, I kick my door open and try to run. I run as fast as I can, but I only make it halfway down his driveway before he’s on top of me. I scream so loud, I would think a neighbor would flip a light on to see what the commotion is, but no. Would anyone even believe Trent could be capable of this? He flips me over his shoulder as I continue battling him the entire way up to his room.
“Please stop. I don’t want this,” I cry. As if he didn’t hear a word I said, he throws me down onto his bed and pulls at my pants. I fight against him again, holding on to my waistband, keeping him from hurting me. “Stop it, Trent!” It’s only seconds before I lose the battle. He tears off my pants and my panties as I beg for him to stop. “Don’t do this. Please.” I cross my legs, clenching everything tightly, but his hands are stronger than my leg muscles. He spreads my legs wide as he shoves himself inside of me, making my body feel like it’s being torn in half. His thrusts force my head into the wall over and over. “You’re hurting me,” I cry out. “Stop!” My voice has lost its sound as his hand closes tightly over my lips, making it hard to breathe. I actually want to pass out. I want to forget all of this. I want to forget this whole damn summer. Why is he doing this to me? Everything inside of me hurts. “Stop!” I keep screaming, but it’s useless. I open my eyes, ready to plead some more, but when I see his face, I know nothing I say or do will help. His face is sweating, the veins in his forehead are bulging and his teeth are clenched together. He looks like he’s going to kill me. Is he? I’m lying here, like a rag, watching him do his worst to me, trying to ignore the pain, trying to accept the fact that I’ve lost all of my strength and can no longer fight back. I just keep looking at him, wondering what could make a person turn like this. This isn’t the man I’ve known all summer. Or is it, and I was just too stupid to see? How did I get here? Why me?
“Fuck!” he yells. “Do something, will you? I’m losing it.” What am I supposed to do? I feel dead inside. My head hurts and my entire body feels like it’s on fire. With a few final thrusts and blows to my head, he collapses on top of me. As I feel warmth running down between my legs, I acknowledge that he just raped me. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t cry. Why did this happen? What did I do to cause this?
“You don’t get to tell me to stop. You’re mine,” he says weakly. “Go clean yourself up and change my sheets. You bled everywhere. That’s fucking gross, Daphne.”
Shaking and scared, I do as he says because I don’t know what else to do.
Now, as I’m pulling on the clean sheets, a horrible, deep moaning sound comes from the other side of the room. The lights are off, so I can only hear the sounds, but I think he’s crying. It’s a weakness I’ve never seen him show.
“I’m sorry,” he cries out. “I’m so sorry, Daphne. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I’m so fucked up.”
I kneel down before him, feeling a tearing ache surge up my core. “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t the person I thought you were all summer. This is over. We’re over.”
“I know. Daph, look, I am sorry. I’m done with the drugs and the alcohol. I’m done with everything. I don’t want you to leave me. Stay with me—help me get better. Please. I promise you things are going to change. You’ll see.”
“No, Trent.”
“I won’t let you go,” he says firmly.
“You don’t have a choice.”
I stand up and collect my things, trying my hardest to ignore the pain between my legs and the ache in my heart. I just got raped. How is this my life? Once I’ve dressed myself and grabbed everything I own, I head toward the door, but his hands clench around my shoulders, pulling me back into the room. “I do have a choice. You’re mine. You belong to me, and if you tell anyone about what happened tonight, you won’t live to see another day.”
“Let me go,” I say again. He’s high and drunk. He’s losing it. He can’t mean what he’s saying. He can’t. “I don’t care what you say right now.”
Or I didn’t, but now his hands are closed around my neck and he’s pushing me up against the wall, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “I’m not fooling around here, Daphne. You leave me, and there will be a consequence you don’t want to pay. No one will find out about this. Will they?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CURRENT DAY
Dear Journal,
Some days I feel like a prisoner in my own life. Today is one of those days. Maybe I could run away to a place where only people like Kemper exist. Is there such a place?
- Daphne
DAPHNE
“YOU DON’T LIVE WITH HIM do you?” Kemper asks as the bar empties out. If you mean: do I sleep on his floor every night like a prisoner, then yeah.
“Define ‘live with’?”
Kemper’s hands are pressing into the bar, with me sitting in between them. His head falls briefly before he looks back up at me. “Look, it’s none of my business, but that guy needs help. How long have you been with him?”
I feel stupid admitting it’s been three years of this, but it’s more complicated than I can explain. “It’s been a few years…” I say. It’s been a few years of being held hostage.
