by Kane, Jessa
“Do you actually think that dumb jock would be a good choice for your first time, Allie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly snaps, just thinking about her being touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right.”
Pink is starting to climb her neck.
I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from licking the rise of color.
But I think if I actually got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I don’t know how to fuck. In theory I do, but not in practice. Since seeing Allie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. No one before that, either, or I was too young to be sexually active. She gave me my first hard-on when we were fourteen and she showed up to gym class in a white T-shirt and no bra, her tits jiggling around during volleyball—and my dick has never gotten stiff for anyone else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart.
How easily she’s neglected both to the point of agony.
“Left you a little something in your locker—”
“Stop,” she breathes.
Every organ in my body seizes. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence, and if I wasn’t sitting down, I would probably be on my knees, the effect of having her address me is so powerful. “Allie,” I choke out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
That’s all it took.
One pleading word out of her mouth and I’m cracking.
“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.”
I collapse back in my chair, pulse thundering in my throat. My head is enflamed, heart mutilated. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hold her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the bell is ringing and she’s diving out of her seat to get away from me. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her, because my legs don’t seem to want to work properly.
Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and ugly and antagonizing for so long. My head, however, is telling me not to say sorry. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a stuck-up snob, for blowing me off, for valuing money and status like everyone else. But my heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not?
The decision is taken out of my hands when Allie opens her locker and the photograph I left before class drifts to the ground. It’s a picture I cut out from the senior yearbooks that were handed out earlier this week. In the photo is a smiling Allie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife.
Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway.
Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a hint of emotion where I’m concerned. Today, though…she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she shoves the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her luminous eyes finding me briefly, slaying me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.
Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of rowdy students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything.
Tonight. I’ll return to the field for the first time in two years.
Chapter Two
Allie
I’ve known this was coming all day.
Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small a target as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants and raves, gesticulating wildly. Picking up items that belonged to my mother once upon a time, before she did the smart thing and left, slamming them back down.
This isn’t new, my father’s rage boiling over.
But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and its put his temper on a hair trigger. There is no avoiding it. When he gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a black mood. A category five tornado eating up everything in its path. Fascinating to watch, but utterly terrifying.
Reminded of the weather, I send a sidelong glance out the window and notice the approaching clouds. It hasn’t rained in weeks. I would give anything for a loud banger of a storm tonight. Something to get lost in, so I can forget what’s about to happen. So I can forget the picture Moore left in my locker today, the ugly words he said to me, the seething anger in his eyes when he looks at me.
“Are you even paying attention to me?” The slap across the face comes as a shock, because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality.
“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.”
“This C on your chemistry test is going to drag your whole average down.” He snatches the hated test up for the tenth time, waving it in my face. “What a disappointment you are turning out to be. Your teacher shared my disgust.”
I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the storm outside. “I’m sorry. I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.”
Thus the reason I let my focus slip a little in chemistry.
Senioritis. Everyone in my grade has it. The finish line is in sight for everyone and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my concentration this long in any class, considering Moore sits behind me in every period, brooding like heavy morning fog.
At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and curl up. Replay that night in the field when he touched me, spoke to me so sweetly and honestly. Before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread seeing every day, as much as I crave the brutally beautiful sight of him. At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right.
Should I be ashamed that my body reacted favorably to those words?
I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, my femininity clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. Poundpoundpound. His breath on my neck sensitized me, head to toe. Even the way he scared off the other boy did something to me. Aroused me. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop.
I can hear him saying my name in that bumpy way afterward. That shocked, uneven scrape of sound. Allie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight.
“College?” My father snorts, ripping the test in half. “You’re not going to college.”
This grabs my attention like a quilt being snatched from a bed. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to ten different schools. I have a four point five GPA.”
For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just anger. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion. “None of the schools that accepted you offered scholarships.”
“I’ve been accepted?” I breathe, sitting forward, heart blasting into a sprint. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—”
“All the mail in this house goes through me. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed.”
I don’t point out
that his refusal to let me participate in any extra curricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying. What this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me. “Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we?”
I have to get out of here.
I have to get out of here.
This was my way out. College was the escape hatch.
