“Stop.” He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even sound angry, and this sends chills down my spine. I lower my hand from the doorknob and turn back to his voice. I look up the stairs and freeze at what I see. “I will shoot her.” His mom is lying at the top of the stairs and he’s holding a shotgun to her head. “Rocky, what are you doing?” I haven’t moved from my spot. Would he really shoot his mom? “Jaycee, run!” His mom’s head is tilted where he has the barrel of the gun pushed against it. “Rocky,” I whisper. “Come on, baby,” he calls softly. I look back at his mom and I can tell the climb of the stairs has taken its toll and she looks close to passing out. I drop my hand completely to my side and turn towards the stairs and start walking up them and his mom whispers, “No, Jaycee, go.” I stop when I get to her and reach down and touch her shoulder. “I can’t take the chance,” I whisper. Her head drops as I walk around both of them and back into his room. I’m defeated. There’s nothing left. No fight. I sit on the edge of bed and wait.
He walks back in the room and tucks the shotgun in the corner and walks over to me. “Lay back down, baby. Raise your hands above your head. Consider all that our talk. I told you I would remind you that you’re mine and now I’m going to show you,” he instructs as he reaches for something from his nightstand. I raise my hands without hesitation when he loops a pair of handcuffs through the slats in his bed’s headboard and cuffs my hands together. “Be right back. Gotta get my mom back to her room.” He kisses me and walks out his door. I don’t watch. I don’t glance over to see what he’s doing. I just close my eyes and give up for this moment as I hear his mom ask, “Rocky, my beautiful son, what’s happened to you?” “I don’t know, Mom. I really don’t know.” Rocky says, his voice confused and tired.
A few minutes later Rocky comes back in the room. He sits down on the bed next to me and reaches over towards my face. When he touches my cheeks he softly rubs them. “Jaycee, you need to help me out here. I’m sorry for having to do this, baby, but you have to start listening and then things like this won’t happen. Since you have the weekend off, we’ll spend it together. Would you like that?”
I have to get through this weekend alive and then no matter what, I’m going to the police, my family, anyone. I realize now, I need help. This is too big for me. But first I have to survive this weekend. “Yes, I’d like that.” I try to smile but my face hurts, and when he sees my pain he frowns. “Okay, baby, let me get you some medicine for the pain.” He hops off the bed, back to acting happy and calm, but I know at any moment things can change. “Thank you, Rocky.” He doesn’t unlock my hands but brings me some ibuprofen and lifts my head just enough to put them in my mouth and holds a glass of water to my lips so I can wash them down. After a few sips he sets the glass of water on the nightstand.
When he turns back, he leans down and starts to unbutton my blouse. I freeze. I can’t help it. The tears come and I start shaking my head no and he looks at me. I return the look. I’m staring into his eyes, hoping to reach something, anything, in his heart and soul with pleading eyes. “Please, no, Rocky. Don’t? please?” His eyes seem to be pleading too. “Baby, I need you. I’ve missed you,” he says as he continues to undress me. “We need to make up. It’ll be okay then.”
When I start to squirm and pull away from his touch, he sighs and sits back up. He unsnaps the holster holding a buck knife I didn’t notice he was wearing on his hip and pulls it out. He leans back down towards me and says, “I was trying to decide if I should unlock your wrists but I can see now that I won’t be able to do that.” He slides the knife down between my breasts and then he starts cutting through my blouse. He slips it under the front center of my bra and pulls up with the knife, slicing it open. “A shame. That was pretty.” He pushes off the torn clothes, exposing my breasts, and leans down and starts kissing them. He starts going down towards my stomach and when he reaches my jeans, he undoes the button, and pulls down the zipper. He stands back up and walks around to the end of the bed and reaches for my jeans and starts pulling them down my legs with my panties. This is really happening, again? How can this be happening? I had a good life, came from a good family. I was a good girl, wasn’t I?
