by Vi Lily
…and finding Ben’s phone.
But that’s the end of my memories for the evening.
I frown as I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sit up, wincing at the strange soreness in my legs. I’m dying of thirst, so I grab the water that had somehow magically appeared on my nightstand and chug it down. Yet another mystery. I definitely don’t remember getting water.
Since it’s already sunny, I know I’m running late, so I stand. A wave of dizziness threatens to take over and I sit back down and moan. I put my hand to my head, and I hear the door open.
“Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” my mom asks, and I crack an eye while turning my head to look at her. Even though my bedroom is freaking huge, I have excellent eyesight, so there is no reason for my mother’s image to be so blurry.
I blink furiously several times, trying to clear my vision.
“I feel—” my voice is a croak, so I clear my throat and try again. “I feel awful. What happened? I don’t even remember going to bed.”
My mom walks up to me and puts the back of her hand to my forehead, the typical “Are you sick?” mom test. I look up to see she’s frowning.
“You were gone longer than I thought you would be, so I started to head out to look for you, but as I was backing out of the garage, I saw your car in the drive. You were sitting in it, with it running and the heater on full blast. It was like an oven in there and you were sweating, sound asleep.”
I return her frown. “Gone? Where did I go?”
There’s no mistaking the worry — or maybe it’s confusion, or worse, condemnation — on my mom’s face then and she turns around to sit next to me.
“You said you found Ben’s phone and were going to take it back to him, remember?”
No, I don’t remember. I do remember finding the phone, but nothing after that. I don’t say that, though, but just shake my head.
“When I found you, I had a heck of a time waking you. I thought you were drunk, honestly, but I knew you hadn’t been gone long enough for you to be that intoxicated.”
I turn my head to side-eye her. “Seriously? Drunk?”
She stares at me, like she’s trying to figure me out. She knows that getting drunk or high is the last thing she’ll ever have to worry about with me. I never party. Harvard is too important to me and with the way my life goes, I’d get busted for underage drinking. My life is lived by Murphy’s Law — if something can go wrong, it probably will. Not being pessimistic, but that’s the way things usually turn out for me.
“Well, honestly, I had no other idea what could be wrong with you,” she says, kind of condescendingly, to be honest. “But then, you suddenly seemed to come to your senses and said you were going to bed.” She shrugs.
“I figured then you were just really tired. I know teenagers need a lot of sleep and you rarely get enough, with all the studying and hanging out with Ben and all.”
That comment triggers another memory — Ben said he wouldn’t be able to stay for dinner, because he had some sort of meeting. So, if I took the phone to his house, what happened from the time I left to when I got home?
I mentally shrug. There was no sense beating myself up trying to remember. All I know is I need to take a shower and get ready for school. I say as much to Mom as I cautiously stand again.
Her eyes widen. “It’s one-thirty. I called you in to school this morning.”
I whip my head around to look at her and another wave of dizziness hits me. “Whoa,” I breathe, both from the dizzy spell and the knowledge that I’d slept so long. I didn’t even hear my alarm.
Maybe I am sick after all.
“I’m gonna try taking a shower,” I mumble as I walk like a drunk toward my bathroom. I figure Mom will probably stay in my room in case I need her help and with the way I feel, that’s a good idea.
I turn on the water to warm up and peel off my pajama top. I wince at the movement. I’m sore, like I’ve gotten beat up. I figure then that I have the flu with accompanying muscle aches. But then I glance in the mirror and see bruises on my chest, right above my left breast. They look just like… fingerprints.
I lean closer to the mirror and look at my face. My brown eyes are hollow-looking, like I’ve been sick for a long time. But even weirder, my pupils are dilated, despite the bright bathroom lights.
But the strangest thing of all comes when I peel my pajama pants and panties down and I see the dried blood on my thighs. I frown; since I got the birth control implant, I haven’t had a period. The doctor said that could be one of the side effects and I had been glad, because that meant I could have sex with Ben whenever we wanted.
Ben…
Mom said I took his phone to his house. I have that memory of him saying he had a meeting or something, but maybe he’d been home. Maybe we’d finally hooked up. Maybe what I’m seeing is evidence of my cherry popping.
But why can’t I remember something so monumental?
I’ll have to look back through my texts and see if I can piece the puzzle together, but for now, there are just too many mysteries to solve without caffeine in my system, so I step under the hot spray and try to wash all my worries and confusion away.
Mom must have decided I was okay, because she isn’t in the room when I come out of the bathroom or maybe she just didn’t care enough to make sure I was alright. I cringe at that thought, but it really isn’t me being dramatic; my mom doesn’t act too “motherly” toward me. She saves all that for Rod.
I shove those thoughts aside as I try to remember the evening before while towel-drying my long hair. It’s a pain and I’m seriously thinking of cutting it all off. I really like Skyler Samuels’ hair from The Gifted, cut right to the shoulders.
My stomach rumbles then and I realize that I haven’t eaten since lunch the day before. Maybe. Who knows what I did the night before. I could have scarfed a whole pizza and not remember it.