“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money. Spoiled brat.” He goes very still for a moment, a touch of that humiliation seeping back in. “It’s all gone. Poured back into the business and lost. There is no money.”
Those final four words rob the breath out of my lungs.
I wrap my arms around my middle, wheezing, my brain searching for solutions. “Financial aid, then. Loans…”
“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? Soak up all of the benefits of me busting my hump at work all goddamn day, then sneak off when the going gets tough. You’re all the same.”
I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I look him square in the eye. And I can see the violence has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with my actions, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How clean I made the house or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine.
I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance. Or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother left. Not like he does now. Not with his fists and his rage. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along.
“Go to hell,” I whisper.
He rears back, giving me the fleeting satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”
I gulp a sob and scream it this time. “Go to hell!”
From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight was going to be worse than usual, but I’ve just guaranteed that tenfold. Normally I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his ire, but not tonight. I’m present for every punch and kick. Every hurled insult. And when it usually would have stopped, it doesn’t…and that’s when I start to get scared.
I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Moore staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.
* * *
Moore
What I’m seeing just isn’t possible.
It can’t be real.
My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth ransacks my stomach, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Allie’s father is not just beating her. He’s trying to kill her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to defend her. To put a stop to the worst thing I could have ever imagined. What the fuck. What the fuck.
Blistering hot rage takes over.
I kick in the front door and lunge to get between Allie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses on a downswing when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth agape. It’s not satisfying enough. Nothing will ever be enough. I want to flip him onto his back and keep wailing, but my Allie is struggling for breath behind me and she’s all I can think about.
Turning, I approach her, my gut roiling violently. Cataloguing all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence?
Get her out of here.
Rasping her name, I reach down to pick up her, but she flinches and scoots back, bringing her body up against the wall. “Don’t touch me, bully.”
Those words rip the soul clean out of my body.
My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like line drives. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this? This is what she’s been dealing with at home?
“Allie…” My voice is in shreds. All of me is in shreds. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.”
She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.”
“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it.”
Her expression can only be described as perplexed. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Moore. You are my enemy.”
“I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.”
Shakily, she uses the wall to try and stand.
I shoot forward to help her, but she recoils and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is completely my doing. I’ve made her hate me.
There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be a way. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing it has been in jeopardy all along is unbearable. I only made the decision to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
From his sprawl on the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly.
“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Allie. I need to get you somewhere safe.”
She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me steadily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?”
It’s so much worse that her question is earnest. Not meant to wound me. Not meant to be snarky. She genuinely doesn’t know if I pose a threat.
It guts me where I stand.
“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Allie. I’d never.”
Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words, before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to break through to Allie, spur her into planning mode. “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her gait uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then whip off the curtain sash, tying her father’s hands behind his back, in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time. Allie has seen enough violence for one night, though.
Cautiously, I walk up the stairs, toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my trailer. It’s elegant and clean and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum.
Turning the corner into Allie’s room, it’s time to kick myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed and dresser that doubles as a desk. A stack of textbooks.
She looks back at me over her shoulder, as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features schooled, though I’m dying on the inside. “What can I do?” I ask.
“How long do we have?”
“As long as you need.”
It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close and she’s battered. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’ve been lucky to be in her presence. I’ve squandered the fucking right. And if she
allows me back in, I’ll never do it again.
It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in.
She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room.
Let alone her heart.
“Um…” She closes her eyes to concentrate, a familiar mannerism I’ve seen her pull in class countless times. “There is a duffel bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?”
Ask me to bring you a unicorn horn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.”
We work in silence, Allie yanking things out of drawers and adding them to the duffel bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway.
“Allie?”
Conflicted aqua eyes zip to mine. “I can’t just leave, can I?”
“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay, because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill of negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?”
She shrugs jerkily. “My mom left when I was in seventh grade. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to her about what happened behind closed doors, you know? Maybe it was always this bad, just for someone else. I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside them.”
“I don’t know,” I say through stiff lips. “I evolved into one, didn’t I?”
That gives her pause, forms a line between her brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with lavender. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired in town. I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.”