“He’s not right in the head, ya know? He could hurt you tonight, especially after the shit that just went down. Do you have anywhere else you could stay?” I think about what he’s asking me. Trent will hurt me, and if I don’t go to his house, he will find me.
I look away from him, unsure of what to say since I know it won’t be truthful. I’m a horrible liar and I’ve been told the truth is always written across my face. “I’m sure I can find a place to crash.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, one brow arched.
“I have friends,” I drawl-whine. At least I di
d, but none of them felt like sticking around to support the relationship I’ve maintained for the past three years. None of them knows the truth either. They told me if I didn’t want their help, they weren’t going to stick around and watch me hurt myself. It’s kind of ironic that they thought I was hurting myself.
“Usually when a person’s voice escalates at the end of a sentence, they’re fibbing. Now, I’m not saying you don’t have friends or nothing like that, but do you have a friend who will take your call at this hour?” Definitely not.
“What about you, tough guy? Are you actually going home tonight?” I ask, turning the tables a bit.
His forehead scrunches and his eyes narrow at me as he stands up and drops his hands into his pockets. With a deep inhale, he says, “Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.” Taking one hand out of his pocket, he holds up his finger to me. “Wait right here. I have an idea.” Kemper runs out of the bar and returns a few seconds later hiding something behind his back. I bob my head from side to side to see what it is, and as he comes a little closer, I see two black helmets drop from behind his back down to his sides. “Ever been on a bike?”
“I meant to ask you earlier…I thought you drove a truck?”
“The truck is Rex’s. I thought maybe—never mind—I ride a Harley.”
“A biker, eh?” I smirk.
“I wouldn’t call myself a biker, but I enjoy the ride. It makes me forget about all the shit in my head.” A smile tugs at his lips as he comes in a little closer. His eyes, now dark from the dimmed light, peer down at me with question. “So have you been on one?”
“No, I haven’t,” had the balls to get on a bike. “Does it really make you forget everything?”
“Do you want to find out?” The look on his face is nearly pleading, but still reserved at the same time. I shouldn’t. It could cause even more problems. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, pondering and debating what might happen if I do this versus what could happen if I go back to Trent’s house. I could just stay here for the night and lock the doors. Sleeping here at the bar would be a new one for me, but Jacey would probably find out, and I can’t lose this job.
“I’m afraid he’ll find me with you.”
He holds the helmet out to me. “He won’t find us where we’re going, and you can trust me. We’re friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, I’ve declared us friends. I helped you out at your bar for two nights straight. In return, I ask for your friendship, Miss Daphne. I promise you no funny stuff. I know you’re involved with someone, and I’m—well, not sure if I am or not, but it’s a good enough reason for us to be friends. Don’t you think?” Involved, I’ve never put it that way.
I snatch the helmet from his hand and pull it down over my head. It’s large and makes me feel like one of those bobble-head dolls. Oh God, this is going to be bad. I can feel it already. He places his helmet down beside me, then takes the loose straps hanging from my chin and buckles them together. “Friends?” he asks again, reaching his hand out to me.
I tap my fingers on the bar briefly, my teeth grinding back and forth while I give it another thought. With my focus fixed on his eyes, I give him my hand. “Okay, friend, let’s go.” Did I just agree to this? This is so so bad. This is going to be so so good.
I follow him outside, locking the door behind me. Who am I kidding, if I even dared to pull up at Trent’s house right now, he’d never open the garage, and I’d end up sleeping in my Jeep anyway. It’s happened before.
He leads me over to his bike, and the thing is a lot larger than I expected. I obviously see bikes every day, but I’ve never been close enough to take in the monstrosity of them. Once again, I’m just pointing out the obvious to myself: this has “bad idea” written all over it. Riding a bike isn’t on my bucket list. I like to play it safe. I wear my seatbelt no matter how short of a distance I’m going and I stop at yellow lights. In other words, I’m a chicken shit. My parents think so too. Dad was always a big risk taker and still is. He likes the extreme sports—mountain climbing, white water rafting, hang gliding, and skydiving—you name it, he’s done it. Mom isn’t as crazy, but she went along with a lot of his activities, trying to keep him happy. She never did complain about any of it, though. I’m pretty sure the craziest thing I’ve ever done is go on an upside-down roller coaster at one of those cheap parking lot carnivals. I paid the price by puking in the port-a-potty afterward, so I should know taking risks never ends well for me.
