by Melissa Jane
I swallow hard knowing Jacob is going to lose his shit.
“Rosie! Who?”
“Kevin.”
I watch as the color drains from his face. Saying Kevin’s name causes my eyes to glisten, still angry and frustrated that he got me for a second time.
“What did he do,” Jacob asks, deathly quiet.
For the next ten minutes, I repeat the events that unfolded in the afternoon from hell. The abusive words and threats, promising to continue hurting me unless I back off, the sexual abuse.
Jacob holds my hand the entire time, his jaw clenching in anger.
When he finally does speak, Jacob issues his own warning. “I’m going to see to it that fucker goes down hard. No one, especially him, will ever lay a hand on you.”
13
THEN
The next day, Jacob and I walk hand in hand through the school’s double doors and through the herd of students milling around lockers. We spot Kevin with one arm high above his head, leaning on his own locker while having a terse conversation with an irritated Chelsea. She sees us, narrowed eagle eyes watching as Jacob snakes a hand around my waist. Kevin follows her gaze, sending his own array of daggers our way.
The bell sounds marking the beginning of first period which Jacob and I share together. We take our seats at the back of class and wait while Mr. Johnson gets ready for the lesson.
“Good morning, everyone. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve decided to give you all one last pop-quiz before finals, just to be sure you all know what I’ve been raving on about over the last term.”
There’s a collective groan and a few protests by those up front. Mr. Johnson raises his hands in defense. “Whoa, so much hate for someone who cares so much as to whether you pass or fail in life. Trust me, you all know—”
A knock at the door interrupts his well-rehearsed spiel. While he’s talking with whoever is outside, Jacob turns to me.
“After exams, we’re getting out of here.”
“Trust me, I know. I’m not setting foot in this place ever again.”
“I don’t mean school, Rosie. I mean, let’s get out of here. Get out of this town.”
I stare into his eyes and see nothing but sincerity. Jacob may have been the town’s star football player and idolized by many, but he’s always thought beyond this town. Where I feel like I don’t belong in a place like this, Jacob knows this was never ‘home’ to him. Where home is, I don’t even think he knows. But it will be somewhere where he’s in charge of his own life, his own destiny. Perhaps that’s why we found each other because we’re far more alike than we ever realized.
Mr. Johnson returns and clears his throat. “Students, I need you all to move your desks in closer to each other and push toward the back to make way for more students. Mrs. Murphy is absent today, and the relief teacher is yet to arrive, so we have her small class joining us. Push back, please.”
We all scuttle back to make room as Mrs. Murphy’s class comes in carrying desks and chairs. Among the group is Kevin and Chelsea. They both spot us at the back of the room, disgruntled for having to share a space with us.
Jacob smiles, and I nervously bite my lip. “Our morning just got a whole lot more interesting,” he says, my stomach flipping over what’s about to go down.
~
The pop-quiz is postponed due to the intruding class and instead we’ve all been given textbook chapters to complete as pre-test revision. Mr. Johnson moves around the quiet class making observations when there’s yet another knock at the door. It’s only twenty minutes into the class when Jacob murmurs, “Game time,” when a very serious Principal Derrek enters the room followed by two police officers.
If the room was quiet before, you can hear a pin drop now. This is not a regular occurrence at our otherwise blemish-free school, so the appearance of law enforcement has even the innocent questioning if it’s them they’re after.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Johnson,” Principal Derrek starts, loosening his tie ever so slightly.
“That’s fine, what can I help you with?”
After a quiet discussion between them, the principal points at Kevin and the officers move to his table, ordering him to leave his belongings. While one guides him out of his chair, the other leads the way. Knowing exactly what for, Kevin turns to us, face blazing with a hellish fury. Chelsea swivels in her chair, mouth agape in horror as she blames us for what’s unfolding. Self-preservation quickly takes over, fearful she could be next, and returns front-facing, slumping in an effort to be inconspicuous.
