Love Me Like That

by Marie James

  He growls but listens this time. I see him grab a towel from the rack, angrily wrapping it around his hips, and leaving the room as I sink to the floor of the shower and cry as my mind takes me back to a time it had taken years to forget.

  “I think you do that shit on purpose because you like it when I get upset,” Brian whispers in my ear.

  I whimper against the gag shoved deep in my mouth. I want to plead with him. Beg him not to hurt me again, but he’s gotten smarter about the abuse. My tears angered him the first time he saw them streaming down my face so now he ties a terrycloth lined eye mask over my eyes.

  Tonight is the culmination of the perfect storm, a storm that seems to increase in frequency as the months pass. I set him off tonight by just saying hi to a male classmate that is also in his fraternity; that combined with the excessive amounts of coke he grew fond of over Christmas break. Well, the coke isn’t the problem; the side effect of not being able to get hard is what angers him.

  You’d think I’d be upset that he started the drug habit, but I’m not. The beatings will always be there, but at least now the rape has stopped.

  “Are you fucking him?” He rages around the room knocking things over smashing things against the wall. I can feel the violent energy rolling off of him even though I can’t see him.

  I shake my head back and forth. I know he’d kill me if he ever caught me with someone else. I’d never risk that. Regardless of what people may think when a woman stays with her abuser, I don’t want to die. I do have the will to live; I just see no other recourse.

  This is my last semester. Hopefully, I’ll survive it and then I can leave.

  He grips my jaw in his hand and leans in close. I can smell the alcohol on the hot breath that is ghosting sickly over my face. My stomach turns, but I choke it down, not wanting to drown in my own vomit.

  “Do you think of him when I fuck you?”

  I sob harder and attempt to shake my head no against the grip he still has on my face.

  “I’ll kill him if he touches you. You’re MINE!”

  I’m strapped up, almost hanging from a set of eye-bolts he’s placed in the ceiling of his bedroom. I’m topless, but thankfully he’s left my jeans on this time.

  “Don’t worry, London. I’m going to make it so no one will want you when they see you.”

  I count over a dozen strikes before my world goes gratefully black.

  I sit, arms wrapped around the knees bent against my chest until the water in the shower runs cold. Shivering, I finally stand and turn off the frigid stream of water. Kadin left the door slightly ajar, and the water has been running cold long enough that the steam has dissipated from the room. There is not a layer of condensation on the mirror protecting my view.

  My hair is a mess, my eyes are swollen, and my face is covered in red splotches. I’m quivering, and it’s from more than just the cold. I’m raw. Mentally and physically I’m drained, exhausted. I grab two towels from the shelf, wrapping one around my hair and one around my body. I’m grateful Kadin is such a big guy because the bath sheets in here are huge, and they provide a much-needed layer of security.

  I walk over and stand near the cracked bathroom door, listening for him. A quick but faint rhythmic pounding is all I hear. Feeling as if I can make it out and across the hall, I grip my towel at my chest and slide out of the door.

  The pounding grows louder, and I can see Kadin on the treadmill with his back to me. The stationary equipment in the room faces the scenic mountain view and even in my wrecked state I can appreciate the beauty through the large windows.

  His hair is slicked back, damp with the same sweat that is rolling off of his bare back, his muscles bunching and stretching as he runs. His feet are pounding on the belt heavily, and his speed is familiar. I run almost as fast when I’m trying to outrun the demons when they are attempting to chase me down.

  I could use a long run right now, but there’s no way I’m going in there with him. I sweep up my pajama bottoms from the floor and make my way to the door. I hear the treadmill slow just as I remember my come covered tank top on his bathroom floor. I can’t handle running into him and talking right now, knowing full well that he’s not going to let me get away without an explanation.

  I leave it abandoned in the bathroom and scurry across the hall to the room he’s so graciously allowed me to stay in. I bet he’s regretting that generosity now.

