Cry For You_A Second Chance Romance

by Shaniel Watson

  The street is quiet as I come off the steps. Not a sound. A marked difference from the booming noise of the house packed with people. It’s creepy out here, so silent and still. They picked a great place for a party they didn’t want the cops to bust up because of disgruntled neighbors. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I walk. I take a look back; the house still visible. I get off the sidewalk to walk in the street, but still don’t feel secure.

  As I turn the corner, the house disappears from view, and my fear spikes up. Phone in my hand, I run-walk to Shays car that’s still a good distance away, parked behind a truck. I reach the car, out of breath, fumbling to open the door. I get it open, slam the door behind me, and make sure all the doors are locked before sinking down in the seat. Finally relieved to be safely in, but shaken, I call Landon.

  “What frat party?” He sounds upset.

  “I came with Shay to find Trigg. They got into another nasty fight. I’m in the car; I’m driving home.”

  “Where’s Shay?”

  “She’s at the party. But she gave me her keys. I’m good.”

  “She left you alone, after you went with her to look for her boyfriend? What the fuck, Lacey?”

  “Landon, stop, I’m fine.” I wish I could have gotten back way before him. He′s going to be super pissed at Shay. He’s going to say she’s pulling me into her drama, which is not true. The way she was acting, I wanted to make sure she was all right.

  “I have words for your sister. But as long as you’re okay, I’ll be waiting for you in front of your house. How’s the car? You sure you don’t want me to come get you?”

  “No, it’ll take twice as long. The car is fine. She just got it back from the mechanic.”

  I hear the long sigh of reluctance, but he doesn’t argue about coming to get me. Instead, he says, “I love you. Drive safe.”

  “I will. Love you.” I love the way he cares about me.

  I drop the phone on the seat and start up the engine. It cranks up, roaring to life, and the radio comes on. Then everything stops. “Lord. Don’t do this to me now, you piece-of-shit car. Not now, not tonight, please,” I beg, turning the key, hoping it’ll rev to life. It doesn’t. I put my head on the wheel, taking deep breaths. I know what Shay does when this happens, but I have to get out. I look out the windows of the car, fretting, faced with the task of stepping out of my safe place in the car. It’s either that or wait twice as long out here for Landon, by myself, and make him even more angry with Shay.

  I shut my eyes, tapping the wheel. I'll be fine. The faster I get out of this car and get under the hood, the faster I can get this car moving, be on my way to Landon, and show him I'm safe and sound. A deep breath and another look around, and I open the car door, jump out, flip the hood up and get to work. Three minutes of eternity later, I slam the hood to jump in quickly but the door is locked.

  A noise makes me jump, sending my heart rate spiking. I frantically look behind me and unsuccessfully try to open the door with the key. It finally slips in. I open the door, heart pumping, and I start to lean in when a hand clamps shut over my mouth and nose with stifling brute strength, sealing in the piercing scream I let loose.

  I go outside and find Shay sitting in her car in front of the house. I knock on the glass, but she doesn’t bother looking up from where she’s sitting, in the passenger side of the car, a hot pink flask in her hand. Is she drinking outside a kids’ party? I knock again. She still doesn’t raise her head, but she does raise a hand to give me the finger.

  I laugh. This is more like the Shay I remember. She wants me to leave her alone, but I can’t before I make sure she’s okay. I open the driver’s side door and get in. This gives me a reaction I expect.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “You got eyes. I’m taking a seat, and you’re taking it straight to the head, huh?”

  “Sometimes you just have to.” She tilts the flask back to her mouth, resting her head back.

  “Not letting you drive if that’s the good stuff in that bottle.” I turn my head to her, and she swipes the bottle under my nose.

  “Relax, officer; it’s Juicy Juice and ginger ale. Unless you want to make a citizen’s arrest for being hopped up on one hundred percent juice,” she says dryly.

