by A. M. Wilson
“Who else are you fucking?” he spits at me, his hands gripping my thighs.
“What?” I sputter back, incredulous at the implication. “Nobody but you, but that wouldn’t matter anyway since I’m not dating you!” The loose control I held over my inner bitch snaps. Nobody talks to me like that.
He squeezes my legs tighter, and I’m certain I’ll have bruises tomorrow, but I sit still, knowing the flames are burning down. He’s going to go; I can see the resolution on his face, his eyes now like glowing embers.
“You’re just enjoying being a little slut too much to be tied down with me.” His words have me jumping out of my seat and backing away.
“Get the fuck out,” I command, willing myself not to cry. He stands up, jamming his arms into his coat. Thank God, he’s leaving. “And don’t ever come back. This is over,” I add. He gives me one last glowing sneer before he yanks my door open.
“We’ll see about that,” he mutters before slamming the door loudly behind him.
Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, I feel worse now than I did earlier. Dragging my heavy, tired body to my bed, I pull the comforter over my head, burrowing down with no intention of coming out tomorrow either.
It’s after noon when I wake up the following day and finally decide to drag my ass out of bed. Still smelling like Wyatt and sex, I start the shower to wake myself up. I spend an unusually long amount of time soaking in the hot water, relishing in the relaxing effect it has on my muscles. Spending so much time lying in bed the past two days has my body tense and stiff, and this is the closest thing to a massage I’ll ever get.
I’m more agitated than I was yesterday, and after a moment of contemplation, I stick my dripping hand out of the shower towards the vanity. Pulling open the left hand drawer, I find the implement I seek. Resting my back against the cool, wet tiles, I lower myself to sit on the shower floor.
The adrenaline from the anticipation is enough to lighten my mood. This week is all culminating into one giant clusterfuck of emotion I can’t identify. Mr. Ryan. Mrs. Marsden. Wyatt. One person can only take so much before seeking an out. This is my out. My relief. My escape. Closing my eyes, I relish in the cool metal blade gliding across my skin.
One.
Two.
Three.
Done.
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. Gazing down, I watch the red swirl intricately with the water as it sluices down my body before disappearing down the drain. Rinsing away my emotional pain. I’m filled with relief as cleansing as sucking in a lungful of fresh air. Staring unseeing into the depths of the drain, my mind once again silenced. Until the water starts to turn cold. I turn it off, dry my body, and clean up my arm before replacing one pair of sweats with another.
After dropping my dirty clothes off in my laundry basket, I pull my phone off the charger where I left it last night before I fell asleep. I have two missed calls and three missed text messages.
Ignoring the phone calls, I look at my messages first. Two are from Emerson and one is from Kelsey. I tap Kelsey’s name first.
Checkin in to see if you’re doin okay. I’m workin with you saturday so we can chat then. Call me if you need anything. She sent it around ten o’clock last night. Scanning the timestamps, I can see Emerson’s text are both from this morning.
Where the hell are you?????
Are you okay? Why are you skipping two days of school, are you mad at me? Text me back when you get this
I’m a horrible friend. I didn’t think to let Emerson know I wasn’t going to be at school; although, I don’t ever remember really making that conscious decision for myself last night. Feeling guilty, I type out a quick reply to both my friends, grateful they both cared enough to check in on me.
Since today is Friday and I’m already skipping school, grocery shopping sounds like a perfect way to pass the time. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal and it’s not as if I have anything better to do.
I dig out my knitted brown scarf, wrapping it tightly around my face, and place a matching brown beanie on my head. Pulling on a light sweater, I grab my keys off the counter and shut the door behind me. I jog out to the car amid a downpour of rain.