  I stay in the room as long as I can with trivial things to keep my hands busy, none of which occupy my mind. You can only spend so much time applying lotion, combing out and drying your hair, and pacing around the room before you start to go stir crazy.

  I need to charge my phone if only for the books, music, and games downloaded on it. Making up my mind to trek down the snow covered driveway, I layer on the warmest clothes I have, grab my keys, and head down the stairs.

  I’ll kill that piece of shit. What kind of man hits a woman? How sick, twisted, and fucked up do you have to be to leave scars all over a beautiful woman’s back?

  Dozens. She had dozens of thin white scars down at least a six inch stretch of her back just below her shoulder blades. Sickening straight lines. What the hell did he use to do that kind of damage to her? Why would she leave him for cheating but not leave him for the horrendous abuse?

  Filled with violent energy, I hit the treadmill when she screamed and demanded I leave the bathroom. My first pick, the heavy bag, is still leaning against the wall waiting to be hung. I forwent the music, in hopes that I’d catch her as she left the room.

  Yet once again, I was too wrapped in my own shit bouncing around my head, and she slipped out unnoticed. I towel the sweat off of me and throw on a shirt, heading downstairs when I see her door closed tight.

  I hope she knows she won’t be able to avoid me for long. I’ll give her a little while to get a better control on whatever the hell just happened in the bathroom, but I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t actually happen. More importantly, I need information on this Trent fucker. He’ll never be able to lay a finger on another woman after I’m done with his ass.

  I’m pacing back and forth in the den like a caged animal waiting for a chance to escape when she comes down the stairs. I stop cold. She’s fully dressed, and her keys are in her hand. Where the fuck does she think she’s going? Is she so hell bent on not talking about this that she plans to leave? As comical as I would find that on any other day, I’m not in the mood for that wasted energy today.

  She’s mumbling incoherently to herself as she crosses in front of the den.

  “Where are you going?” I try to keep my voice calm, without accusation. I manage, just barely.

  Even though it’s been over an hour since her breakdown in the shower, I can still see the puffiness around her eyes. I heard her in the shower; listened outside of the door as she sobbed and cried. As much as I wanted to go to her and hold her through it I know I have too much of my own shit to work through before I’d ever be a benefit to someone struggling with their past.

  With sad eyes, she just looks at me as if she’s trying to decipher my mood. I give her a weak smile, hoping that she can see my anger from earlier has nothing to do with her and everything to do with a man that would dare lay a hand on her.

  Her lip twitches in the corner, a feeble effort at a smile that gets nowhere near her eyes.

  “I want to charge my phone.” She holds her keys up so I can see them clearly. “My charger is still in my car.”

  “And you were what? Just gonna walk down there and get it?” I smirk at her. “We still don’t have reception out here. My offer for the satellite phone still stands. You can use it to call anyone you need to.” Except him.

  “I don’t want to call anyone, Kadin.” She sighs and takes a few steps further into the room. “I’m bored. I have games and books on it.”

  “The snow just stopped falling a few hours ago, London. It’s over four foot deep out there, even deeper in some places because the wind created mas
sive snow drifts. It’s not safe for you out there.”

  “I can’t sit upstairs. I’m going stir crazy so what do you suggest I do?”

  I raise my eyebrows at her, knowing that it will be taken sexually, and I smile because for the first time in as long as I can remember my old personality is showing through just a bit.

  She, of course, takes it just how it was suggested, not knowing why I smiled. “Keep it in your pants, buddy.”

  “We can talk,” I suggest. I know I sound like I just grew a pussy, but I need information from her about the asshole ex.

  “That’d be great!” She says with fake excitement. “Can I braid your beard?”

  I laugh heartily and run my hands over my cheeks and down my chin. “Not quite long enough, but you can paint my fingernails if you want to.”

  She smiles at my playfulness and the emotion finally replaces the sadness in her eyes.

  “You’re not just going to let it go, are you?” I shake my head no and watch as she sits down on the sofa, in the spot she seems to have claimed as her own.