  I laugh and shake my head. “Why do you have it in a flask ?” I turn it around to read what it says: Cool me down I’m hot! and there’s a guy in a G-string whose hips gyrate when you turn it. My chuckle turns into a full-on guffaw.

  Her lips twitch with a suppressed laugh. “The flask is a long story. Got it today as a gag gift from the guys at work. I was thirsty when I got here, but I couldn’t find a cup, so I took my faux-alcohol beverage to go.”

  “Your personality hasn’t changed much. Still hilarious as ever. Good to see some things are unchanged.”

  “Hm.” She nods, turning her head to the side window.

  We sit in silence; I guess we’re both waiting for Lace. I break the silence with a comment that is meaningful to her but wouldn’t be to many others. “I wish I had a time machine.”

  “Yeah, where’s Marty McFly when you need him?”

  “Exactly.” I smile. “How’s your life been going?” I’m curious; Shay’s always been an interesting character. Half the time you don’t know what’s going on in her mind.

  “Can’t you tell? Life is like a box of chocolates.”

  Tapping my hand on the console I ask, “Is it sweet?”

  With a crooked smile, she says, “Hell, no. You never know what you’re going to get.”

  “Who knew Forrest had such wisdom. You still crack me up.”

  “I’m a riot. I’m thinking about busting through that kiddie party and stealing the clown’s job, give them real live adult entertainment, show ‘em what I’m working with.” She gyrates the man on the flask by shaking it.

  We both break up at the thought of how all those prim and proper parents would respond.

  And that is the enigma that is Shay McQueen: she blows into the middle of a kids’ party without warning, and nearly cuts me down with the past. Minutes later, she’s almost bringing me to tears with laughter.

  I know she deflected answering my question about her life. She doesn’t want to share. I will.

  “You know, I own a bar.”

  “I’ve been told.” She sounds uninterested, but I’m leading up to something which might make her interested.

  “Stop by The Office. I’ll hook you up with the real stuff.” I point to the flask. She just nods, and I continue. “I have a partner you might run into. He’ll be happy to see an old friend. He misses you.”

  She turns her head, blinking at me like she struggling with something weighing down on her shoulders, then coming to an answer. “Let’s not.”

  “He does. He misses you.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “Girlfriends. Nothing serious.”

  “Some things never change,” she says, sounding irritated.

  “He might. I think he would have for you, eventually.”

  “Leave it alone, Landon.” She sighs. “Two complicateds aren’t better than one.”

  Please, please, please—don’t! Don’t do this to me! PLEASE! NO!

  I beg and plead. Please! I scream.

  No use.

  They can’t hear me; no one can. His hand is locked painfully against my mouth, his arm wrapped around my head and jaw. I’m all alone in this horror, locked in darkness. I can’t see; something’s over my face. He’s hurting me, holding me down . I try to kick, but I can’t move.

  “I’m going to give you a night you will remember,” the voice of fear and hate says, penetrating through my gut-wrenching terror. “A special present just for you.”

  I listen to the malevolent voice crisscrossing through me, powerless to do anything but listen. Helpless.

  “When I give it to you, I want you to scream,” he says against my ear, making me almost faint with dread.

  I whimper, tear
s running down the sides of my face, unable to speak.

  “I want you to remember me. Forever.”

  My body quakes, racked with a cascade of desperate sobs. My worst nightmares could never compare to this. His hand goes over my body, roughly pulling at my bare legs, tearing my flesh as he yanks my legs apart. I try to fight, but he’s too strong.

  I try anyway, and I keep trying. But it’s useless. His hand wraps around my neck, pinning me back as he painfully jams his knee against my center. My head thrashes, trying to breathe around his squeezing hand. Barely a croak, and my limbs are weak. My head feels like it’s going to explode. His voice is laced with anger and the hope for my destruction—to bring me down to nothing but a threadbare shell of what I was and will ever be again.