I’m shaking by the time I climb into my car, which is saying something as I parked only 100 feet from the entrance to my building. Jamming the key in ignition, I turn to fire up the engine. Instead of the strained whining sound my car usually makes, I’m met with silence. Nothing. Nada. The engine isn’t even turning over. Flicking my hand to the dome light, it surprises me when it clicks on. What the hell? I don’t know jack about cars but my gut tells me that this is more of a Wyatt problem than it is a car problem, seeing as I just had her in for the fuel injectors last week. I’m fuming as I dig my phone out of my purse, punching Wyatt’s name on the caller ID roughly.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away. Need me to come take care of you again, baby?” he coos into the phone, smugly. I don’t have time for his games.
“What did you do to my fucking car?” I spit, anger boiling through my veins.
“I didn’t do anything to your car, sweetie,” he says, patronizingly. I could fucking strangle him with my bare hands.
“Well the damn thing won’t start, and I can’t think of any other reason except that you fucked with it.”
“Need me to come tow it for you? I’m at the shop today and I wouldn’t mind taking a little afternoon break.” The implication in his voice is my breaking point. He needs to take a freakin’ hint.
“No, I don’t need you to tow it so your shitty shop can do more shitty work on my shitty car!” I yell into the phone. “I just had my car in your shop last week, so either you messed it up then, or you messed it up last night. Fix this shit!” I’m fuming. My teeth are chattering not entirely from my damp clothes, but from the adrenaline fueled rage in my body.
“Calm down, babe. Let me get it towed and we can put it back together again. I just wanted a reason to see you.” Wyatt has me. He knows it and I know it.
If he messed with my car, I know he won’t fix it until I agree to come by there, and if he didn’t mess with it, and the piece of junk is just broken, he knows he can give me the best deal around to find out what’s wrong. I’m screwed either way, and I can practically hear the victory in his voice through the phone.
“I can’t pay for a fix, let alone a tow, Wyatt. I need to get groceries,” I tell him, hoping he can find an ounce of sympathy somewhere inside his callous black heart.
“I can think of a couple different ways you can pay me,” he taunts, goading me.
“Fuck you, Wyatt. I don’t need you.”
I’m about to disconnect the call when he says, “Wait, I’ll help you. When did you get so uptight about shit? Let me send the tow, for free, and I’ll fix it for you. I just can’t leave work right now.”
I huff in frustration before I answer. I’m cold and tired, and he’s sitting here playing tricks on me. If I hadn’t been so positive about the end of our escapades last night, I sure am now.
“Send the truck. I’ll be waiting inside.” I hang up before he can answer me, incredibly pissed at his games.
Thirty minutes later, his buddy Cole shows up in the tow truck, sporting a shit eating grin I wish I could slap off his face. No doubt that Wyatt filled him in on his little joke, and they had a nice laugh at my expense.
When we arrive at the mechanic’s shop, I hop out and give Wyatt a piece of my mind before finding a place to sit. He told me I have to wait for my car because he has another vehicle in front of mine that needs an oil change, and his boss is hanging around today. What a waste of a day off.
I pull my phone out of my pocket to mess around on some apps to kill time when I see I have a missed call and a voicemail. Plugging my free ear with my finger against the noise from the shop, I listen carefully to the message.
“Hello, Miss Krause, this is Mr. Stephenson. It has been brought to my attention by Mr. Ryan that you have been absent
from school for two days, and the administrator doesn’t have a record of any notice or valid reason. Since you do not have a legal parent or guardian responsible for you, I wanted to bring to your attention that regardless of your home situation, you may still be found truant under the law. I expect to see you in class first thing Monday morning. If you have circumstances we need to discuss, please call me. I am here to help, but you need to be willing to ask for it. We’ll talk soon.”
Guilt overwhelms me at the disappointment in his voice, and I delete the recording. I’m one week into my last semester of high school and I’m already sliding. And I’ve disappointed the one person who has stood up for me and has helped guide me through the horror I endured last year. The only adult who’s ever been there for me in any sort of parental role. This isn’t like me. I don’t skip classes or disrespect my teachers or hide out in my bedroom. I’ve bottled up so many emotions over the past year, that I’m about to burst.