  She stands abruptly and begins to strip out of layers of clothes since she’s given up on the notion of leaving the house and braving the mile long hike to her car.

  My mouth waters when the beautiful form of her body and her curves becomes more visible. I wonder how far she plans to go. She ends up in a light pullover and a pair of baggy sweats, honestly looking amazing and innocent. A look that will be in stark contrast to the story I’m going to make her tell.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I walk toward the table with the bottles of whiskey on them.

  “No thank you,” she answers and sinks back down in her spot on the sofa. “I need to keep a clear head around you.”

  Not a drop of alcohol in your system when my cock was halfway down your throat earlier.

  I pour myself a drink, but decide against it and leave it sitting on the table. She looks at me funny when I sit down empty handed. “I don’t have a problem if you drink.”

  I grin at her and say the next sentence with honesty for the first time in two years. “I don’t need to drink.” Don’t look at the drawer.

  She keeps her eyes down and wrings her hands in her lap. “How do you want to do this?” I reach over and push the curtain of hair she’s hiding behind away from her face.

  “Do what?” she whispers.

  “Talk,” I answer and place a gentle hand on her back. “Would it be easier just to tell me or if I ask questions?”

  “I’ll tell you. I just don’t really know how to start.”

  “Come here,” I tell her. “This may make it easier.” I slide my leg along the back of the couch and pull her back against my front, resting my cheek on the top of her head. “Help?”

  She nods her head slightly against my face.

  “Any chance you’re going to tell me exactly where this fucker Trent lives?”

  “Trent?” She turns her head so she can look in my eyes. “Trent didn’t hurt me.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “Trent didn’t hurt me that way. My,” she swallows loudly. “The scars on my back aren’t there from Trent.”

  I narrow my eyes and look into hers, making sure she’s telling the truth and not trying to protect that piece of shit.

  “If I’m going to do this I need you just to listen. Don’t interrupt; don’t ask questions. Can you do that?”

  “If I can ask any unanswered questions when you’re done.” She gives me a weak grin, apprehensive to agree.

  “Okay,” she finally answers. “Now where to start.” She sighs loudly.

  “Just start at the beginning.” I resist nuzzling her neck but wrap my arms around her and hold her hands in mine as she begins her story.

  She’s going to expect you to share in return. Are you ready to open that door for the first time?

  “Hey there beautiful,” the ‘stranger’ says walking up to me.

  I grin at his bluntness. “Hi,” I answer and dip my head so he can’t see the smile that spreads across my face.

  “Don’t do that,” he says and lifts my face with the tips of two fingers under my chin. “Don’t hide that gorgeous face from me.”

  I blush uncontrollably and curse the pale skin I got from my mother, which shows the flush on my cheeks and always makes red splotches pop up on my cheeks and neck.

  I’d be a liar if I said I’d never noticed him before. He may be one of the hottest guys on campus, and he always turns heads when he walks by. My shock is from him standing in front of me. His finger having gravitated from under my chin to run lightly across my bottom lip.

  I know he has a reputation around campus for being a playboy. That fact was brought to my attention a month ago when I first arrived at the University of Wyoming. I’m in awe that he not only noticed me but he’s talking to me, touching me. I seem to be his only focus right now, and I’m drinking all of it in.

  “What’s your name, baby girl?” His thumb applies more pressure on my bottom lip, and it tugs down slightly when he lowers his hand.

  His eyes are on my mouth, and it’s possibly the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me. I was dealing with my parents’ death my senior year in high school rather than worrying about boys, prom, and who’s going to take me to the Winter Formal. I still don’t think it’s weird that I’m a virgin in my first year of college. My thoughts, especially right now in front of Brian Weston, are anything but virginal.

  “London Sykes,” I finally manage to answer.

  “Nice to meet you London. I’m Brian,” he says as he holds his hand out to shake in greeting like he didn’t just have his fingers on my mouth.

