I remove the sock from my mouth and scramble out of the bed, taking the sheet with me to cover myself. I cower in the corner of the room, crying, when suddenly all three guys surround me like a pack of wolves getting ready to take down their prey. I can’t look at them; my eyes fall to the floor. “You won’t say a fucking word about this to anyone. You hear me?” I’m so out of it, I’m not entirely sure which one of them said it.
“Payton, babe, just a warning, not a word about this, or we’ll make certain you’ll wish you’d never been born. Do you really think people will believe you over us? We’re star athletes at our school who come from rich, well-respected families in the community; we own this fucking school and town. No one will believe a beer drinking, pot smoking, whore like you,” Jarod informs me, with a sickening grin plastered across his face. Okay, I don’t drink very often, and I got caught smoking pot one time and haven’t done it since. And I’ve never had sex before they forced themselves on me. What the hell is he talking about?
“Fuck you!” I spit out, trying to be brave against my attackers. My bravery doesn’t last very long before Ozzy comes at me—fast.
His hand lashes out to my throat, cutting off my air supply and pushing me up against the wall. “We already did, bitch! Obviously, whatever Jarod just said isn’t sinking in. So listen to what I’m saying, you skanky slut. Not. One. Fucking. Word. If this gets out, we’ll make sure no one will ever want you, once we’ve finished with you. And if that isn’t incentive enough, we’ll go after your cute little friend, Ella, and maybe even your sweet baby sister,” he threatens.
“Dude, she’s like twelve,” Andy says.
“If she can walk and has a pussy, she’s fair game,” Ozzy returns, sounding like pure evil.
What? Is he fucking crazy? No, I won’t let them hurt anyone I love.
“Please don’t hurt them. I won’t say anything. I swear,” I croak out, my fingers clawing desperately at Ozzy’s hand trying to make him let go, so I can draw air into my lungs.
My eyes fly open, and I feel my heart pounding in my chest. Sitting up, I look around and realize I’m not in that bedroom, at that house party, on that horrible night. No, I’m safe and sound in my own bedroom, in my house, in Del Mar, California. I had another nightmare. Even though I know it wasn’t real this time, I can still feel their hands on me.
Wait a minute, I actually feel hands snaking around my ribcage, going up my body and squeezing my breasts. All of my muscles instantly tense. “You okay? Sounded like you were having a nightmare,” Dag says in a sleepy, aroused voice, his lips brushing against my bare shoulder.
Oh my God! I think I’m gonna puke! I push him away as I feel the bile start to rise up in my throat. I get up out of my bed and run to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time. I empty the contents of my stomach to the point that I’m dry heaving. Eventually, my stomach settles, and the urge to vomit dies. I lean my naked body against the bathroom vanity, trying to catch my breath. I think back to what happened after Ozzy released his grip on my neck.
The three of them dressed and walked out of the room without so much as looking back at me. I sat there for about five minutes trying to process whether or not that really happened. I slowly stood up on my shaky legs and glanced over at the bed and saw blood and semen mixed together on the sheets. I looked down at my legs and saw the same fluids smeared on my thighs. My body’s immediate response was to lurch and vomit.
I went into the adjoining bathroom and located a towel and cleaned up between my legs. Once I returned to the bedroom, I found my clothes in a pile on the floor and redressed, opened the door, and walked quickly out in the hallway and down the stairs. When I made it to the foyer to head out the front door, I heard Jarod as he bragged to the rest of his teammates as they listened intently with wide grins on their faces, “You should’ve seen her up there. She was so fucking hot for the three of us that …” I couldn’t stand to hear the lies that spewed from his mouth and ran out the door before I could hear him finish what he was saying.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and called a cab to pick me up at a gas station that was just up the road from Krissy’s. As I waited, I wondered how in the hell was I going to keep this from everyone, especially Ella. She’d know something happened to me.
