by M. S. Parker
I hated the waiting worst of all. I couldn't stop myself from thinking about all the different things they were going to do, all of the ways I was going to be hurt. When they started, at least then I could focus on the pain and it would block out everything else.
Then the pain began and it was everywhere.
Burning cigarettes were put out on my back.
Fabric cutting into my flesh as my dress was ripped off.
Fingers pinching and probing.
Then came the fucking.
They took turns everywhere they could, every way they could.
Some of them talked to each other, conversations about their lives as they waited for access. I heard one of the men talking about coaching his son's Little League team, then he stopped for his turn. Another woman kept petting my head.
No one talked to me, not unless grunts and foul names counted. At one point, I tried to keep track of the number of times I was called 'bitch' and 'cunt’, but I lost count after a while.
Finally, I thought they'd finished, but that was when one of them said they were ready for the real show.
When the door opened, I screamed.
I screamed until my voice was gone.
I passed out and they woke me up again.
It went on for hours. For years. It would never end. Never stop. The pain and humiliation. I'd never get away...
My eyes flew open, then closed involuntarily at the light. I wrenched them open again, even though it hurt. I didn't want to be in the dark again.
I sat up and drew my knees to my chest, shivering as I wrapped my blanket around me. Of all the memories and the nightmares, that was the worst. It was that night when I'd reached my lowest point. That night that I'd known, without the shadow of a doubt… I would never get out.
My fingers began to trace along the inside of my left arm. The scar there ran from my wrist to my elbow. I'd been lucky, the doctor had said, that it hadn't been deep enough to cause permanent damage. I'd been extra lucky that my mom had found me and had the presence of mind to put on a tourniquet.
I didn't tell him it wasn't luck. It was hell.
If I'd been older, I might've wondered why the doctor hadn't figured out that there was way more to my injury than what he'd been told. I might've asked why he hadn't done a full work-up when he saw the bruises on my neck that looked like fingers. The bruises on my arms and legs that held distinctive chain link patterns. The other obvious signs of abuse. I'd gotten my answer years later.
I looked down at the scar my fingers were tracing. It was funny, what I remembered about that night. The night I'd decided that it was pointless to hope for anything else, pointless to think that someone would come rescue me. I wasn't some fairy princess and there was no such person as Prince Charming. I still believed that last bit.
Rylan's face flashed in front of my eyes and I pushed it away. He wasn't Prince Charming because I wasn't a fucking damsel in distress. I'd needed someone to save me before. I didn't need to be saved now.
I shivered again. I wasn't going to get warmed up here with just a blanket. Not this kind of chill.
I climbed out of bed and went into my bathroom. I rubbed my arms as I waited for the water to heat up. I'd done it in the bathroom that night. Broken a piece of glass in the mirror and climbed into the tub.
This time, when I stepped into the shower, my hands were empty. While the nightmare hadn't been pleasant and the aftereffects were bothersome, I wasn't that frightened, depressed child anymore. I'd survived the worst.
I hissed as I stepped under the steaming spray. It was hot, almost too hot, but that was what I wanted right now. It wouldn't wash away the nightmare, but it would help the cold.
It had been a long time since I'd thought about that night or had a dream about it. I must've been more stressed by what had happened at lunch than I'd realized. Judgment was usually the trigger that brought that particular night back. It was funny – not amusing but rather ironic – that the person who made me feel the safest had been part of the moment that had triggered the memory of the time where I'd been the lowest.
Rylan.
I made a pained sound as I thought of what Rylan would think of me if he knew the whole truth. No matter how much he seemed to be the perfect guy when it came to my past, I knew the truth. If he knew what happened to me, what happened that night...
He'd run.
I was surprised by how much the thought of that hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I didn't sleep much the rest of the night, but I hadn't expected to anyway. What little I did get, at least, was dreamless. Since it was a Sunday morning, I didn't have anything planned, so I let myself have the luxury of taking it slow. It was nearly noon by the time I changed out of my pajamas and ate. I spent most of the early afternoon messing around with my security program and wondering if I should text or call Rylan. I wasn't entirely sure what the proper protocol was for communication after an uncomfortable lunch with a – I couldn't believe I was about to use the word – boyfriend's sister and best friend.
Even as chaotic as my brain was at the moment, I couldn't stop myself from smiling. Boyfriend. I'd never thought I'd use that word in a positive way, in any way related to me, really. It hadn't been anything I'd ever considered. Now, I wasn't just considering it. I actually had one.
I frowned. If he still wanted me after Suzette and Zeke had made it perfectly clear how not right for him I was.
They were right, I knew, and the best thing I could do would be to let him go, but I couldn't do it. It may have been selfish of me, but the way I figured it, fate or the universe or karma or whatever it was that determined what happened to us owed me big time, and I would use it to keep Rylan for as long as I could.
I just didn't know how to do it.
I was still trying to decide if I should make the first move and call Rylan when someone knocked on my door. A moment later, I heard my name.
“Jenna, it's me.”