I figure there was no reason to get dressed in “real clothes,” so I pull on a pair of sweats and a Harvard sweatshirt. I nab my phone from my nightstand and tuck it into my pocket, figuring I’ll do my text detective work while I eat. I then grab a pair of fuzzy socks from my drawer and sit on the bench at the foot of my bed to put them on.
I just get the socks on when I hear a crash from downstairs. It sounds like Mom dropped something very breakable.
Since I’m still lightheaded, I carefully make my way down the stairs while hurrying as much as I can. I figure Mom is in the kitchen, so that’s where I head.
And stop dead in my tracks.
Mom is standing by the island, next to the kitchen television, surrounded by what looks like pieces of a plate. The television is on the news channel, showing a man being arrested in what looks like a locker room. Probably another sports betting scheme.
Even though she’s facing the screen, Mom isn’t watching the broadcast. Instead, she’s staring at her phone with a horrified look on her face.
She must sense my presence, because she looks up at me then. The three words that come out of her mouth in a whisper will haunt me for a very long time.
“How could you?”
Huh?
I frown at my mom. Maybe I’m still too disoriented to have heard her properly. She holds her phone out like it’s a diseased rat and wants me to take it away.
Something tells me that I should turn and go back upstairs, climb into bed and sleep until whatever life-changing event that’s about to unfold blows over. But instead, like an idiot I step forward and take the phone from her hands.
It’s a video. A porno, from the looks of the naked butt I’m staring at. I glance up at my mom, wondering what alternate universe I woke up in that would make it okay for a mother to show porn to her daughter.
Honestly, I really don’t want to see it, but apparently Mom thinks I needed to, for some crazy reason. It’s stopped, so I hit the little triangle.
Definitely not a professional porno, and don’t ask me how I know that, but it looks like
a homemade one. The video starts with a man’s naked butt, his pants pulled down to his thighs. He’s obviously having sex with some chick who’s lying on a desk while he holds her thighs up with his hands.
I frown as I squint at the little screen. The room looks familiar somehow, which is weird. The guy seems kind of familiar too, even though I can’t see his face.
But then the camera angle changes, and I see his face from the front. I have seen that man before, at my school. It’s Ben’s dad, Coach Penn.
My eyes flicker back to the television and I realize that the man I’d seen getting arrested was the Coach. I wonder why — because of a homemade porno?
I look down to my mom’s phone and see that the camera angle has changed yet again. Now the viewer can see exactly who it is that he’s screwing.
My entire world tilts on its axis then.
I might not remember the events of the night before, but there’s no denying what happened. As I stare in horror at the video, I see Coach reach down and squeeze. My hand goes to my left breast where the fingerprint bruises are. I wince when I see how hard he squeezes it then.
The girl in the video — I know it’s me, but it isn’t me, if that makes any sense; this is truly the only way I’m coping at the moment — moans and it sounds like she’s really enjoying it. In fact, the whole thing seems… consensual.
But there’s no way I would have had sex with Ben’s dad. No way in hell. I had been saving myself for Ben, had been all my life, even though I didn’t know it then. His jerk father had done something, must have, to hypnotize me, or…
Drug me.
“Oh my gawd,” I breathe as I look back at my mom and step toward her. “That’s what happened last night.”
My mom does something then that she’s never done in my entire life. She slaps me. Hard.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were doing!” she screeches, then snatches her phone out of my hand and turns it so the screen is aimed at me. She points to the disgusting evidence.
“You’re right here, moaning and groaning and obviously enjoying yourself! And with a man your father’s age!” she yells.
I stand there, hand on my stinging cheek, tears welling in my eyes as I stare at the only person in the entire world that I thought would always — should always — have my back. Protect me. Believe in me.
Knowing what I know about her, I should have known better.
The tears run down my cheeks and I suck in a breath. “He drugged me,” I whisper. “I… I don’t even remember it. I told you I don’t remember leaving last night. The last thing I do remember is finding Ben’s phone.”
My mom is scowling at me like she hates me and that breaks me even more than watching the video of me spread-eagle on Coach Penn’s desk, losing my virginity to a scum-sucking jerk rapist.
“You said you thought I was drunk when I got home,” I whisper, begging her to believe me with my eyes. “I never would have given my virginity to that man. I wanted it to be Ben…” a sob escapes me then and I collapse on the floor, not caring that the shards from the dropped plate are cutting into my flesh. The broken plate is like my heart — shattered.
I put my face in my hands and weep.
Mom sucks in a breath and then she’s on her knees, pulling me into a hug. I honestly can’t even remember the last time she held me. I cling to her, afraid her comfort is going to end too soon.
“I’m sorry,” she says, but it doesn’t sound very sincere, honestly. “I… I just… that horrible video. What are people going to think?” she cries.
While I had hoped that my mother was upset because I’ve been violated, that’s the reality of it… she only cares about appearances.
I shift out of Mom’s embrace so I can stand and swipe angrily at the tears on my face. “I wanna press charges,” I tell her. “That jerk needs to pay for what he did!”