Jacob issued Kevin a beating the first time he attempted to rape me at the bonfire, but this time, because the assault happened on school campus, Jacob insisted we get the law involved. Having spent the morning at the police station going into detail on both occasions, we were assured this would not be taken lightly given it appears he’s an opportunist with a grudge and can easily strike again.
Less than an hour later, Kevin is escorted from class, facing similar humiliation he dealt out on me and to suffer criminal charges for what he’s done.
While a part of me is elated he’s finally getting his comeuppance, there’s a niggling fear at what the school’s next headline with read.
Rosie Reign Strikes Again.
Knocking Yet Another King Off The Football Captain’s Throne.
~
The orange sunset casts its glow in my room as I finish applying the last few touches of purple ink to the watercolor paper. An art project due to be exhibited in the graduation program alongside other student contributions from those who top their class. I’m topping two classes—art and drama—but Ms. Zagwich chose to have Kennedy Stone perform instead of me, so I can concentrate on the Taming of the Shrew audition with Jacob. Jacob also tops two classes—mathematics and science—the two I despise the most.
I smile when I hear the rumble of his Dodge coming down the street telling me he’s home from picking his mom up from the mall. Stepping over to the window, I watch as he pulls into the drive. The moment he steps out, he looks up, smiles, and waves. I return the gesture until I see Mr. Lynch burst through the front door as if on a warpath. And that’s exactly what’s happening. He shoves an unsuspecting Jacob in the back, sending him stumbling forward.
Panicked, I bolt down the stairs and am running across the road in less than ten seconds.
Mr. Lynch has his son on the ground by the scruff of his neck, his furious face only inches away. He raises his fist and cracks it across Jacob’s cheek.
“You got your stupid fucking stupid ass kicked off the fucking team?” he rages, veins popping in his neck. “Huh?”
Undeterred and almost celebrating the fact, Jacob gives a small smile. “No. I quit before they could do that.”
“And you trying to fucking humiliate me with Mr. Foster gloating how his son now has your prime position. Do you have any idea how you’ve fucked up your life? You were so close, Jacob. All fucking bets were on you to be scouted, and you go and pull this trick, you little ungrateful fucker.” Mr. Lynch prepares for another assault, and I charge forward, ignoring the pleas from his wife. I’m too late, Jacob suffers another punishing blow. He struggles under his father’s weight and wrath.
“Get the fuck off him,” I scream, ripping at Mr. Lynch’s shirt to throw him off balance.
“Fuck off, whore,” he bellows which incites rage within me.
How many women can this guy get away with calling a whore?
“Rosie, leave!” Jacob pleads, but to hell if I’m going to let this asshole lay into his son.
I swing, kicking Mr. Lynch in the ribs. When he falls a little to the side, I do it again, and Jacob’s able to gain traction and push his furious father off him.
Now half-standing, the two continue grappling, Mr. Lynch wrapping his hand around Jacob’s neck. I lurch forward, pulling at him to let go. He attempts to shirk me off, but I hold on. That is until he rotates his arm, releasing Jacob for the briefest of moments, so he can backhand me across
the face. Pain sears violently through my nerves, and I’m thrown onto the grass.
Jacob roars to life, landing some decent blows to his father’s eye and nose. When he’s able to create distance between them, and Mr. Lynch attends to the blood streaming from his nose, Jacob helps me to my feet.
“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes and fingers searching and feeling for any structural damage.
“I’m fine. Are you?”
“I need to get you a red cap, fucking superwoman.”
Despite the pain we both feel, we share a smile and chuckle before Jacob turns back to his father. “If you fucking care to know the truth, I quit the team after smashing Kevin in the face. Do you know why I chose to throw it all away and raise my fists? Because…” Jacob continues, not allowing his glaring father a response, “… the asshole tried not once, but twice, to rape Rosie.”
Lynch looks at me with utter disgust. “You think I give a flying fuck what he was doing to her?”
