Tears pricked behind my eyes. Why? Why did he feel I deserved it? I clenched my eyes. This was just a horrible, horrible dream, but the yanking on my hair reminded me it was only too real. Panic set in.
“Noooo!” I was not going to give in. I wasn’t going to let him. I bucked again with renewed vigor, wildly thrashing, almost throwing him off, my strength finally kicking in. If only I could get my legs under him again. They were my strongest defense, but his fingers dug callously into my shoulder and held me against the bed. I raked my nails down his bare chest—when had he taken his shirt off?—scratching, punching, kicking, bucking, biting, slapping. He grunted and laughed, fueling my rage, but he never loosened his hold.
I landed a solid punch to his chin, grim satisfaction flowing at his muffled cry of pain. But then he twisted my hands viciously over my head and held them down with his weight. With his other hand he tugged at the waistband of my sweats. I jerked away, freeing my hands and caught him in the jaw again, my desperation taking him unprepared. I scrambled across the bed, my fingers brushing the edge when I was violently thrown back. My head slammed into the wall with a loud thunk. He backhanded me, the metallic salty taste of blood filling my mouth, and then he ripped off my pants.
I continued to fight but I knew he was going to win, my defenses weakening. He positioned himself over me and a scream tore from my throat as white hot agony ripped through me. I arched my back, fisting the blanket in my hands, sobbing. “No, no, no …”
Finished, he rolled off me with a chuckle, slipping into his pants. “Thanks for the wild ride, princesa.” He gave me a wet kiss and patted my cheek. My terror gave way to numb disbelief. He’d won.
And just like that he was gone, the awful reality settling onto me like an iron weight. I tried to hold back my anguish, my sorrow, but my tears spilled over and I slumped to the bed, sobs racking my body. I curled into the fetal position, all thoughts of escape gone, pointless. I rocked back and forth. My body ached and grief streamed from my eyes. I don’t know how long I lay there. Time didn’t matter. Nothing did. The flow of tears had finally stopped, though my cheeks, ears, hair, and pillow were wet with them.
My sister’s distant laughter broke the silence. The music had ended. My sister. I sat up in the darkness, the blanket clutched to my chest, and stumbled forward, my hand extended toward the doorknob. At the touch of the cold metal, I drew up short, shame and grief filling my emptiness. It enveloped me, its gaping maw open wide, and swallowed me completely. Wave after wave of renewed sobs shook me as the realization hit.
She’d abandoned me.
She didn’t care.
She hadn’t helped me.
And now I was beyond help. What was done was done. My innocence gone, my virginity ripped cruelly away. Gone.
My hand fell, and I stared unseeingly in the dark. I was nothing. A hollow, worthless husk.
I stumbled back to the bed, and drew my bare legs up, shivering in the faint moonlight, the darkness a living thing, pressing in on all sides, suffocating me. My heart beat loudly in my ears. Several times I held my breath, listening for phantom noises, but stillness surrounded me.
And then the bed creaked, his weight returning, and my blood turned to ice.
Recoiling from him and the memories of what he’d just done to me still raw in my mind, my heart pounded at the idea of escape, but he grabbed my leg and dragged me roughly back. Why hadn’t I left when I had the chance? Or hidden? Because I never imagined he come back for more. I clasped the small blanket to my battered body like a shield. A loud rending sound echoed as he tore it away. My remaining fingernails went with it, warm blood oozing into my palms. Ready to fight, a scream welled up in my throat. It escaped in an agonized whimper as his fist slammed into my gut, stars exploding behind my clenched eyelids.
“No, no, no, no, no.” I gulped in huge gasps of air, hiccupping. I’d thought there was nothing left to fight for, but his touch, his hands on my bare skin sent shivers of disgust through me so forceful I choked and gagged, goose bumps rippling over my arms, nausea ripping and tearing at my insides.
“Kieta el puta! You asked for this.” He hefted his muscled body over mine again, silent tears slipping down my cheeks, my eyes shut against the unwanted invasion of my body.
I didn’t struggle. I’d already tried to fight, tried to bite, tried to scream. No one was coming to help me. Even with all the strength I thought I had, I couldn’t even help myself. It was too late, anyway.
