Worth It

by Nicki DeStasi

  “You okay?” Jared asks.

  I open my mouth to respond, but Todd clips, “She’s fine. Let’s go, Savannah.”

  My gut is a jumbled mess, but I give my friends a half smile and turn to follow him out into the hallway.

  When the cafeteria door closes behind me and the two of us are alone, he turns to me and pushes me against the nearby wall. His hands grip my biceps and his face is an inch from mine when he asks through clenched teeth, “What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to make me angry?”

  My eyes widen, and my body electrifies with anxiety. I rack my brain to figure out what I did wrong, what I did to make him so angry. My heart races as I stammer out, “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Why is that little shit putting his hands on you?”

  “Who? Jared?”

  Todd’s jaw clenches, and his hand on my arm squeezes tighter, but he says nothing.

  “He’s just my friend. We’ve been friends since middle school,” I say in a rush. Even though I’ve had a crush on Jared since I’ve known him, my feelings for him are nothing compared to what I’m feeling for Todd.

  “If he’s just a friend, why the fuck did he kiss you?” His eyes flash with anger.

  “I…I don’t know. He’s always done that,” I explain quickly.

  “I don’t like him. I don’t want you hanging around him.”

  My face drops. Jared is my friend, and he has been for a few years now. I don’t want to make Todd mad at me, but I don’t want to lose my friend either. “But he’s my friend.”

  “That little asshole wants in your pants, and I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

  My face flames at the mention of sex. Todd was my first kiss, and other than a few make-out sessions, I’ve never done anything more than that. Jared doesn’t see me that way anyway.

  I shake my head. “He doesn’t.”

  His hand grips me harder, and I wince.

  “So, you want him then, huh? Is that it?”

  “What? No!” I guess, on some level, it’s a lie, but I’m not pining after Jared anymore.

  I have Todd, and I care about him. I think I might even love him, so I don’t want him to think that I want Jared. He might leave me, and that thought makes me tense and scared.

  “You sure?” he asks, his face softening a little.

  The stiffness in my body begins to melt away. “Yeah, I only care about you,” I reply gently.

  He rewards me with a gorgeous smile. My body relaxes completely when he envelops me in his arms and presses his lips on top of my head. He keeps them there for a few moments, allowing contentment to settle over me.

  “I think you should prove it,” he mumbles against my head.

  I tip my chin up to look at him, my face puckering in confusion. He smiles at me, but it makes me uneasy. Something about it doesn’t seem right. It reminds me of the first day I met him at the bus stop.

  He doesn’t clarify, but he takes my hand and leads me down the hall until we come to a stop in front of the janitor’s closet. My body begins to tense when he opens the door and motions for me to enter the small enclosed space.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him carefully.

  He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re going to prove our feelings to each other.”

  My brow furrows. “In a closet? How are we going to do that?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  I peek into the dark closet and then back at him.

  His lips twist with annoyance, and he says, “That is, unless you don’t care about me.”

  “Of course I do,” I say automatically.

  Despite the warning bell sounding off in the back of my head, I walk forward. He follows behind me, and when the door clicks shut, I suck in a breath. I hear rustling, and I begin to worry my bottom lip because it sounds like he’s undoing his pants. My shoulders tense, and my face flames in the quiet darkness as understanding begins to sink in.

  “Come here,” he says quietly.

  I move slowly, my uncertainty causing me to stall.

  When I finally reach him, he takes my hand and guides it onto him. When my fingertips touch the soft skin of his privates, and I try to jerk away, but his grip tightens painfully.

  “I thought you cared about me. Don’t you want me to feel good?”

  I can’t see him in the darkness, but I can hear the warning in his voice. Tears prick my eyes when I realize that I have no choice but to take this step. I could refuse, but it would make him angry, and I don’t want that.

  Resigned, I say just above a whisper, “Yes I want you to feel good.”

  “Good, Savanah,” he says tenderly.

  My shoulders tense up to my ears as he wraps my fingers around the hard length of him. None of this feels right. I’m not ready for this, but I feel a strange warming sensation between my legs.

  “Mmm,” he moans quietly as he guides my fist up and down. He tightens my fingers around him and increases the pace.

  My cheeks are on fire when I realize that I think I like touching him.

  Does that make me a slut?

  “I want you to keep moving your hand up and down on me like this, and I’m gonna help you feel good, too,” he says in a hoarse voice.

  My rhythm falters slightly with his words. This is all too fast, but both his likely anger if I refuse and the growing heat between my legs won’t allow me to stop him as I feel him reach for my jeans. The warring humiliation and desire make my body shake as he unbuttons and unzips my pants and reaches into my underwear.

  “Don’t stop your hand,” he pants as his fingers move lower, trailing through my soft hair.

  I gasp when he reaches my privates, and I tense when he slips a finger inside.

  “That’s right, Savannah. It’s okay. Don’t be scared. We’re showing each other our feelings. This is the way it’s supposed to be,” he whispers into my ear.

  My body relaxes a little, and I try to shove down the unease.

  He’s showing me he cares, and I should be happy.

  “Move your hand faster,” he says with ragged breathes as he continues to explore me.