Ouch.
It appears I’m not the only one affected by such a callous comment. Jacob reels slightly, seeing the monster his father truly is. “Kevin lost his chance at captaincy over it,” he continues, but it falls on deaf ears.
“I don’t give a fuck if your little girlfriend is the team whore, and I certainly don’t give a fuck what happens to Kevin Foster. You,” he points vindictively, “… you stupid motherfucker, just blew any chance of being scouted. You kissed goodbye a bright future, and it could’ve been a fucking good one had you kept your dick in your pants.”
14
THEN
The next month passes with ease. Easy because our two main opponents have realized we’re not so easy to beat. Kevin had to front up in court to face sexual assault claims where he received a hundred hours community service, ordered to stay beyond a hundred feet at all times, which meant he often had to take class elsewhere in the school which complied with the terms. He was given two weeks internal suspension. Internal because it’s so close to finals that his graduation couldn’t be jeopardized. And, he also lost his short-lived captaincy, and for that matter, any position on the team. Since he was only in the role for a heartbeat, his name won’t even appear on the Panthers’ plaque which has pride of place in the corridor’s trophy cabinet.
Needless to say, his dad, Mr. Foster, has been running his mouth around town ever since as he attempts to repair his ‘reputation’ destroyed by ‘the slutty opportunist, Rosie Reign,’ which were his exact words. I gave little credence to his remarks and heard of quite a few locals coming to my defense and putting him back in his box.
Once Chelsea and Kevin’s influence wore off, the student body seemed to get used to us as a couple. The nasty comments became less until virtually non-existent, and our relationship no longer seems to be the freak show.
Nessie was all for another double date to meet Jacob’s cousin, Lenny. We successfully orchestrated the rendezvous with as minimal witnesses as possible, yet word still got back to Pastor Bryant about his daughter’s illicit fraternizing. After forbidding Nessie from seeing the terrified Lenny again, Pastor Bryant lead a Sunday sermon on underage sex—ignoring the fact that Nessie is only a heartbeat away from being legal—and how Jesus hears all our filthy thoughts and weak human desires. Nessie said she felt all eyes on her during the services and vows she’d start dating as soon as she’s at college away from her God-loving, wrath-wielding father.
Jacob and I fall deeper in love, spending every second together. Most would find that unhealthy. My dad encourages us to find our own hobbies and served me a gentle lecture at how I haven’t produced any art in a while because I’ve become ‘distracted.’
Jacob spends most nights with me, climbing the tree at lights out and returning home before the crack of dawn. Our make-out sessions have become so heated, we bring each other to the brink of madness when the other, more responsible one—we seem to share this role—puts a stop to the bedroom antics before it goes too far.
My failed reasoning is, ‘We’ve done everything else. We may as well go that one step further.’
Jacob, although struggling with the idea, gently reminds me that we have a plan and should stick to it. There are times I hate that plan, more than I’ve hated anything in the world because all I want to feel Jacob inside me. But then the excitement and anticipation win over, and instead of listening to calculus, I’ll be daydreaming about how to make our first night together extra special.
My grades are on a steady increase thanks to Jacob’s math tutorage, and toward the end leading up to exams, Jacob put a stop on all mucking around in the library study room. I try to make up for lost time when he helps with the prom decorations, but those plans are often thwarted with Anna being in the room, grunting in disapproval even over a shared a kiss.
And then performance day comes, and it takes no prisoners.
“I’m gonna throw up.”
“No, you’re not. Just lean forward and put your head between your legs,” Jacobs instructs, comfortingly rubbing my back.
“I should just scrap the scholarship and hope my grades are enough.”
“Rosie, we’re doing this whether you like it or not because you’ve worked hard for it.”
I go to stand, so I can run from the theater and head home where I can hide under my blanket and cry in peace. “Nope, I can’t. Tell Ms. Zagwich I’ve left.”
