by Abigail Haas
Ashton laughed. Mr Yi was pushing seventy and shuffled around college with a cane. ‘Damn, I thought I had that one locked down.’
‘Maybe next semester,’ I joked. ‘He might not last long.’
Ashton smiled. ‘Any way at all you can take that Wednesday class? You’re screwing up the grading curve for this session.’
‘I can’t,’ I sighed, ‘I work full-time.’
‘What if I wrote your boss a note?’ Ashton said, still playful. ‘Dear . . . ’
‘Weber.’
‘Dear Mr Weber,’ he continued. ‘Please excuse Chloe on Wednesdays, I urgently need her to brighten up my classroom. I will be bereft without her.’
I laughed. ‘Cut it out.’
‘What? I mean it.’ Ashton glanced over. ‘You’re the only one of those kids who gives a damn.’
‘I’m not a kid,’ I answered automatically. There was a pause, Ashton glanced over, his lips curling in a smile.
‘No, you’re not.’ He paused. ‘You know, my place isn’t far. I could swing by and pick up some of the books on the list, if you’d like to borrow them. I know the cost can add up,’ he added, sympathetic.
I looked over. ‘Sure, if you don’t mind. I mean, that would be great.’
‘It’s no problem at all. Anything for my favourite student,’ he said with a smile.
Ashton drove another couple of miles, then took an exit, heading through a more suburban area filled with construction and half-built houses. He slowed, turning on to a cul-de-sac lined with identical red-brick buildings and street-lights, bright over the silent sidewalks.
‘Have you lived out here long?’ I ask, watching the front-yard pass. It was all brand new, like something from a movie set, and for some reason it wasn’t what I’d expected Ashton’s neighbourhood to be. He looked like he should be hanging out in a loft somewhere downtown, across from a dive bar and record store, not here, among the swing sets and mini-vans.
‘About six months now,’ Ashton replied. ‘My girlfriend picked it. Great schools,’ he added, but there was a note of tension in his tone.
‘It’s nice,’ I said quickly. ‘Safe.’
He pulled into the drive of a semi-detached house near the end of the street. ‘Most of my stuff is still in boxes,’ he apologized. ‘It’ll take a minute to dig everything out.’
‘That’s fine, I don’t mind,’ I said, pulling out my phone to pass the time.
He laughed. ‘You can’t wait out here. Come on in. I warn you, the place is still a work-in-progress,’ he added, closing the door behind him. I paused, then grabbed my purse and climbed out, following him to the door. ‘It’s always the way, right?’ he said, opening up and turning on the lights. ‘You unpack just enough to make the place livable, and then leave everything stacked in the closet until you move again.’
‘I don’t know.’ I felt self-conscious as I stepped inside and looked around. ‘I’ve never moved anywhere before.’
The house was open-plan and box-fresh, the walls still plain white; the furniture stranded in the middle of the living room in front of a flat-screen TV.
‘Well, you will,’ Ashton declared. ‘And when you do, remember: labels are your friend. The first night, we spent hours opening every damn box trying to find the clean sheets.’
I took another few steps inside, drifting to the huge bookcases that spanned the far wall. They were the most lived-in part of the place: packed with old cloth-bound hardbacks and dog-eared novels, cluttered with photos and mementos. I paused over a framed photograph of Ashton with a smiling blonde woman. He looked younger. Happier.
‘Is this your girlfriend?’ I asked.
He looked up, rifling through a box in the corner. ‘Yeah, that’s Bree. She’s visiting friends in Fort Wayne. Some bachelorette girls thing.’ He straightened up. ‘I know it was here somewhere . . . ’ he said, surveying the boxes with a frown.
‘It’s OK,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t need them right away.’
‘No, no I’ve got this.’ He left the room and I turned back to the bookcase, tracing the spines. He’d travelled all over, I could see from the flyers and maps lodged between the covers. I felt an ache of longing.
One day, I would get the hell out of this town. One day.
Music came from the speakers in the corner. ‘You like the Original Riot?’
I startled, turning. Ashton was leaning against the door to the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine.
‘What?’
‘This band, I saw them play a couple of years ago,’ he explained, watching me. ‘They’re great live.’
‘I don’t know them.’ I said quickly. ‘You know, thanks for looking for those books, but I really have to get back.’
‘You’ve got time for a quick drink.’ Ashton held the glass out, offering it to me.
‘No, thanks.’ I shook my head.
He laughed. ‘You can relax, we’re not in school now. I promise, I won’t tell.’
‘It’s fine.’ I moved towards the door. ‘My mom’s waiting up for me. She gets worried if I’m late.’
‘So call, tell her you’ll be a while.’ Ashton took a sip of the wine, still watching me with a lazy smile. ‘We can get to know each other a little better.’
My heart began to beat a little faster, adrenalin skittering in my veins.
We were alone in the house.
‘You know what, I’ll just call my boyfriend and have him come and pick me up,’ I said, picking my purse up from where I’d set it on the table by the door. I fumbled with the strap, trying to find my cell, trying even harder to stay casual, seeming relaxed. ‘You don’t need to go out of your way for me.’