  I scream, endless scream after scream, but it’s all inside my head, trapped. He rips through me, racking me with earth-shattering pain, a burning between my legs that sends me spiraling into blackness. I can’t bear it. In the grip of fear and pain, I manage one small, keening wail.

  “Shut the fuck up!” He punctuates his words with a sharp slap across my face, and my heart slams against the confines of my body, and I try to stop crying, but I can’t.

  “I’m going to show you the error of your ways, you little bitch. You’re going to remember me. I’m going to remember you always, baby,” he hisses as he ruts on top of me with heaving breaths. “Isn’t that what he calls you?” He pants against my throat as I whimper in pain.

  “The way he struts around here? He’s nobody!” His fist slams into my side. At the blinding pain, I cry out. “You would choose him over me!” he yells. “You’re no better than any pussy around here. What makes you think you’re special? You’re nothing until I say you’re something. When I’m through with you, then you might be something special.”

  I turn my head, eyes shut tight, delirious with the rip and tear of pain between my legs. Weak and unable to keep fighting, my head bangs against the car door.

  Thumb. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The jingle and jangle of metal scraping against my thighs. A grunt and a groan, and then he stills. “Now you’re special,” he says. I’m left in silence when the door slams.

  A wave of tears, pain, and fear collide, sealing over every pore, and the tiniest of cells in my body are like an iron fist coming down to paralyzing me. The screams have stopped. I’m all alone, in silent despair, a mass of silent sobs.

  He might as well have killed me. Instead, I’m left cold and broken, destroyed, in the back seat of a car.

  “Where is she? Move the hell out of my way!” Landon yells.

  I hear muffled voices that I try to block, except for one. I want him! I need him!

  The tears that won’t stop come faster. I clutch the stark white sheet laid over me, gripping till my hands hurt, shaking and sobbing until it’s a scream that can be heard ringing through the depths of my soul.

  “LANDON!”

  Then

  Landon!”

  “Get off of me, Trigg. If the law won’t do anything, I’m going to. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “I wasn’t going to. I’m not going to let you go over there by yourself, either. They know who you are. They’re going to lay you out before you reach the door.”

  “I’m only looking for one person. I have my get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way key right here.” I pat the gun in my waist.

  “I’m not going to try to stop you, but that ain’t the way to go.” He holds up a finger, backing into his room. He comes back out brandishing a special that would put Dirty Harry’s to shame.

  “Where the hell did you get that?”

  He smirks, rubbing it against his chest. “I know people.”

  “Careful, before you blow a hole through your chest.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me; I got this. I’m a dead-on shot. The most damage I ever did was a flesh wound. But I think today might be the day we rectify that.” He kisses the tip of the gun. “Two flesh wounds.”

  “Trigg.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration mounting from stress and anger.

  Nothing has been done since Lacey came out of the hospital. Nothing has changed. Everyone’s the same, except for us: the people who love her, who see her every day, suffering, flinching at the slightest movement. When I look in her face and she looks at me, I see fear. Fear like I have never seen before. She can’t even look at herself. Every single mirror in the house has been covered.

  When I saw her the night of the attack, she was frail, shaking. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lip twice the size, burst open, half of her face swollen black, blue, and purple, the same shade as the ring around her neck, her wrist, and arms.

  They gave her pain meds and tried to sedate her when she saw me. She clung to my hand like a lifeline, big fat tears running down her swollen face, highlighting the damage done to her. I could scarcely bear to look at her without collapsing in tears. I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t not look at her, not give her my full attention. I wanted her to know I was there with her, and I wasn’t going to leave her side.

  She refused treatment for hours. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her but me, her mother, and Shay. The doctors needed to do the rape kit; she needed it if there was a chance to get the sick fuck who did this. To take this to court and win, they needed evidence, especially since she was too scared to give a name or description to the police.