The cab finally showed up after twenty minutes, and I got in. By that time my skin was absolutely crawling. I felt so filthy and couldn’t wait to get home to take a very long, hot shower to wash them off me. Oh God, I was going to be sick again. “Stop the cab!” I shouted out to the cab driver and covered my mouth with my hand. He stopped immediately, and I opened the door and threw up again. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, closed the car door, and sat back on the cheap vinyl seats in the cab as he continued the drive toward my house.
Once the cab pulled up to my house, I gave him a twenty and told him to keep the change. I jumped out and ran inside. Thankfully, everyone was already gone to bed. I went directly upstairs to my bedroom, stripped off my clothes, and went to my bathroom. I turned the water on as hot as my skin could stand and stepped in. I scrubbed and scoured my body until my skin was raw, but I still couldn’t get clean. I wiped the washcloth between my legs and winced when I felt the stinging pain. When I removed the cloth I could see blood staining it. Even though I washed myself over and over again, I could still feel them leaking from between my legs. My body crumpled on the floor of the shower, I brought my knees up and hugged them to my chest and finally broke down, sobbing into my legs to muffle the sounds. I kept crying until the water turned icy cold, and I got out.
When I stopped in front of the mirror, I saw large purple bruises in the shape of a hand, around my throat. Holy shit, how was I going to hide that? I’d have to worry about that tomorrow morning. I walked back into my bedroom and threw on a pair of flannel pajamas. I then grabbed my clothes that I stripped off earlier, walked downstairs, and put them in the trashcan. I emptied the trashcan and replaced the bag with a new one and put the old bag outside. I couldn’t let anyone see my clothes in the trash because they’d ask me why, and I wouldn’t be able to give them answers. Before I left the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water and downed a couple of ibuprofen to ease the throbbing in my head and between my legs.
I climbed the stairs again and went into my bedroom to lay down on my bed. My head pounded, and my stomach rolled. It felt like I was hung over, but I knew I only drank two beers at the party, and that was well over two hours ago. I knew it wasn’t because I was drunk. Obviously, that cocksucking motherfucker had put something into my drink, and these were the side effects. I started crying into my pillow so no one would hear me and eventually cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up, and got another extra hot shower. The bruises around my neck were even more pronounced this morning. After I got dressed I went to my dresser and found the really pretty cream-colored silk scarf Ella gave me for Christmas last year. I tied it loosely around my sore neck and inspected myself in the mirror. Yep, bruises were completely covered. Now I just had to figure out how to act normal when I got downstairs and saw my family.
When I entered the kitchen, Evan, Ella, Mom, and my stepfather were all sitting at the table. I thought about going back upstairs and locking myself in my room and never coming out again, but they’d know something was up then. As I looked at my sister and my other ‘sister,’ Ozzy’s threats echoed in my head. There’s no way I could ever let anything like that happen to them; they’re too good. I fought back the tears that threatened to spill, plastered on a fake smile, and walked toward my family.
“What up family?” I asked, cheerfully.
“Well someone’s in a good mood this morning,” Ella said and winked at me. She leaned over and whispered, “Did you hook up with Jarod last night?”
“Yep,” I answered and winked right back at her, but secretly cringed inside.
“Someone was out late last night,” my stepfather said as he studied me over the top of his
newspaper.
“Time flies when you’re having fun, Daddy-o,” I told him. I jumped up and gave him a kiss on the cheek then walked over to get a glass of orange juice. While I had my head buried in the fridge I fought back the tears that formed, but a couple escaped. I wiped my eyes in my sleeve, and I made my way back to the kitchen table and sat down again.
“What’s with the scarf?” Evan asked next to me, as she scrunched up her cute little freckled nose.
“I got a couple of hickeys and needed to cover them up,” I answered.
My mother gasped, “Payton!”
“Oh, lighten up, Mom. Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten a hickey before.” My mother laughed at my remark and continued to sip at her coffee.
“What’s a hickey?” Evan inquired. I explained it to her. “Ewwww, gross! I’m never letting a boy do that to me,” she whined.
“You say that now because you’re only thirteen, but just you wait, Evan. You’re beautiful, and in a couple of years you’re going to be absolutely boy crazy, and they’re going to be knocking down the door to get to you,” I told her. I prayed that she’d get a good guy that would love, cherish, and protect her. I hoped the same thing for Ella.