I opened the door, letting a new kind of warmth through me, the kind that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the man standing in the hallway.
He looked almost as bad as I felt.
The bags under his eyes said he'd slept as little as I had and his hair looked like he hadn't done more than run his hand through it. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that fit him perfectly, but they both looked rumpled, as if he'd either slept in them or picked them up off the floor.
“May I come in?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. This was it. He was coming to tell me that he thought Suzette and Zeke were right. It was time to stop pretending. We needed to go back to employer and employee only.
I didn't want to sit so I was glad when he stayed on his feet too. I crossed my arms over my stomach, wondering if this would hurt as badly as I feared it would.
“At lunch yesterday,” he began. “Zeke and Suzette... they...” His voice trailed off and a look of frustration crossed his face.
“They don't think I'm right for you,” I stated it bluntly. I looked away when I got more specific. “I'm not good enough for you.”
“Jenna.”
He said my name firmly, but I didn't respond. He'd gotten too far past my walls already. I couldn't let him see what this would do to me. It was harder than I'd thought, especially after the rough night I'd had.
“Jenna, look at me.”
It wasn't a request, but the way he said it wasn't the same as the kind of demands I'd been given before. This was a command filled with emotion and it was the quaver that made me turn.
His eyes were blazing with something fierce as he closed the distance between us with two long steps. His hands cupped my face even as his mouth came down on mine. I gasped at the ferocity I felt radiating off of him and he took advantage of my parting lips to thrust his tongue into my mouth.
It wasn't a long kiss, but he was thorough as his tongue explored my mouth, his fingers digging into my hair. My hands grab
bed onto the front of his shirt and I found myself daring to hope that this wasn't a good-bye kiss.
When he pulled his mouth away, he didn't step back or release my face. He rested his forehead against mine, his breathing heavy. I inhaled deeply, wanting to trap his scent, to keep it in my memory, something good I could hold onto during the bad.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly.
I took a step back. I couldn't have him touching me when he did it.
“I should have told them both to go fuck themselves.”
My eyes widened. What?
Rylan reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles down the side of my face. “I don't want to scare you away by going too fast, and I don't want you to feel any obligation.” His thumb ran along my bottom lip. “But I need you to know, I'm falling in love with you.”
Oh shit.
Fear, desire and something I didn't want to put a name to welled up inside me all at once, choking me. I didn't know what to say, what to do. How should a girl respond when her boyfriend said something like that? I'd never had anyone tell me they loved me, not for real. Sure, along with all of the 'fuck,' 'bitch' and 'cunt' commentary, I'd gotten the 'l' word before, but I'd known it wasn't real.
The look in Rylan's eyes said he meant what he said, and I felt frozen at the thought.
“Don't say anything,” he continued. “I don't want you to say anything just because you think I want to hear it.” He tucked some hair behind my ear. “When you say it, I want to know that you mean it. I'll wait.” He stepped toward me again. “I'll wait for you as long as you need me to.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. I'd spent my whole life having people take what they wanted, when they wanted it. Expecting to hear what they wanted, whether I meant it or not.
“Are you okay?” His voice was filled with concern.
I nodded. I wasn't sure I could say anything, even if I'd known what to say. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair and around the back of his head before pulling him down for another kiss. His arm slid around my waist, bringing our bodies tight together. I twisted my tongue around his, drawing it into my mouth. He moaned as I sucked on it and I felt him get hard.
Just when I thought we were going to move things into the bedroom, he pulled back. The expression on my face must've been amusing because he laughed softly.
“I want to. Trust me, I want to.” He dropped his hand, purposefully brushing it against the side of my breast.
I bit back a moan.
“But I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh.” I hoped I didn't sound as disappointed as I felt.
“Did you have plans for tonight?” he asked.
“Does binge-watching a couple shows while eating ice cream count?” I kept my tone light.
“I don't suppose you'd want to put that off and go out with me, would you?” His dimples flashed as he smiled.
“I don't know,” I teased. “I am getting behind on my favorite shows.”
“I'll make it worth your while.” His eyes darkened, leaving no doubt to exactly what he meant. “So I'll pick you up at six?”
“All right,” I said.
“Some place fancy this time,” he said. “If that's okay with you.”
I nodded. “I'd like that.”
“Great!” He beamed at me. He started to lean forward, then stopped. “As much as I'd like to kiss you again, I don't trust myself.” He winked at me. “And I doubt the nuns at St. Paul's would appreciate me coming in to see them with a raging erection.”
I laughed, the tension diffusing from something sexual into pure amusement. Before it could get dangerous again, he left and I set out to find the perfect dress to wear tonight.
He said he was falling in love with me.
The words still didn't feel quite real. Then again, not much with Rylan did. Except, somehow, being with him made me feel more real – alive and present – than I'd ever felt before.
I thought I'd worked through the issues of self-worth that had come from my past, that I didn't need someone else's acceptance to know who I was. It wasn't that Rylan treated me as if I was only important because of him. There was just something about how he looked at me, talked to me. It made me feel more... solid.