‘It’s no trouble.’ Ashton put his wine glass down and moved closer to me, looming just a few inches away. ‘Stay, have a drink, then I’ll run you back home.’
‘No, I have to go,’ I said again, pulling out my cell. Before I could dial, he took it from my hand.
‘What is this thing, a relic from the nineties?’ he laughed, examining the case. He juggled it from one hand to the other, teasing. ‘Do you have to tap out a message in Morse Code?
I froze, my heart racing. ‘Can I have that back?’ I asked. I tried not to panic, there was nothing wrong. He was just kidding around. ‘Ashton?’ I asked again, reaching for my phone. He ducked back, out of my grasp. ‘Please, Mr Davis, stop it.’
I hoped using his formal name would remind him he was my teacher, but instead, Ashton just laughed. ‘I’ve told you, we’re out of the classroom. You can cut that student-teacher bullshit now.’ He dangled the phone in front of me, then pulled it away again when I reached.
I swallowed back my fear, giving a weak laugh. ‘Come on, that’s not fair. Give it back.’
Ashton tilted his head, his eyes travelling over me. His gaze lingered on my body, hungry in a way that made my blood chill in my veins.
‘Make me.’
I swallowed back a surge of fear. ‘Fine,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ll use your line.’
I walked over to the phone, mounted on the wall by the kitchen, and lifted the handset. My heart was racing, counting through all the stupid risks I’d taken. I was in his house, away from anything, with no way of leaving on my own.
Nobody knew I was there.
‘Aww, don’t be like that. I was just playing around.’ Ashton sighed. He tossed the phone back at me, and I scrambled to catch it, feeling a shock of relief. I was overreacting, he was playing around, that was all.
‘You know, I’m just going to wait outside.’ I clutched my phone to my chest. Ashton was standing in front of the door, but there was no other way out. I took a hesitant few steps towards him.
He didn’t move. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘I’m not that terrible a host, am I?’
I tried to fake another smile. ‘No, no,’ I stuttered, taking another step. ‘I just want some privacy to call, that’s all.’
Ashton looked at me, his eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. ‘You could always t
ake it in the bedroom,’ he suggested. ‘It’s just through there.’
I froze. ‘No. Thanks.’
I wanted to run. To bolt past him and disappear out into the night. But I had to force myself to stay calm. There was still the hope that this was all a misunderstanding, that he was being inappropriate, sure, but not anything worse. We were balanced on a razor’s edge here, and I could only pray that if I smiled and played nice I would be fine.
I took another step, and then another. As I reached the door, Ashton finally stood aside.
I exhaled in a shaking breath of relief. ‘Thanks for the ride, this far.’ I made my voice bright and cheery as I turned to say goodbye. ‘I really appreciate it.’
I didn’t have time to react before his hands were on my waist and his lips came down hard on mine.
I panicked, shoving with both hands at his chest and trying to turn my head away, but he pushed me back against the door, his tongue plunging in my mouth, his hand groping at my ass.
I struggled, my protests muffled under his kiss. His body was crushing me, too heavy to move, and I reached desperately, shoving at his chest, his shoulders, anything to push him back. Finally, he came up for air. ‘Hold still,’ Ashton breathed, stroking my cheek. ‘It’s OK, just relax.’
‘No!’ I cried, struggling. Fear was thick around me. ‘Let me go!’
‘Come on, you don’t have to play the good girl with me.’ Ashton groped at my chest, his breath catching in his throat. ‘I know you want this. You’ve been panting after me since the start of school.’
He dipped his head to kiss at my neck. Bile rose in my throat.
‘No!’ I tried pushing him away again, but I was trapped against the door. I had no room to move, no room to breathe.
Desperate, I turned my head, reaching, stretching to bite down hard on his ear.
‘Fuck!’ Ashton lurched back, clutching the side of his head, He brought his hand away. Blood. He stared at me in shock. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’
‘I told you, no!’ I scrabbled at the lock, but it was a chain fastening, and I couldn’t get it right. ‘I don’t want this, I never did!’
‘So it was all a game to you, leading me on?’ His jaw clenched, eyes flashing dark with anger. ‘You’re a fucking tease.’
He moved towards me again.
‘Don’t touch me!’ The chain was still caught. I couldn’t get out. My heart raced, blood pounding in my ears as I stared at him. ‘I’m warning you . . . ’
‘What?’ Ashton gave me a cruel grin. ‘If I were you, I’d be a little nicer. I still determine your grade, remember?’
‘I don’t care if I fail.’ I glared at him.
Ashton made a tutting sound. ‘I can call any college you apply to and tell them what a disappointment you are.’
I froze. ‘You wouldn’t,’ I whispered.
‘I will.’ Ashton’s expression was harsh. ‘I’ll tell them all about how you disrupted class, and cheated on your tests, and didn’t show your teacher the proper respect. ‘Unless . . . you make it up to me. Show me your respect,’ he breathed.
He stroked my cheek again and this time I couldn’t flinch away. I felt sick, but I couldn’t move. He had the power, he had the rest of my fucking life in his hands.
I stood there, motionless, hating myself as his finger trailed lower, lower, to the neckline of my shirt and under the edge.