  His touch is igniting something inside me. I’m trying to do what he says and relax my body, but I can’t do it completely. I can’t shake the shame of acting like a slut, but I try to ignore it and move my hand up and down faster. I feel him grow rigid, and a part of me is glad that I can make him feel good. I like the pulsing between my legs and the fact that Todd wants to make me feel like this.

  “You’re so wet,” he groans.

  His finger dips deeper, but this time, it hurts a little, and I wince. My grip on him stutters.

  “Don’t stop,” he growls.

  His tone of voice washes away the throbbing between my legs, and my body stiffens again. He groans loudly, and I feel warm liquid on my hand. I flush, realizing that I have jizz on me. I swallow the lump that formed in my throat and look around for something to wipe my hand with.

  Once I’m clean and straightened out, I turn back to him.

  He wraps his arms around me and sighs that sounds like he’s content. “See, isn’t that nice? Showing each other how much we care?”

  I feel humiliated, but a big part of me is pleased that I made him happy, so I nod my head.

  “Good girl.”

  I smile into his chest. Earning his approval fills me with warmth, so I squeeze him tighter, and he returns the gesture.

  I think I love him.

  A year later, I’m sitting with Todd in his bed. I lean into him as he runs his fingers through my hair. Turning my head, I smile up at him. As my heart swells, I lean over and kiss his bare chest. He snakes his arm around me and pulls me closer, causing me to wince. We just had sex again, and I’m sore down there. I don’t really like sex because it always hurts, but I want to show him I love him.

  “You really are beautiful,” he muses before ducking his head and pressing his lips against mine.

  M
y heart soars, and I reach up to tangle my fingers in his hair. I really am the luckiest girl in the world. When he pulls away, my lips curl into a contented smile.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He smirks back before getting out of bed and stepping into his boxers and then his jeans. Although I’d love to stay here with him forever, I need to get home, so I can finish my homework and check on my sisters.

  Getting out of bed, I sigh, and I start putting my clothes back on when I remember I wanted to ask Todd something. “Do you think you can go to homecoming with me?”

  He snorts before saying, “Don’t be fucking stupid, Savannah.”

  My lips tip down into a frown. “But it’s my junior year.”

  He turns his head, raises his eyebrow, and twists his lips. Shit, I’m arguing with him. He hates that. I lick my lips as my heartbeat speeds up. I don’t want to upset him, but I really want to go. I couldn’t go last year because people didn’t know we were together then, but after the closet incident, everyone knew. I thought we could have a nice time together this year.

  “Please,” I say in a small voice. “It would really mean a lot to me. I really want to go, and I don’t want to be there without you.”

  His body tenses, and his eyes harden as he turns to fully face me, making me immediately regret pushing the issue. As his still bare chest heaves, he appears to be trying to control his anger.

  My body turns to stone, and my eyes grow wide. Oh shit.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You think that you’re going to go with someone else, you little fucking slut?”

  I shake my head quickly and take a step backward when he moves closer to me.

  “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant,” I stammer out as I raise my hands in defense while backing up from his advance.

  “You’re not going—not with me, not with anyone else.” He reaches me and grabs my hip hard.

  I just nod my head quickly, too afraid to open my mouth and make him angrier.

  I knew I shouldn’t have argued with him.

  He grips my hip tighter. “I should fuck you again, so you understand that you’re mine.”

  My mind races, and tears prick my eyes. “I know that I’m yours. I’m sorry.”

  He releases a breath through his nose, and his lips purse, but his body starts to relax with my compliance. A few moments of silence passes as he studies my face, and I inwardly pray that he believes me, that he won’t be mad anymore. Finally, his body completely unwinds. He leans in to kiss my nose, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Good. I don’t have time to fuck you again anyway. I need to get to work.”

  I smile up at him, thankful that he has forgiven me, and I count my lucky stars because I got off easy—this time.

  At seventeen, I thought I was smart, but I know I’m about to do something stupid. My heart races, and my body curls into itself, knowing that my only choice will upset him.

  “Take off your clothes, Savannah,” Todd demands from across his bedroom.

  It’s been two years since I met him, and I knew this was coming. I know the drill. It’s ingrained into every microscopic cell of my body. Dread makes my stomach churn as the words I need to say crawl up my throat.

  “I don’t think I can do it tonight,” I whisper.

  My body shakes as I watch his face turn scarlet, and his eyes grow wide with rage. He stalks toward me, but I scramble backward. Soon, my back meets the wall with a thud that mirrors the pounding in my chest. The blood drains from my face because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Time both slows and speeds up as I watch him march toward me, each step making my heart hammer faster.

  When he reaches me, he leans in so close that I can see every single hair on his stubbled face. My body shakes as I avert my eyes. I’m terrified to see how much I’ve upset him.

  “What the fuck did you just say, you dirty fucking whore?” he grits out, spit peppering my face.

  My chest heaves, and tears prick my eyes. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. I’m really sore from yesterday. I don’t think I can do it today,” I choke out.

  I flinch as he brings his hand up, but instead of the slap I was expecting, he runs his hand through my hair gently, soothingly. He says nothing, but his change of behavior makes my body tense more. Eventually, the stroke of his hand relaxes my muscles, and I melt into his touch. I remember that he can be gentle and caring. He loves me.