My mom nods in agreement. I can practically read the thought bubbles popping up in her head. Yes, press charges, then it won’t look like my daughter’s a slut. We’ll get sympathy. People won’t judge us.
Instead of voicing what I’m pretty sure she’s thinking, she says, “I, um, don’t know how this works, but from NCIS I know you have to go to the hospital to get tested.” Her face pales then.
“Oh my gawd,” she breathes, “you don’t think you could have gotten pregnant, do you?”
My face reddens as I shake my head. “No, I got on birth control last month… once I realized Ben was who I… wanted to be my first.”
Another sob escapes me, and Mom makes a move to grab me again, but I hold my hand up. If she gives me any more fake sympathy, I won’t be able to hold it together. At. All.
“I’ll just go get my shoes,” I tell her, and she murmurs something about warming up the Escalade.
As I climb the stairs, I have a sickening thought that should have occurred to me before, and would have if I wasn’t still so foggy — how did my mom get that video?
I turn and head back down. Mom’s just coming from the garage and I can hear the Escalade’s motor before she shuts the door behind her and glances up at me in surprise.
“Who sent you that video?” I ask.
She frowns and pulls her phone out of her pocket. “I don’t know — I didn’t really pay attention.” She hands it to me and I turn the screen on. The video is still open, but stopped, thankfully. I try to ignore it as I look for the sender.
The text with the video attachment says, “Important! Big changes at Athole coming!” I frown at that and then look at the sender. I’m pretty sure all the blood drains from my face then.
The sender was the school’s messaging system, the one that’s used to alert parents and students when we have a snow day, or there’s an event coming up. I know I probably have the video on my phone too.
Every parent. Every teacher. Every student. All will see it and assume I willingly had sex with Coach Penn.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe and my chest feels like it’s being crushed under a truck, because, if that wasn’t bad enough, I know that the only people who would have had access to the message system were those who work in the office.
Ben.
HE
Chapter 1
W ITH THE CLICK of a play button, Ben’s whole world changed. And not for the good.
The video of his dad screwing some chick on his desk in their house was sickening. Ben wasn’t surprised by it, though, even as he wondered who’d taken the video.
Sadly, his dad was a creep and a pervert. Him screwing someone other than his mom definitely wasn’t something new. He didn’t need to watch the video to know that.
In fact, they’d had to move twice already because the jerk couldn’t keep it in his pants.
The last time, the chick had cried rape. His dad insisted he was innocent, and the girl had dropped the charges when there wasn’t really any evidence, but Ben had his doubts. Glen had been in college then and living at home. Ben remembered his brother coming into his room late at night and waking him up.
“Dad’s screwed us all over,” Glen had told Ben angrily. He had a right to be angry — he’d had to drop out of college to move with the family since he wasn’t going to school on scholarships and with their dad losing his job as head coach for a USL League One team, there wasn’t any money for college.
And this time, their dad had screwed Ben over. And his little sister, Gwen.
They were finally happy, content, at Athole Academy. Despite being the poor boy in the rich crowd, Ben felt like he’d fit in, made a niche for himself. The rich kids even looked up to him, which was weird.
Ben had finally had a future in mind, one where he graduated from the Academy, got accepted into a good college and then maybe picked up by a pro soccer team.
And then Beth had come tripping into his life with her tiny feet decked out in colorful Converse.
He wasn’t one to be romantic, or anything, but with Beth, Ben could see a shift in his thinking, his planning. Since th
e day he’d met her, whenever he thought of his future, she was in it, tucked in right beside him.
She was his future. Everything else was just plans.
In just a few weeks, Beth had come to mean everything to him. He didn’t want to do anything to screw things up with her, which is why he hadn’t made a move on her. Yet. He wanted their first time together to be special and was planning to wait until Prom.
And while she hadn’t admitted it, Ben was pretty sure Beth was still a virgin. The idea that he’d be her first — and her last — did something to his inner caveman that made him all kinds of protective. He wasn’t going to let anything screw that up for them.
So, screw his dad.
He snorted. Apparently, everyone else was.
That morning, Ben had just finished getting ready for school when Beth’s mom texted him.
Nadine: Hey hon. Beth is sick. I called her in
Ben didn’t like the way his heart had caught at that. Kids got sick all the time. There was no reason to be worried. He’d told himself to quit being a wuss.
Ben: sorry to hear it. Does she need anything?
Nadine: That’s sweet, but no thanks
Nadine: rod still wants a ride though
Ben had laughed to himself. Of course he did. He figured even if the kid was driving age, which he damned near was, he’d want to ride with him. They’d gotten to be pretty good friends and would be awesome together on the field, as far as he could tell. Ben was really looking forward to next season.
He’d already recruited Rod to play lacrosse in the spring. The kid had been signed to the track team right off the bat, without even trying, because his times in California were so good. He’d be an awesome addition to the lacrosse team.
Despite his girl being sick, the day had started out pretty awesome. For once, it was sunny and warm for that time of year — if you could call thirty “warm.” He breezed through his History exam, mostly thanks to Beth’s help with drilling him on dates. They even had one of his favorite things on the menu for lunch that day — triple meat pizza.