It seemed to take forever this time. When finally he rolled off, he kissed my cheek in mock gentleness. “Chiquita,” he murmured.
I jerked my face out of his hands, using the only energy I had left to roll as far from him as I could get the wall cool against my fevered skin. He draped an arm over me and covered us both with the torn blanket. I stiffened but was too shocked to move. He rubbed his leg against mine, his hair course and itchy. I shuddered at his dark laughter, which only made him laugh more.
Soon, the sound of his even breathing filled the air, his hold slackening. My throat ached with desolation and disgust, and my wide eyes stared vacantly into the dark. I shifted away, fear of waking him making my moves small and slow. He groaned and I froze, his arm tucking me back tightly against him. There was no way I could relax, no way I would sleep.
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I woke gasping, my heart slamming painfully against my ribs, moonlight pooling over my face, Brad’s heavy body draped over me. My hair was plastered to my neck with sweat, my body aching from the abuse and sudden movement. Clutching my side where Brad had kicked me, I tried to slow my breath, but the pain of loss surged like a tsunami, breaking over me, flooding me. I lay there motionless. Wispy clouds moved in front of the moon, the room becoming dark as pitch.
Brad snorted in his sleep, the sound causing my heart to lurch. Snorting again, he rolled, his hand flopping off me. My heart pounded. Escape. I waited, my breath bated. He didn’t stir. I sat up and shifted my legs, dislodging his from atop mine. Scooting down, I stifled a hiss of pain, carefully making my way to the end of the bed before stopping. I held onto the edge of the bed for a long moment until the pain subsided.
I checked to make sure my action hadn’t attracted any attention, his sleeping form unchanged before I slipped to the floor. My shirt? Brad had torn it, but where had it gone? How was I going to get out of here without a shirt? Breathe in, breathe out. I sucked in a deep breath, hoping to calm my hysteria. Blindly, I felt along the floor, finding my pants first. A lump of material lay next to them. I held it up and stifled a cry. I flung it from me. It was Brad’s.
My fingers brushed by something cold and metallic as I continued my search. I sagged in relief. Lorraine’s keys.
The jingle of the keys broke the stillness of the room and I grew rigid, frantically looking to Brad. He was how I’d left him, sprawled across the bed. Except for one thing. Icy dread spread its cold fingers through me as I looked into his fathomless eyes.
I flung open the door, thinking only of escape, uncaring of my naked torso. Not again. Please not again. Brad’s fingers encircled my bicep. His voice spoke out of the blackness, slow and dark, setting my pulse racing at a frightening pace. “Leaving so soon?”
“You’ve had your fun, let me go,” I choked out, a death grip on the doorframe, my biceps taut to keep him from pulling me back into the room.
“Oh, I’ll let you go.” His words held a promise, a threat, his voice now razor sharp. “Just remember you came on to me, wouldn’t take no for an answer. I tried to remind you that you have a boyfriend but you said you didn’t care. You wanted to know what it was like to be with a real man.”
“You’re crazy,” I hissed indignantly, wanting to get free, but the insanity of what he was saying triggered my rage. “There’s no way anyone will believe you.”
“Then why was Cory so worked up?” With his free hand he tapped the end of my nose, leaning in conspiratorially.
“My sister … she’ll …” But she’d abandoned me.
Left me to the wolves. Or wolf. The big bad wolf.
“Your sister? She’ll what?” he scoffed, nodding his head toward the other door. “Your sister doesn’t care. She only cares about herself and what others can give her.”
He released me and I fell, my legs too weak to hold the weight I now carried. He threw a shirt at me. “Cover yourself up.”
My fingers clutched it to my chest, his scent lingering on the cotton. He was right. She didn’t care about me. But I did care about her. That’s why I covered for her with our parents, looking out for her like I were the older sister. Little good it did, though. She just did what she wanted and everyone else be damned.
But if I told anyone what had happened, what then? She’d never forgive herself. It was bad enough I would never be the same, I couldn’t do that to her.
He towered over me and I shied away from his blatant nakedness, “And you’d better show up for your shift Monday or you’ll be sorry.”