Everyone turned their attention back to breakfast. I couldn’t believe I pulled it off. They thought I was okay when I was anything but.
That following Monday morning at school rumors buzzed about my night with the three bad boys of football, and I did absolutely nothing to set the record straight. I couldn’t set the record straight because Evan and Ella’s safety depended on it, and I wouldn’t screw that up. Ella had already gone through enough shit, with the car accident and losing her family. And my sister was still just a baby. She hadn’t even gotten her period yet, for Christ’s sake. No fucking way I’d say anything about what happened. It would be my burden to carry.
When I made it to my locker to get my books for first period, the word SLUT was written across my locker door in permanent marker. Several groups of students stood around, and I could hear them as they taunted and laughed at me behind my back. Then I heard one girl as she coughed out, “Tramp!” I closed my eyes and forced the stinging tears back. Then I spun around and glared at the group of vicious girls and aimed my angry gaze at the leader of the pack, Krissy Bitchface Smith.
I knew she had a boyfriend, so I strutted up to her and said in a bitchy tone, “You’re just jealous because I can please your man in ways that you could never dream of.” I then turned on my heels and walked away. Weeks later I made good on that statement. And that, my friends, is how my slutty reputation began. I didn’t fight it. People thought I was a tramp, so I acted like one.
I became very popular that final year of high school. The boys wanted to ‘do’ me, and eventually the girls acted like they were my friends. I knew they only stuck close because I was lethal and would take every single one of them and their boyfriends down, if I could. It’s like the saying goes: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Somehow, I managed to keep my reputation somewhat hidden from Ella. She still knew that I slept around, but not to the extent that I actually did. Maybe because she was still going through her mourning stage and was in denial. From things I’ve heard her say, she thought everyone loved me in high school. The truth of the matter is, I was the school slut, and everyone hated me. Most of our classmates gave Ella a hard time, so why they never told her about me, I’d never know.
BANG! BANG! BANG! Dag’s fist starts pounding on the door, breaking me away from my dark thoughts. “You okay in there, querida?” Dag asks, sounding sincerely concerned. I don’t know if he’s actually concerned for me or for him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute,” I answer back.
“Get your sexy ass out here, babe. I’m so fucking hard for you right now.” Why won’t he just leave already? Oh yeah, I know. I came up with this stupid idea of pretending we’re a couple. Fucking brilliant!
“Like I said already, just give me a minute.” I hear him sigh and walk away from the door.
I stand up, brush my teeth, and gargle a bit of mouthwash to get the taste of vomit out of my mouth. I reach for Jack’s t-shirt and put it on. I don’t know why, but just feeling it against my skin somewhat calms me. I walk back into my bedroom and lie back in bed, pulling the comforter up over me. I feel the heat of Dag’s body as he moves closer. His hands are suddenly all over me and when one starts moving down my body, I know where the final destination will be—between my legs. Panic starts to set in. I don’t think I can do this. I grab his hand and push it away from me. “Not tonight, Dag. I’m not feeling well,” I mumble.
“Seriously?” he asks, sounding like he’s going to laugh. What? Does he think I’m joking? He must’ve heard me puking my guts out in the bathroom earlier. “You seemed fine a couple of hours ago when you were riding the hell out of me,” he mutters, his hands starting to grope again, trying to lift my shirt. I grip the hem and hold it firmly down, keeping him from pulling it up my body.
“I’m dead-fucking serious. I’m sick and not in the mood.” I’m really hoping he gets the point because I won’t hesitate to knock him the fuck out if he continues. Lucky for him, he stops touching me and moves away.
He lies back in the bed and sighs, “What am I going to do about my little problem?” he asks, pointing down to ‘Little Dag.’