Part of me is accepting the fact that I’m about to be raped and I just want to get it over with. I turn my head as far as I can to the side and into the pillow and start to sob and then I feel him touch my ankles and pull my legs apart. I want to kick but I remember him hitting Kelly in the face, what he did to his mom and Lucky, and when he slapped me. So I choose to let him and not fight. He’s taken all his clothes off and lies down on top of me. “I need you to feel what I feel. Please Jaycee.” He’s rubbing himself up and down at my entrance trying to get me prepared, but my body is not responding and I can tell he’s getting angry. All of the sudden he slams into me and I scream out in pain. He reaches up and clamps his hand tightly over my mouth and nose to stifle my scream and whispers, “Shush, baby, Shush. Let me feel you,” and as he keeps violently pumping into me, I can feel the burn and it hurts like fire is burning me. The force of his hands is ripping up the inside of my lips and I can’t breathe. I can’t catch a good breath. I’m starting to panic and I need air. I start thrashing, but his hand clamps down tighter across my nose and mouth and things start to go black and my body starts to numb. Maybe the black isn’t a bad thing, I think. I give in to it.
I don’t know what happened, but I seem to wake and when I do, I’m disoriented. It takes me a moment to remember—to realize where I am and what just happened, and when I do, I start to cry. He’s still on top of me and he’s collapsed and breathing hard. He’s done. Thank God for that at least. He gets off me and walks into the bathroom. I hear the sink turn on and the water running for a few minutes. When he walks back in the room, he has a warm washcloth and spreads my legs, wiping me clean. Oh my God, he hasn’t used protection. He tosses the washcloth in his hamper, walks back to the bed, and then starts pulling the bed sheets down from underneath where I’m laying and crawls into the bed next to me. After arranging the covers over us, he lays on his side facing me and yawns. “I’m wiped, baby. Need sleep,” he murmurs. He kisses my lips and closes his eyes and is asleep within minutes. I know because I feel his breathing deepen. Sometime later I fall asleep too, but wake in pain, having to use the bathroom. “Rocky? Rocky?” He mumbles, “What baby?”
“I’m sorry. I have to pee, please?” He tosses the covers off us and crawls across me and reaches down for his jeans. He pulls some keys from the pocket and then reaches up and unlocks the handcuffs. My arms hurt badly and my elbows feel locked. “Hurry up, babe, I’m tired.” But I can’t move. I hurt everywhere, but I manage to get my legs moving a little and start turning myself to my side. My arms are in so much pain. They’re useless. Eventually, I get my legs off the side of the bed and walk to the restroom. “Leave the door open Jaycee, and hurry up.” Without caring, I do as he says. All my modesty is gone. I pee for awhile and my bladder is probably the only thing that doesn’t hurt now. I look at the toilet paper, but I can’t use my hands to grab it. My arms are starting to come back to life and it feels like tons of needles piercing the skin so I just sit and let myself dry for a minute and then walk back to the bed and crawl in. There’s no point in trying to escape now. Tonight, I concede, again.
Chapter 12
After Rocky dropped me back off at my car, I had planned on going directly to the sheriff when I got home that weekend. But when I came in the front door of the house, my uncle Brock and aunt Paige were sitting talking with my grandma. My aunt Paige was telling my grandma that after the adoption company does checks on the family for any financial hardship or criminal behavior, they should get approved for adoption.
Uncle Brock and Aunt Paige have tried everything to have children but she can’t seem to conceive, and the one time they tried in vitro and she did, she miscarried early on. It had put a strain on their relationship so they decided to give the decision over to God. I remember th
at time being emotionally and physically daunting for both of them. The whole family felt their pain and loss. A couple of years ago they started looking into adoption and have gone to a few agencies.
When they see me, Aunt Paige jumps up, runs over, and hugs me, clearly excited and happy about something.
“Guess what, Jaycee!” I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, but when I flinch in pain from the bruises on my face, she notices. “Jaycee, good Lord, what happened?” My uncle Brock gets up and walks over to me and puts his fingers under my chin and turns my head to each side, looking at my cheeks. “Jaycee? What’s going on? Who did this?” He’s pissed.