My mouth felt full of words I should say, but when I opened it, I came up short, my mouth opening and closing like a gasping fish. What could be worse than what he’d already done to me? I nodded at Brad from my crouched position on the floor, blushing at his nudity even after what he’d done. His threat delivered, he sauntered back to the bed, stretching out across it.
I threw on his t-shirt and looked at the closed door at the end of the dark hallway, silent tears trailing down my cheeks.
The sky was beginning to pale as I slammed the truck into gear, tires peeling. I knew I should go straight to the hospital, but I found myself turning toward Lorraine’s. Thoughts of keeping my sister from trouble, from Cory finding out stopping me from doing what I knew I should. And I had to get the grime and the shame off. The way back was a blurred barrage of taillights, traffic lights, headlights, and road signs.
My strength failed me as I entered the cold living room and I collapsed in a heap of silent, agonized misery.
Chapter Fifteen
I stood in the middle of the bathtub, scalding water sluicing over me, but I was too numb to care, mesmerized by the crimson water swirling around my feet. I’d examined the dark, dry blood caking my legs like I was a casual observer looking in on a gruesome scene. I’d methodically scrubbed it away with a cloth, rubbing the skin even after it was gone, until my thighs were raw, red blossoming brightly on my pale skin, streaks of scarlet running down my legs. And still I scrubbed.
Sinking to the bottom of the tub, the hot water spilled over me, my detachedness finally cracking, my body shaking uncontrollably from the force of my anguish. Stuffing a washcloth into my mouth, I screamed, stifling my sobs and curses over the loss of my strength, the loss of my self-worth, my virtue. I cried until the deadness returned.
Shivering, I looked up, dazed. I was still in the shower, ice-cold water cascading over me. The knobs protested squeakily as I shut off the water. I didn’t bother toweling off my hair, immobilized by the ghastly face in the mirror.
The girl looking back had dead, sunken eyes. I put my hand to my cheek, my lips. The girl in the mirror did the same. She pressed her fingers to a pale cheek, then smoothed it down to touch her bruised, swollen lips. I let the towel fall from my hand, and again, so did the girl in mirror. Horrified, I splayed my fingers on the cold glass, connecting with the girl-that-wasn’t-me. Fresh bruises splattered her shoulders, down her arms, across her chest and torso. Almost every inch of skin was mottled and discolored.
I looked down at myself, choking back grief at the sight of the identical pattern of bruises. With a flip of the towel, I covered up then hit the light, the appalling image cut off but burned hauntingly into my mind forever.
After pulling an oversized sweatshirt over my battered, aching body, I burrowed under the covers, wishing for the oblivion of sleep, seeking the refuge it would bring, praying I would succumb soon. But each time I closed my eyes the terror, the fright, and panic of the night was there. Trying to push the memories away, I thought of Cory, but that only made it worse.
How could I—tainted and ruined—even think of him? I pushed thoughts of him away and then when at last I drifted off, I slept fitfully, plagued by fragments of nightmare.
Brad pursued me through a dark house, the halls and rooms elongating, morphing into a maze, the walls dank and oppressive.
Heavy footsteps, my sister’s laughter, the sound of my labored breathing all around me. Then I heard Cory call for me. I screamed for him, his silhouette coming into view down an endless passage. I reached for him and ran and ran and ran on trembling legs, desperate to reach him. Just as my fingers touched his, his handsome face contorted into a sneer of disgust and revulsion. He dropped my hand like it was poison and backed away. “I warned you about him, but you wouldn’t listen.” I fell to my knees, shouting his name until I was hoarse.
I woke, Cory’s name still on my lips, my throat raw and scratchy. The world felt as though it were tilting and all I could do was cling on helplessly to keep from tumbling into a black abyss. Too spent to cry, I sat up and clutched my legs to my chest, my aching body screaming in protest. Staring dully at a weak ray of sunlight peeking through the worn curtains, devoid of emotion, I rocked back and forth, slowly at first, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed by an iron fist. Gripping my elbows so tightly my knuckles turned white, I buried my head in my arms and screamed, my anguished cry resonating around the room. I screamed again and again until exhaustion forced me to stop, my body shuddering with each shallow, rattling breath.