I'd never had anything like that before. I'd been the invisible girl, there only to be used and discarded. Then I'd been that girl. The one the media – in their near-religious frenzy regarding the people's right to know overriding the protection of minors or victims – had painted as the poster child for pedophilia. The victim everyone wanted to treat like some damaged, fragile flower. Then I'd gotten away, remade myself, but still hadn't been real. I'd been the genius, the computer geek, the freak with the piercings, tattoos, scars and then the strange hair. There had always been a definition to fit me, a label.
Other than Lily, Rylan was the only person I'd met who I thought actually saw me, and even Lily had viewed me in part as a victim. She'd never treated me like one, but I knew that what she'd rescued me from had colored the way she saw me.
I felt a familiar pang as I thought about Lily. She'd been the first friendly face I'd ever seen, the first person I'd met who hadn't wanted something from me. She'd stayed with me, kept me safe. But she'd also pushed me, told me not to make excuses. She'd shown me how to find my inner strength, given me an example of a strong woman.
I pulled one of my dresses from my closet and gave it a critical look.
I would've liked for Lily and Rylan to have met. They would've liked each other. I was sure Lily would've given Rylan a hard time, wanting to make sure he was a good guy. There probably would've been a background check done.
I sighed. Nothing I had was good enough. I wasn't hurting for money at the moment and the weather was surprisingly good for the beginning of December, so I decided to go shopping.
Four stores and three obnoxious saleswomen later, I found the perfect dress and hurried home to finish getting ready. I'd spent enough time out that I was putting the final touches on my make-up when Rylan knocked on the door. The expression on his face, however, made it all worth it.
I'd gone with a deep, rich blue that complemented my coloring, including my hair. The narrow skirt went to my ankles, but there was a high slit up one side that hit me high enough on my thigh that I knew I'd have to move carefully or risk flashing someone. I'd gone with long sleeves rather than having to take a heavy coat, and the back was high enough that only the tips of my angel wings showed. The neckline was a plunging V that barely left room to cover my bra.
“We need to go,” Rylan said after a moment. “Now.” His eyes rose from my chest to my face. “Otherwise, we're never leaving this apartment, and I'm starving.”
I laughed, taking his arm as he offered it. We made small talk on the way down to the car – a car service this time – and continued it as the driver pulled out into traffic. I asked about his appointment and he told me about the charity auction he was putting together for the church. He asked what I'd spent the day doing.
It was average, normal stuff, the kind of things that couples were supposed to talk about. I was surprised at how easily it came to me. As I leaned against Rylan, I thought that maybe it wasn't about me but about him, about how we were together.
I looked out the window as a moment of silence fell and I frowned. We weren't driving to downtown Fort Collins.
“Where are we going?” I asked. I looked up at Rylan and saw him smile. There was equal parts nerves and pride in that look.
“I love Fort Collins,” Rylan said. “But it doesn't have the kind of place I want to take you tonight. I want it to be special.”
“I don't care where we eat,” I said. My chest was tight with everything that he made me feel. “As long as we're spending the time together.”
He kissed my forehead, then threaded his fingers between mine. “When I was in college, freshman year, my roommate was a guy named Leland Wiles. He left halfway through the year because he decided he wanted to go to
culinary school. Now, he's one of LA's hottest up and coming chefs.”
I still had no clue where we were going but I wasn't about to complain. I liked hearing about Rylan's life.
“We stayed in touch, mostly Christmas cards and the occasional dropping in when we were in the other's city,” Rylan continued. “Today, I asked him to come make us a meal.”
My eyes narrowed at him and I felt my eyebrows draw together. “You asked a chef from Los Angeles to come to Fort Collins and cook us dinner?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Seriously?”
“Too much?” he asked. “I spent all of last night and most of the morning going over our lunch and...” He shook his head. “I wanted to make up for it and nothing in the city felt like it'd be special enough. But if you don't like it, I can tell the driver to turn around and we can go to a restaurant. Your choice. I can put away what Leland makes. Re-heat it tomorrow.”
I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Don't you dare,” I said. “I'm hungry.”
His eyes warmed and he leaned down to brush his lips against mine. It was brief, but still sent a thrill through me. “I want you to know, just because we're eating at my house, I don't have any expectations beyond a lovely meal. Nothing happens that you don't want to happen.”
I rested my hand on his thigh and slid it up until the tips of my fingers brushed against the bulge in his pants. “There are a couple things I'm definitely thinking I want to happen.”
His hand tightened around mine as I moved my hand over, cupping his cock through the expensive material of his suit.
“Jenna.” His voice was nearly a growl.
“I'm glad you decided to use a car service instead of driving,” I said with a grin. “I don't think this would be a good idea if we were in your car.” I lightly squeezed him and glanced toward the front of the car. The driver already had the window up between us.
“Jenna.”
I could hear the desire in his voice. I shifted in my seat even as I worked his zipper open. “I've always wanted to do this in a car,” I said. “And I figure you'll have plenty of time to recover while we're having dinner, and then you can repay the favor.”