Tell them, tell them, tell them, tell them… I can’t. What if this affects their chances at an adoption? Didn’t she just say criminal behavior could affect their chances? I just can’t. This is my problem. I brought it home. He’s my monster and I have to protect my family from him. I won’t ruin this chance for them.
“I was pulling boxes on the shelf in the storeroom at work and a few fell off and hit me.” I start to pull my face from my uncle’s hands and look back at my aunt Paige, but he stops me. “And they hit both sides of your face, your lips and your forehead?” My forehead and lips? I absently raise my hand to my forehead and rub it and then lightly touch my lips. Everything is sore and tender. The one on my forehead must have happened when he shoved it with his palm. My grandma has walked over and joined us, because I hear her gasp. Okay, think quickly, Jaycee. “Yes, the boxes weren’t that big—register tape—and when I pulled at one, several fell and hit me all over my face, but I’m fine. You know I’m an accident waiting to happen!” I try to laugh it off. “I’m fine.” I probably should have looked in the mirror. I actually have no idea what my face looks like.
“Aunt Paige, tell me why you’re so excited!” I look back to her and her eyes are still searching my face. She’s still concerned for me. She and Uncle Brock share a look, but she turns back to me and smiles a very sweet and almost shy smile. “The adoption company called. We have a son, Jaycee. A son!” she claps her hands. “Can you believe that? The mom isn’t due just yet but I’m just so excited! I’m finally going to get to be a mommy!” We both start crying happy tears along with my grandma. I hug her and then she pulls back to look at her husband. “Oh, Brock, you get to be a daddy!” He smiles at her and pulls his wife into his arms and as they’re standing there I make my exit. Yes, I’ve definitely made the right choice not to tell them.
I’m standing in the little bathroom my grandpa had built onto the house for me. He felt being outnumbered by three boys I deserved my space, so he added a stand-up shower, a sink, toilet, and a window. When I want to soak in the tub, I use my grandma’s bathroom with her old tub. Nothing fancy, but it does the job. I’m staring at my reflection and I don’t recognize the person staring back. She’s bruised and looks empty. Both my lips are swollen from where he had covered them with his hand and I have small fingertip bruises all over both cheeks and a big one in the middle of my forehead. I had no idea it was this bad. My God. I have small rings under my bloodshot eyes. I pick my hairbrush up off the vanity and start running it through my hair, trying to improve what I see a little bit. I don’t hear my uncle Brock walk up to the open bathroom door, but when he calls my name I scream and almost fall down trying to make my escape into the corner of the shower.
Normally, my reaction would be comical, but he sees my fear is real, not the after-effects from watching a scary movie. I am truly terrified. “Jaycee, goddammit! Who did this to you?” All I can do is shake my head back and forth as silent tears fall from my eyes. “No one, Uncle Brock. I fell.” I try to make excuses. “You fell, or boxes hit you in the face?” I start to lie again but he’s not having it. “Bullshit!! Was it that kid from the dance hall? Did he do this?” The memory of that night and that nice guy I met has me breaking down and falling into the floor of shower stall. No, definitely not him.
Uncle Brock reaches in and picks me up, carries me to my bed, and lays me down. “Jaycee. I need to call your dad and uncle Duke.” That’s when panic sets in and I start to bolt from the bed. I need to get out of here. If they know they’ll go after him and then one of them could get hurt. My brothers—they’ll go after him too. After what he did to me, Kelly, Lucky, and to his own mom, he’ll have no problem hurting one of them. No! My monster. I’ll fix it or at least lead it away from the people I love most in the world. I try to make a run for it, but my uncle Brock follows me across the bed and grabs me from behind. “Jaycee, settle down. Settle down, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay now.” His voice is soft and I finally give up and collapse into his hold. He sits back on the bed and cradles me and rocks me back and forth. “Get Duke and Stone here, now.” I don’t know who he says this to. I keep my face turned into his chest and cry.