Oh my God! What an idiot. “There’s lotion and tissues in the bathroom; knock yourself out,” I suggest. To my disbelief, he actually gets up and saunters over to the bathroom, closing the door. About ten minutes later, I hear the water running in the shower. He’s either cleaning up or taking a cold shower. Either way, I hope it keeps him away from me for the rest of the night. He eventually comes out of the bathroom, walks over and stands by my side of the bed; I keep my eyes closed and try to keep my body from tensing.
“Babe, you awake?” Dag whispers. I stay silent, praying he thinks I’m asleep. Just leave me alone already, shithead. After a minute, he returns to his side of the bed and lies back down. Not long after that I hear him snoring.
I slowly get out of the bed, hoping that I don’t wake him. Heading out in the living room, I need something to calm and soothe me. I snag the book, Eclipse, by Stephenie Meyer as I walk by the built-in bookshelves by the fireplace. I’ve already read the book series about a million times and can probably recite it in my sleep, but I don’t care. I started reading it again a couple of weeks ago. The love depicted in this story is something that I seriously crave. Why can’t I find my own Edward? I curl up on the sofa and start reading. Before long, I fall asleep.
A rumbling sound coming from the driveway wakes me up. Sitting up on the sofa, I listen to the familiar sound. Is that my car? Who the fuck’s driving my car? Just as I’m thinking these questions, the front door flies open and in walks Dag holding two Starbucks coffee cups in his hands.
“Mornin’, sexy,” he greets.
“Dude, please tell me that was not my car that I just heard,” I say, shooting him my are-you-fucking-kidding-me look.
“Yeah, I went out to get us coffee. I didn’t think it’d be a problem,” he says, lifting up the coffee cups as evidence.
“News flash. It’s a huge fucking problem. Nobody drives my car but me. Comprende, amigo?” I hiss. Yeah, I’m being a bitch, but this guy’s seriously working my last nerve. “We have coffee here, ya know,” I add.
“Shit. I just wanted to do something nice for you. I even picked up some of those chocolate croissants you like.” I look and see the small bag in his hand. How does he know I like those? I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a Starbucks with him before. Creepy. A small shiver runs down my spine.
“How’d you know I like those?”
“You told me one time,” he says, but I’m pretty sure he’s lying. His eyes shift back and forth, clearly looking uncomfortable. I’ll forget about it for now.
I move my lazy ass off the sofa and stomp over toward him. “Keys, now,” I demand, with
one hand hitched on my hip and the other palm up motioning for him to place them in my hand. He lifts his hand to give them to me, but I snatch them out of his grip.
“Don’t do it again,” I snap.
He gently grabs my wrist and pulls me into his body, wrapping his arms around me and placing his mouth in the crook between my shoulder and neck. “Sorry, babe, I crossed the line. It won’t happen again. Forgive me?” he mutters against my skin.
“Yeah, this time, but I swear to Christ, if you ever touch my car again, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”
“I hear you. Your car’s off-limits. Got it. Now do you want these croissants, or am I going to eat them myself?” he asks. I snatch those from his hand, too, and take one of the coffee cups. I sit on the chair with my feet tucked up under my ass and pull the Mayhem shirt down covering my legs.
Dag pulls out a chair and moves it closer to me. “Where’d you get the shirt?” he asks, tugging on the bottom hem of the t-shirt.
“I got it from a friend,” I answer, moving my hands to his, stopping him from touching Jack’s shirt.
“And would this friend be the reason you need me to pretend to be your boyfriend?” he asks, his eyes roving down my body.
“Like I said, I got it from a friend. Who that friend is, though, is none of your business.”
“Now I know that shirt belongs to a man. Not sure I want my woman wearing another man’s clothes when I’m with her,” he says angrily.
“Good thing I’m not your woman then,” I return. Who the hell does he think he is? I thought we had an understanding. He got laid, while I got a fake boyfriend until Jack took the hint and left me alone—nothing more. But it seems like Dag sees something more going on between us, which is not going to happen. I’ll put up with him for a little longer, but if he doesn’t knock it off, I’m seriously contemplating taking him out. “This is just supposed to be pretend, remember? We’re not in a real relationship,” I remind him.
Sweet Ride Page 6