  Then, it happens.

  Pain sears through my scalp when his fingers grip the hair close to my head. My heart gallops in my chest when he shoves me down, my knees hitting the hardwood floor, fast and hard. Without thinking, I let a cry escape my mouth. I expect the slap when his palm lands on my cheek, and my face stings. My heart sinks because I know better than to make noise.

  “Your worthless little pussy too used up, huh? Fine, this will have to do.” Agitated, he unzips his pants with his free hand and then pulls out his dick.

  I swallow back bile and shame when I realize what’s coming—my well-deserved punishment. I shouldn’t have refused him. It’s my fault he’s angry. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My cheek stings more when his hand crashes to my face again.

  “Open the fuck up, you dirty slut.”

  My face still burns, a reminder of what happens when I upset him, so I part my lips quickly to avoid provoking him more.

  “Eager for my cock, aren’t you?”

  I gag when he hits the back of my throat. He grips his fists in my hair, and he roughly moves my head back and forth on his length, violently fucking my mouth. My arms hang limply by my side as I shut down the best I can.

  Trying to clear my head, I repeat my mantra over and over, He loves me. Everything is fine. He loves me.

  If I do this, he won’t be mad. He’s my safe haven, and I cannot lose him. I need him, and I’ll do anything to make him happy, to make him stay. But tears well up when I can’t escape into my head. Every time he lowers my mouth onto him, I’m reminded that I am a dirty whore, and I deserve this. My tears spill over, and my gut tightens as shame sets in. It’s my own fault for refusing him. Spittle slides down my chin as he repeatedly gags me, making it difficult for me to breathe.

  “You’re such a dirty slut. You love my cock in your mouth. You love it when I fuck you like this. You…ah,” he groans. “Jesus Christ! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants with every surge forward.

  His pace increases, going deeper, harder. I can’t hold back when a particularly brutal thrust triggers the reflexes I’ve been desperately trying to suppress, and bile crawls up my throat.

  No, no, no!

  “Jesus, fuck! What the fuck?” he shouts, pushing me backward roughly to stare down at his vomit-covered jeans.

  “I’m sorry.” I scramble backward, my trembling body hitting the wall.

  I’ve made him even angrier. I’m entering new territory now, and for the first time ever, I have the urge to flee. I fight it because it’ll only make him irate. I need to make him happy. I can’t lose him. I’m worthless without him.

  “God, can’t you do anything right? You’re so fucking disgusting.” He slides down his jeans and boxers before stepping out of them.

  He prowls toward me with shining, narrowed eyes. “You’re going to get it now.”

  A tremor slices through me, and an overwhelming need to run pulses through my body. I rise to my feet while scenarios of escape scatter through my mind. I take a step toward the door, my eyes never leaving his. His eyes widen before his face hardens, and his jaw clenches. Then, his lips curl into a grin that I’ve come to know well. It can only be described as foreboding.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Savannah? You’re gonna run?” He chuckles ominously. “This is going to be fun.”

  My body goes rigid, and I start panting as panic wipes away all other thoughts. My bare feet make a move of their own accord. I don’t want to lose him because I love him so completely, but my survival instinct kicks in as I lurch toward the door. He lunges after me just as
fast and wraps his fist in my hair. A whimper escapes my lips, and my scalp stings with the sudden change in direction. He chucks me face down on the floor, and my cheekbone aches as he pins me down. He’s always careful not to leave bruises on my face, but I can already feel one forming.

  “Don’t forget you asked for this. You are my Savannah, and I will always catch you if you run. You can’t escape me,” he rumbles dangerously as he presses deeper into me.

  I close my eyes. My heart sinks as despair shoots through me, and tears roll down my cheeks. I know better. I don’t know why the thought of escape ever flew through my mind.

  “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Please,” I beg. I mean it with every ounce of my soul. I hate myself when I make him mad. I wish I weren’t so stupid. I wish I hadn’t tried to run. Why can’t I do anything right?

  He lifts off of me, but I don’t dare move. I deserve whatever is coming. He hoists my hips, so I try to make him happy by complying with him and lifting myself up on my hands. I let out a yelp when he whacks my ear with his palm.

  “Keep your fat ass down,” he demands, his deep voice threatening.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. A soft sob escapes as I return my torso to the floor. I berate myself for screwing up and doing the wrong thing—again. I’m so fucking stupid.

  I snivel when he pushes my yoga pants and panties down to mid-thigh, exposing me to him.

  “Shut”—he lays a hard smack on my ass—”up.”

  Tears run down my face when I realize the situation I’m in—not just in this moment, but my life in general. I was drowning and miserable when I met him, and I thought he was a life raft, but his presence in my life has become a double-edged sword. My drowning is worse than ever when I can’t make him happy or when I make him mad. I hate myself when I can’t be prettier, skinnier, and better for him. When I can make him happy, life is better. I live for the tenderness and affection he gives me. His love is like a drug, and I never want to detox.

  “Since this is out of commission…” he says in a deceptively sweet voice as he strokes the still tender flesh between my legs.

  I choke back a sob.