  Because she had a connection to me that seemed stronger than the others, they asked me to convince her to at least do the rape kit. I rocked her and held her in my arms, stroking her hair. With the counselor in the room, I asked her, with tears in my eyes, if she could please let them do this for her, to help her. It was imperative she did the test within seventy-two hours to save any DNA evidence. She finally agreed three days later, after speaking with the nurse who would do the kit, but only if I could stay by her side.

  I did. I witnessed each and every tear squeezed from her eyes, eyes that were sealed shut while she lay on the table, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I heard every whimper of pain, letting her bury her face in my shoulder. I felt her body jerking at the poking and prodding. Saw the humiliation on her face, the shame of opening herself up in this way, not by choice, but by force and fear. As if this body wasn’t hers. In a way, she was being assaulted all over again.

  The sheet slips back on her leg. Pure rage fills me. Her thighs are covered in nasty bruises. Holding her hand tighter, I almost choke on the fury bubbling up inside me. I’m going to kill the bastard is all I could think.

  The results of the kit came back, but it wasn’t good. Inconclusive. There wasn’t enough evidence to do a search in the database. The feeling was that she knew her attacker but was too afraid to identify him. Until she started throwing up. That changed everything again.

  She was pregnant, but she refused to tell her lawyer.

  There was a chance it was mine. There was the chance it wasn’t. The rage that never left me was amplified. It was a coat of skin that, try as I might, I couldn’t shed, especially after finding out who it was. She finally broke down and told us, still refusing to report the pregnancy. It was the asshole from the bar. It was up to me to protect her, and I didn’t. The law didn’t, either.

  He was brought in for questioning, and we thought finally justice was going to be served. We were wrong. He was questioned, but lawyered up. It was like he had an army of fucking lawyers. He admitted to seeing her at the party and touching her during a conversation before they left. Then he lied and said he had a few drinks with her, which she denied, but unfortunately in her report, she did admit to having a couple of shots.

  According to him, he stayed at the party the rest of the night with his friends. He even admitted to having sex with another girl around the time of the attack, and they confirmed his story. In the end, it was determined charges weren’t going to be filed. Due to lack of evidence and witness corroboration, the DA was afraid there wasn’t enough evidence to win the case. He didn’t go on trial, but the fuc
ked up thing is, she did.

  The story was all over the school. Somehow her identity was, too, but we all know how that happened. The story was retold as the clean-cut kid from a well-to-do family, liked by everyone, 4.0 GPA, college junior, being falsely accused of rape. She was the college freshman with a crush on the popular guy, who wanted to be a part of that college life, but after being turned down and rejected by him got angry and vindictive.

  Justice was only served if you had money and knew the right people. We were out of luck; he wasn’t. I was going to make some luck for us and give her the justice she needed before letting her go.

  “Trigg, this is my fight. It all goes wrong, and you could go to jail. I don’t want that on my head, too.”

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m going. You’re not the only one who cares about her. This should have never happened. Just because he has money, and his family and friends look right, he gets off scot-free. You do your thing. I got your back, always. I’ll hold those entitled frat-boy fucks off while you take care of business.”

  It was easy enough to get into that frat house. Trigg had two girls he knew that let us in through the back. Good-looking girls are always welcomed through the door. All they had to do was show up. It was a non-stop party house, no matter that one of their own was accused of rape.

  With the girls’ directions, the room he was in was no problem to find. I came to a stop at the door, Trigg on one side, me on the other. I knocked on the door, but no answer. I knock again and a voice yelled, “Go away! I’m busy!” Then I hear another voice laugh and giggling. That fucker! I knock again, this time louder, and hear a muffled curse. Trigg and I look at each other. He puts his hand behind him, ready.

  I don’t give him a chance. As soon as he opens the door, my hand pulls back and smashes into his face, snapping his head back. A half-naked girl backs up on the bed, covering her breasts, frozen in fear as blood rushes out his nose. He curses, wiping it away, stunned. “What the fuck!” He looks at me and snarls. “You’re going to be sorry you did that.”