My hands are trembling and I’m finding it harder to pull in a full breath. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“A little nervous. Do I need to know anything important before getting on this beast?” I laugh, sounding like a dying sheep.
“You just need to hold on and align your body with mine whenever I turn.” Oh my God. Why did I not think about the holding-on part? I have to put my arms around him and lean my body up against his. The thought seems intimate. Dangerous. Scary. Amazing.
Kemper straddles the bike and pulls his helmet on. Maybe he does look like a biker…a really, really hot one. “Get ready for the ride of your life, my friend.” What am I doing? I inhale sharply and straddle my leg over the bike. I tried to leave room between us, but the arch in the seat forces me to slide forward—my lady parts smashed up against his very hard butt. Which I sort of want to grab right now. I cannot believe I’m doing this. “Put your arms around me.”
Maybe I’m afraid of the fact that I want nothing more than to put my arms around him. I shouldn’t be afraid of that.
I should just do it—run from Trent, prove that his threats are just threats—but what if they aren’t just threats…what if they’re promises? From experience, I know that life is cruel and dark, full of hate and pain. I’ve convinced myself that the fairy tales I once believed are merely stories written for innocent children who aren’t ready to be exposed to the cold realities of life.
As I snap out of my hazy thoughts, I realize my arms are woven tightly around Kemper’s torso. His stomach is solid and I can feel the ripples through his shirt. I can also feel them flex when he starts the bike. The engine revs beneath us and I squeeze my eyes shut with fear. Or maybe excitement? We haven’t even moved yet and my heart is in my throat. “Ready?” he asks. I nod, unable to hear myself over the sound of the bike’s engine.
We jerk forward and speed out onto the pavement. My arms tighten around him and I press the side of my clenched face into his back. It takes me a minute to realize it, but this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt—the wind in my face, the soothing vibration of the engine, and the blood pumping through my veins. Holy crap. I want to throw my hands up into the wind and let it take me like my blades take me on the ice. It feels similar, but so much better. I squeeze Kemper a little tighter and smile uncontrollably. We ride around for what must be an hour before we pull up to a security gate. He flashes the guy an ID and rides on through, taking us on base. Trent can’t find me here. Maybe I can stay here forever. We continue riding for another half-hour and I’m wondering where we’re going because it seems like he has a destination in mind—I just don’t know what it is. I had no idea the base was so large. It’s like a whole town.
He finally comes to a stop at a beach, one I didn’t even know was here.
Kemper hops off the bike and offers me a hand. Once I’m off, we both unclip our helmets in silence. I want to thank him for the ride—for taking me away and distracting me, but this is more than a distraction. This is eye opening…an epiphany.
The silence between us grows as we walk along the shore until we reach a guard stand where he drops down onto the sand. I take a seat next to him and follow his gaze out onto the water.
“I come here a lot. It’s quiet at night and it’s a good place to talk to the man in the moon.”
“The man in the moon?” I laugh. “I thought he only existed in fairy tales.”
He gives me a “How dare you ask me that?” kind of look and follows it with, “Yeah
, don’t you talk to him? He’s cool shit.” I can’t help but laugh again.
“Can’t say I have.” Not sure what the purpose is, I guess.
“Well, everyone can see the moon, no matter where they are, so he’s like a transmitter. I give him a message and he delivers it to where it needs to go. Whether up there,” he points to the sky, “or across the world.” I almost forgot about his friend—brother. With all of the drama and emotional torment in my life today, and getting assaulted by Trent, I forgot that he’s still grieving.
“Tell me about him,” I say.
His eyes are still fixed on the moon, but they turn into crescents as a smile stretches across his lips. “Rex was a good guy—an over achiever some might say. He got promoted more than anyone else I know. The Marines were his life…his destiny. It may sound corny, but it’s true. He knew the dangers of being overseas, but he considered it his life’s mission. We were roommates back when we first joined. That’s how we became friends. He was the funniest son-of-a-bitch I’d ever met. The guy couldn’t go more than thirty seconds without telling some sick joke or farting in someone’s face. He was the king of pranks and the life of every party, but overseas, he was always the first to volunteer for a dangerous mission or to go rescue someone. It was like he didn’t care whether he lived or died, and I didn’t understand it. He never seemed scared. I admired him for that, and he taught me a thing or two about being thankful to just wake up in the morning. I mean it’s the only way we can really look at life while over there. Nothing is ever planned and you go there with the understanding that you may not come back. They make you write out your will at eighteen. How morbid, right?”
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