Angry shouting preceded a banging on the wall, a few expletives about brainless morons filtered through the thin wall. I waited for the pang of guilt at disturbing someone’s sleep, but it never came. I felt nothing.
My phone buzzed on the side table. I thought about ignoring it, but on autopilot I answered it. “Mom.” My throat throbbed, the word rubbing against it like sandpaper.
“Still sleeping? Get up, get going, you’re going to be late for school.”
“Mom …” I choked. I almost told her. But I couldn’t. To voice it aloud … I couldn’t. I just wanted to bury it deep. Forget it ever happened. “On my way.”
Before she could question my voice, I ended the call, checking the time. An hour ’til school. No way was I going to school, but Lorraine might be by soon looking for her truck. She wasn’t going to find it.
I tossed my filthy work clothes and phone on the passenger seat, and paused with the key in the ignition. Rifling through Lorraine’s glove box, I pulled out a scrap of paper, slipping the hastily scrawled note into the doorjamb: I have your truck.
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Mom’s pink Cadillac turned the corner and I pulled out of my neighbor’s driveway onto our street. I wasn’t prepared to see anyone, especially my mom. I didn’t know if I’d ever be. Thank goodness she worked today.
I took a deep breath as I entered the house, the familiar sights and smells calming, if only for a moment. At a loss for what to do, no tears left to cry, I mechanically closed the door and made my way to my room. Face down on my bed, my head to the side, I fixated on a patch of exposed pea green carpet, my hand absently rubbing the smooth skin of my cheek. Exhaustion took over and I mercifully fell into blessed unconsciousness.
“No, please don’t.” My bedroom door crashed against the wall and I scooted frantically into the corner, my heart feeling like it was coming out of my throat. Only when I saw who it was did I release my death grip on my pillow.
“Oh, come on, give me a break, Angie. It’s just me.” Lorraine angrily rolled her eyes. “Now where are my truck keys?”
Keys? Brad has the keys. I tried to run. But he caught me, I can’t get away. My widened stare passed over Lorraine. I gulped, then forced my breath to slow. “I think I left them on the table?”
“Nope, try again.” She kicked my bed, oblivious to my struggle. “I can’t believe you took my truck.”
I sat up, and was digging through my blankets for her keys when her words hit me. I shook with barely suppressed rag
e, her audacity insulting. “You can’t believe … I can’t believe you! Who woke me up in the middle of the night? You. Who forced me to take them to find their boyfriend? You. Who kicked him out? You. And what did you do when we found him? You left me … you left me with …” I sucked in a shaky mouthful of air. Turning, I buried my face in my pillow and wrapped my arms tightly around it. My fingers hit the cold metal of her keys. Scooping them up, I chucked them at her.
“Here are your damn keys.” They hit her squarely in the chest. I thrust a finger at my door. “Just get out of here.”
Lorraine gasped, her eyes growing wide, mouth agape in horror. She grabbed my arm, the ugly mottled bruises stark against my pale skin, a myriad of color on a white canvas. “What happened?”
“Noth—” I tried to jerk away, but she held fast.
“Don’t you say nothing.” Her teeth were clenched, her eyes smoldered, the intensity of her gaze too strong. Afraid of the emotion, I looked away. “Those bruises aren’t nothing. What happened?”
“It’s nothing!” I yanked my arm away, angry tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes. I fled to the corner on the bed.
I didn’t have to tell her anything, I didn’t owe her anything. She hadn’t cared enough about me last night to see if I was alright, abandoning me for Dave, just like the other night with Hobbs. I wanted to scream at her, ask her why she hadn’t come, why she hadn’t saved me, why she had put me in that situation in the first place.
I could see the question in her eyes, “Angie—”
“Just get out of here.” Quietly, I cut her off.
She stepped toward me and put a hand on my bed. I clamped my mouth closed in an angry line and shook my head. She ignored my warning, her knee pressing down the bed.
“Angie, who did that to you?” Her voice was full of worry.
I clenched my hands so tightly I felt what was left of my jagged nails dig into my palms. Why hadn’t she come back to check on me? Why?
Honorable Disgrace Page 15