“Rosie, sit that fine ass of yours down and listen to my instruction.” When I hesitate, he becomes assertive. “Now, woman!”
Falling back into my seat, I pull at a loose thread on my dress. “Jacob, I don’t want to fail.”
Cupping my cheek and turning my face to meet his, I see the love and respect he has for me, the kind of love where he thinks I can conquer the world, and he’ll be right by my side in the process.
“Rosie, if we fail, we’ll still go out and celebrate. You’re the most intelligent, creative, generous girl I’ve ever met. If anyone can do this, you can. You’ve worked hard for this, no matter the outcome.” He swipes a stray tear with his thumb. “The whole time I’ve known you, you’ve never given up. And the only time I’ve seen you truly cry is when you killed Harold the Hamster.”
I snort a laugh because it’s true. I may cry out of frustration at times, but when I accidentally killed Harold in my flying chair rage, I’d cried for a solid week. And the guilt nearly killed me. “Okay,” I mumble.
“What was that?” he prompts.
“I said okay. Let’s do this. I’m ready.”
“That’s my girl.” Jacob closes the space between us and seals our fate with a kiss. “Whatever happens, we’ve got each other.”
But unlike the Taming of the Shrew we were about to conquer on stage, Shakespeare’s greatest tales are his tragedies, and I’m about to discover my own tragedy is just waiting to unfold.
15
THEN
“I’m here! I’m back,” my mother yells from the bottom of the stairs, slamming closed the front door in her haste. From my bedroom upstairs, I hear the terse words spoken between my parents. My father expressing his disapproval at his wife for not being home to help me get ready for prom.
Dad, seeing how hurt I was for her unsurprising absence, came to the rescue by asking Mrs. Lynch to help with my hair and makeup. Having only a son, she was over-the-moon to have a chance to do something feminine for a change.
The glisten in her eyes as she stands behind me, looking into the mirror while adding gentle curls to my long, dark hair reminds me of her generous and softly spoken nature. The bluish bruise almost perfectly concealed around her left eye tells of how her kindness and tolerance is often taken advantage of by her asshole of a husband. We laugh and speak about secretive girly things a mother would with her daughter, things we both don’t get a chance to talk about in our own households.
Dad brought in some refreshments, making bubbly mocktails for us all, and when it was time for me change, he left us alone.
Helping with the back zipper, Mrs.
Lynch fastens the clasp and places both hands on my bare shoulders. “My son is a very lucky boy, Rosie.”
I blush at her approval. “Thank you. I happen to think I’m a very lucky girl to have him.”
“And you see, that’s why you’re perfect for him. He’s been head over heels for you ever since you and your mom crossed the street and greeted us for the first time.”
“Well, I guess he’s gotten better at expressing his like for me as he got older. He had a fair few attempts at derailing my sanity.”
She laughs because she knows it’s true. “My boy has never been the best at expressing his feelings, even now. That’s why he and his father still struggle.”
Mrs. Lynch helps me with my jewelry while I dismiss the thought of saying, ‘It’s because your husband is the world’s greatest fuckwit.’
Clasping the necklace, she turns me around to face the mirror for the first time and waits quietly as I assess her creation.
I’m so much in awe, a hard lump forms in my throat. Mrs. Lynch is like some fairy godmother, completely transforming me. While I said I didn’t want anything overboard, she’s successfully been able to highlight my good qualities and make me look glamorous but still be myself. My long hair Jacob loves so much cascades down my back in beautiful soft curls, contrasting against my milky skin. The black strapless knee-length dress, figure-hugging to my waist before flowing to my knees, is adorned with tiny gemstones. I loved the dress the moment I walked past it in the store window, and while Dad at first protested that it didn’t cover my legs and chest, he still surprised me one afternoon when I found it on my bed, beautifully boxed and wrapped in a thick purple ribbon.
“You look breathtaking,” Mrs. Lynch says pulling me into her arms. “How do you feel?”
“I feel incredible. But… I’m nervous.”