I must cry myself to sleep, because I wake when I feel a shift on my bed and I jerk my eyes open and brace to run, but then I see my dad. He’s holding my wrists and looking at the marks the handcuffs made and anger flashes in his eyes. He takes a deep breath and pulls me up and hugs me. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me? Rocky did this?” I just nod my head. “He did it on purpose? He meant to hurt you?” I nod yes again. I hear a commotion and lift my head from his shoulder and I see my uncle Brock and uncle Duke and all four of my brothers, my cousin, and my little sister, and I’m completely humiliated. I feel dirty and ashamed. These are good people and I have brought this shame to them because of my choices. Their expressions range from anger to sadness, and my baby sister Abigail is crying. I can’t look at them. My brothers and cousin all make a move for the door, but my uncle Brock and uncle Duke move together, blocking them from getting through. They’re mad. They’re going to go after him. “Calm down, boys. We need to hear it all. Then we decide if we bother going to the police or we handle it.” I can tell my brothers like the thought of them handling it. I look at my dad and back at everyone and don’t say anything. “Who?” My dad asks and I look to my uncle Duke. I need his blue eyes—my grandpa’s blue eyes—and his gentle calm right now. My dad kisses my cheek and gets up as my uncle Duke walks over to me. My dad ushers everyone else out of the room, follows them out, and closes the door.
“Tell me, honey,” he says as he scoots forward to pull me close. “No one is going to hurt you again. Don’t be scared.” He has no idea that I’m not scared for me. I don’t care anymore. I just don’t want anyone I love to get hurt. They have no idea. Rocky isn’t bad, he’s evil. Over the next hour, I shamefully tell my uncle Duke almost everything. Every now and then I pause, trying to gauge a reaction, but he sits quietly. Other than him telling me to continue, he has been silent. I finish without telling him about the rape. That’s mine. I will carry that. I’m humiliated enough. Me allowing any of this is my burden and even now that I’ve shared some, I feel no relief. I never liked lying to my family, but the rape is mine and it’s what will drive me to either give up or fight.
My uncle Duke pulls his phone from his back pocket and starts scrolling through his numbers. When he finds the one he wants he puts the phone to his ear. “Dean, it’s Duke. I’m going to need your help. It’s pretty bad.” My uncle pauses and then says, “No. We’re at my mom’s. My niece, Jaycee, she’s been beaten by her boyfriend and she’s hurt and scared to death.” I hear the voice on the other end of the phone yell, “Who?” “Rocky, Rocky Jennings,” my uncle Duke says and there’s another pause before he replies. “Okay, see you in a few.”
My uncle has just called an old classmate and good friend from school, Dean Cullens. Sheriff Dean Cullens.
Chapter 13
It’s been a month and a half since Rocky beat and raped me. He’s vanished. The local police department and the sheriffs are looking for him, but they haven’t found him. Someone keeps a constant vigil on me. I’m never alone, as one or more of my brothers or my cousin Bradley are with me almost around the clock, and I’ve taken indefinite leave from my job at Dan’s Gr
ocer. Bradley moved in with my grandma and me, and Nash spends most nights sleeping here on the couch in the den when he’s not on duty. Only when I’m asleep at night do they leave me alone, with no idea that’s the worst time for me. I don’t sleep and I can’t eat, and I’ve been throwing up a lot. I can’t seem to keep any food down. And when it turns dark, I rarely close my eyes. That’s when monsters come out. I’m sure it’s when my monster will show back up. He’s just biding his time. And his time is now.
It’s been a rough day. I’m still not eating and I know I’ve lost weight. I can feel my clothes getting looser every day. Grandma’s put her foot down and made a doctor’s appointment for me in the morning. My cousin Bradley, who also shares my grandpa’s blue eyes, has always been one of my best friends. He has blonde hair and is just an inch or so taller than the rest of the men in our family. We’ve been talking most of the day about his boyfriend, Connor, who’s decided to move down from Dallas to San Antonio, to be with him. Bradley hadn’t planned on staying, but now he’s refusing to leave.
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