In order to right the situation, I need to make a trip to the school to pick up some homework and talk to my teachers and Mr. Stephenson. The last thing I need is to be dragged off to court for a truancy charge.
“Wyatt, how much longer on my car?” I call out, because even though I can’t see him, I know he’s in here. He walks out from behind a large black SUV, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
“A while yet. Why what’s up?”
I try to take a deep cleansing breath to eliminate my frustrations. It’s not working.
“I need to run to the school and get some homework before the weekend since I’ve missed the past two days. Can you give me a lift? They’ll lock up the school pretty quick here seeing as it’s already after four.”
“You bet. Give me two minutes.” Sure, now he’s being pleasant and cooperative. The prick. I shoulder my purse and step outside to wait for him.
The whole five minute drive, Wyatt keeps trying to place his hand on my upper thigh, and I keep having to remove it. When we pull up to the school doors, I see him unbuckling his seat belt, and I freeze with my hand on the door handle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, confusion coloring my tone. “I’ll be just a minute.”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m coming with you.”
Before I can get out another word, he exits the car and stands, waiting for me on the sidewalk. Rolling my eyes, I climb out of the car, powering up the walkway without stopping to wait for him. He better not lag behind because I want to get this over with, get my car put back together, and not have to deal with Wyatt again.
We climb the steps to the third floor to start at the top and work our way down. I walk down the hall, leading the way as Wyatt trails behind me, pointing out insignificant things he did when he went to school here.
“Oh dude, I remember setting off fire crackers in this bathroom! The fire alarms went off, and everybody had to wait outside for the fire department,” he tells me, as if I should be impressed.
I tune him out as I walk, losing hope with each room I pass. After finding my third classroom vacant and locked, I’m beginning to see this trip was a waste of time.
“Nobody is here. Let’s check out the second floor and then we can leave. Sorry for dragging you out.”
Walking down the staircase to the second floor, I can hear Wyatt trailing behind me. As I step out onto the landing, he grabs me around the waist, pulling me towards him and pushes me up against the stairway wall. “What are you…”
His hands come down, pinning my arms to my sides as his mouth crashes into mine, cutting off my question. He doesn’t waste any time as his frantic tongue begins searching, demanding entrance into my mouth. I keep my lips clamped shut against the assault.
What the hell is he doing? His hips press into mine, anchoring me to the wall, and I can feel the length of his erection pressing sickeningly against my lower stomach. He brings both hands above my head, securing mine in one of his large palms, and his other arms snakes around to hold my thrashing head still.
“Stop, Wyatt, stop it!” I call out, fear rising within my body. My heart begins to race when he doesn’t release me, and the adrenaline kicks in, sending a dizzy rush to my head.
“Shh, baby. We’re alone, no one will catch us. Relax,” he says before bringing his mouth down to my exposed neck. He licks and sucks the sensitive skin there making me shudder in disgust, before biting down roughly when I won’t stop moving.
“I don’t want to. Get off!” I try to kick out my legs, to hurt him, to get away, but his hips continue to hold me still. His left foot tangles with my right, and his right knee digging into my left thigh painfully, holding my legs apart. Immobile. I’m trapped between the brick wall and his stone grasp.
“I like it when you’re feisty,” he whispers in my ear before biting me again. "You're mine, baby. All mine. I'm going to remind you of that."
A terrified scream erupts before he clamps his mouth over mine once more, his hand leaving my head to grip my chin painfully. He slides his fingers towards my throat, closing off my supply of precious air. In a moment of vicious, desperate lust, he releases my arms to thrust his hand beneath the waistband of my sweatpants.
I wrestle desperately with the hand choking me, but it’s futile. The digging and scratching of my fingers is nothing compared to the gripping hold he has on my neck. He’s too strong and he has me exactly where he wants me.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of his fingers between my legs, trying to close down, to feel nothing as he thrusts them inside of me. I whimper, knowing I’m helpless to defend myself. My vision blurs, inky blackness creeping in around the edges. My lungs expand painfully, drawing in nothing but a horrible sucking sound as they desperately seek oxygen. I’m lost, detaching and retreating inside myself. I become numb, and I welcome it.