  I giggle at the absurdity of this entire situation. What is it ‘talk to a nerd day’ or something?

  “I know who you are,” I say with a sweet smile.

  “You may know of me, baby girl. The question is do you want to get to know me?” He takes a step closer, and the heat off of his body is undeniable in the crisp morning air.

  I nod my head more enthusiastically that I probably should’ve. He pulls me to his side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and walks me toward the cafeteria. I’m too excited at having his arm around me in public to mention I’ve already eaten, and I’m going to be late for class.

  That’s the first allowance I made for Brian Weston.

  “I’m ready to go, Brian,” I slur my words. He glares at me but then his face changes back to the Brian everyone loves. I don’t want him mad at me, but I never wanted to come to this damn frat party to begin with. Now I’m drunk and too tired to keep up with it and his mood swings.

  I still can’t believe this gorgeous creature has picked me. We go out and party more than I like, but that’s just part of dating one of the most popular guys at school.

  We get in his car, and I close my heavy eyelids as he drives me home. I doze as the car drives on, the jostling rocking me to sleep. I know he shouldn’t be driving since he’s been drinking much more than I have. He always assures me that he’s fine, and he can handle his alcohol.

  “Come on, baby girl.” I look up, and Brian is standing beside my open car door. Thankfully we made it to my dorm safely.

  I stand and start to walk past him as he slides his arm around my back and leads me inside.

  I look up and stop. “Brian? Why are we here?” We’re climbing the front steps to his frat house, which is eerily quiet since everyone is across town at the other party.

  “I want you to stay here tonight,” he whispers in my ear.

  I smile weakly. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” My hands begin to shake mildly. I know what he wants; he’s been begging for it since the first time we went on a date.

  He wasn’t actually mean to me, but he was confused and a little pissed off that I was a virgin. Well, he wasn’t mad that I was a virgin; that actually turned him on. What he was mad about that first date and every time we went out since was that I wasn’t willing to just sleep with him because he was in the mood. I�
��d let him finger me twice, and I even attempted oral sex with him once, but I’d never let it go that far.

  Despite my objections, I still let him lead me into the house and up the stairs to his room. The slam of his door startles me.

  He kisses me and, of course, I kiss him back. I love kissing him. I fantasize about his mouth all over my body daily. He grips my ass with both hands and squeezes. I wince because his grip is a little too tight. He moans at my reaction, getting turned on by my pain.

  Sliding his hands up my dress, he begins to lower my panties down my thighs. This is different. The times he touched me before he always left them on, sliding his hand inside the fabric.

  “I’m…I’m not ready for this,” I tell him.

  He releases me, but my panties are still on the floor around my ankles. He takes a step back, and I love the desire I see in his eyes. His eyes stare into mine as he tugs his shirt over his head and works the front of his jeans open.

  I shake my head back and forth as he steps out of his clothes and stalks toward me completely naked. I hold my hands up in front of me, an attempt to ward him off. “Wait,” I say with a tremor in my voice.

  “Wait? Waiting is all I’ve done.” I stumble back and realize my mistake as soon as the back of my thighs bump against the side of his bed. “I’m tired of waiting; I’m tired of being teased.”

  He takes the hand I’m pushing against his chest with and drags it down his stomach to his erection. I close my eyes as a tear rolls down my cheek. I jerk my hand away, and he snaps. I open my eyes and see the anger and rage on his face.

  He rips the front of my dress open and yanks the cups of my bra down, exposing my breasts to him. I shove against him again as he reaches in and pinches one nipple painfully. I scream when he bites the other breast.

  Shoving me down on the bed, he overpowers me and is in between my legs before I can stop him.

  “Please, Brian. Don’t do this. I’m not ready.”

  “You’ll never be ready if we keep at your pace.”

  He slams into me, and the pain is excruciating. I try to claw at him to get him to stop, but he just grabs my arms and forces them over my head. He’s so much bigger than me; every attempt I make to get away from him is met with an even greater show of force.