CHAPTER TEN
Mr. Ryan
I waited until the end of sixth period before I called Mr. Stephenson about Tatum’s absences. After her breakdown on Wednesday, I can’t help but feel like something might be wrong in her personal life, and she needs somebody to reach out to her. I’m trying to respect her, since she clearly isn’t fond of me, and I know he mentioned being a confidant for her in the past.
He and I chatted for a while after I brought him up to speed, mostly about sports and how my first week went, and I decided to stay late to grade some papers after we ended the call. I feel more comfortable working here than I would back at my lonely townhouse. There’s also a slight chance Melissa might show up to try to talk to me about our relationship-that-never-was, so maybe I’m also staying late to hide out. Cowardly, yes, but I don’t care so long as it saves me a headache.
At quarter past four, I decide it’s time to pack up and blow off some steam at the gym. Trey and I made plans to lift at five and afterwards get some beers in the next town over.
Grabbing my briefcase, I step out into the dark hallway, locking my classroom door. As I turn to the right towards the doors leading to the teacher’s parking lot, I hear a blood curdling scream from behind me.
My heart lurches into my throat and I drop my briefcase, sprinting down the hall towards the sound. Rounding the corner to the stairwell, I’m stunned momentarily as I stumble upon Tatum, pinned against the wall as someone assaults her.
Tatum! No. Fuck no.
My assessment takes but a second.
My eyes zoom in on the hand around her neck, the way her eyes are round as half dollars as she struggles to take a breath, her face red and mottled with tears streaming down her cheeks, the pricks hand shoved beneath her pants, and my blood fucking boils. White hot rage entwines itself within my veins and before I can think I find myself hurtling towards her attacker. Grasping him by the back of his shirt, I thrust him against the opposite wall.
“What the fuck?” he yells.
Before I can check if she’s okay, I rush over to where the prick lays, nursing his bruised skull and kick him in the gut twice in quick succession, feeling intense pleasure at the gru
nts he’s emitting. My black Oxford’s send him tipping over the concrete steps, tumbling and rolling to the bottom where he lies motionless, cupping the back of his head. I’m about to descend on him once again, all thought and consequence lost to the flood of emotions rushing through me, when a small whimper from behind me pulls me back from the brink of absolute rage.
“My God, Tatum,” I rush over to where she’s slumped down against the wall, her arms crossed around her middle as if she’s trying to physically hold herself together. Tears stream unchecked down her cheeks, but she avoids meeting my eyes.
“Look at me,” I request, carefully crouching down in front of her. Trying to survey her for damage.
She shakes her head no, burying herself further into her arms.
“Let’s get you to my classroom. I’ll call the police,” I tell her, approaching her slowly, not wanting to touch her without her permission. My heart continues to drum a rapid rhythm in my chest, and I try to take a deep breath to calm myself down. The sound of my panting probably isn’t comforting her.
“No! You can’t do that, please don’t,” she cries out as I draw my cell phone from my pocket.
“Shh, Tatum, it’s alright. They’ll help you. You might need a doctor.” I have 9-1-1 dialed, when she suddenly stretches forward, batting the phone from my hand with an astonishing amount of power for how feeble she looks right now.
“Please, no!” She shrieks before fresh sobs wrack her body. I’m at a loss. The school is empty, and I can’t get her to listen to me. She needs help, but I can tell she’s terrified.
“Listen to me. You need to report this. You need to talk to the police. I need to report this.”
“I won’t talk! Just let me go, please Mr. Ryan, I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this!” God, her voice is hoarse and terrified, and it crawls inside me to the nucleus of my being.
My moral obligation is warring with my sudden need to protect her. Some unfamiliar urge has taken over, but seeing what I just witnessed has me wanting to do whatever this girl asks of me. And I relent. I could lose my job over this, but keeping her safe is suddenly much more important. I’ll analyze that thought later.