‘Good girl.’ Ashton smiled in victory. His hand closed around my breast, squeezing.
I shuddered, but I didn’t move.
His hand slid lower, to the waistband of my jeans. ‘You don’t have to be scared,’ he murmured, leaning closer. ‘You’ll like it, I promise.’
His lips came down on my neck again, kissing hard as he fumbled with his zipper.
This was how it went, I thought numbly. A busted engine; a car ride; his girlfriend out of town. Another choice that wasn’t mine. Because what I wanted never mattered, not any more. Fury rose up inside me, breaking through the fear.
No way. No fucking way.
I reached out blindly grasping on the hall table for something, anything I could use. My hand closed around a smooth, round shape; a handle. It was a travel Thermos, something for his morning coffee. I had a brief flash of his girlfriend filling it for him today, sending him off with a wave and a goodbye kiss.
And here he was, raping me anyway.
I swung it with everything I had, slamming the metal against the back of his head. Ashton let out a pained grunt, his body sagging against mine. I shoved him back, swinging the flask again. It slammed against his forehead this time and he fell backwards to the floor.
He rolled, groaning, struggling to his hands and knees.
‘Bitch,’ he cursed, gasping. ‘What the fuck . . . ?’
He was coming up again, reaching towards me, so I lunged first: grabbing the back of his head and slamming my knee into his face in a sickening crunch.
Blood pounded in my ears. None of this would be happening if I had just got the hell out of this town. If I didn’t have to play nice to get what I needed, if I didn’t need so damn much at all.
‘What about what I want?’ I screamed at his limp body. I grabbed his hair again, yanking his head up and slamming it back against the wall. ‘Do you even care? No! Because I’m nothing to you, just another stupid girl!’
My blood ran hot with fury. I slammed again, caught up in the whirlwind of red. Again, again, until my hands were shaking and blood ran, dark down the pale wood, sticky on my hands.
I released him, gasping. There was silence, not one movement. Not a sound.
Oh God.
I backed away, fumbling with the door again until the chain finally clicked into place. I grabbed my purse, closing the door behind me and stumbling outside. I made it three steps on the dark front drive before my legs crumpled beneath me, sending me crawling in the sharp gravel. I gasped for air, scrambling until finally I was on my feet and running, running down the street with nothing but my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the sound of my own ragged breath for company.
What had I done?
My lungs burned and my limbs ached by the time I reached the main road. There were no cars around, just rows of empty houses, dark and still. Nobody there to see what I’d done.
Silence.
My hands shook as I pulled out my cellphone, trembling too hard to dial. It took four tries before I finally found the station number and could click through to call.
‘Sheriff’s department.’ The voice came, drawling, steady, bored. It was Blake, I recognized over the thunder of my heartbeat, and in my mind I could see him, reaching for a slice of pizza, his boots kicked up on the desk, leaving smudged I’d have to clean come Monday. ‘What can I do you for?’
I opened my mouth, but my breath rasped in my throat. I couldn’t make a sound. I could still see the way I’d left him, Ashton, crumpled in a bloody heap on the floor.
I didn’t know how many times I’d hit him, how much damage I’d done.
I wavered, sick with the realization. He could be dead. I could have killed him. What would happen when they found him? Would they believe me if I tried?
‘Hello?’ Blake asked again, bored. ‘Hello?’
I hung up, my cellphone falling down by my side. I saw headlights on the road ahead and quickly leaped back into the shadows of the trees. My mind was racing now, my desperate panic spinning into something else, fear and doubt and terror taking an iron grip of my mind.
I could hear them already, what they’d all say.
I’d got in the car with him, hadn’t I? I’d followed him inside the house. Maybe I’d liked it. Maybe I hadn’t had to fight back so hard.
Maybe I’d lied.
Bile rose up in my throat and I stumbled to the edge of the road, retching violently, again and again, collapsing on to my knees as the world spun, dark shadows everywhere as I pressed my eyes shut fast and clenched gripped the wet grass and desperately prayed for it all to be over, please ju
st be over, please let this be done.
I wasn’t sure how long it was until the world steadied and I slowly rose to my feet again. I breathed deep, searching in the dark until I found my cellphone. It was muddy but unharmed. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I needed, the one person who would know what to do.
Oliver.
He came without questions, not a single word, just a sideways glance from the driver’s seat as I fumbled with the door and threw myself into the car.
‘Please,’ I managed, my hands still shaking, ‘just drive.’
Oliver pulled away, our headlights cutting through the dark in bright, sure swathes. Here, inside, I was safe, I told myself over and over again, as we sped further away from the suburbs. The warm air blasting from the dashboard, the talk radio show murmuring on low, the casual way Oliver leaned back, hand resting on the steering wheel even though he must have been going twenty over the limit by then. I was safe now.
But I knew that was a lie.
He was back there, somewhere. Hurt. Bleeding. Furious.
What would he do now?
Oliver made a turn and then there were lights, blaring neon and bold. I blinked, looking around. We were at a drive-through, on one of those rest-stops off the highway. Oliver pulled up to the speaker and looked over.
‘What do you want?’
I stared back, dazed. I couldn’t have eaten now if I’d tried. My stomach was still churning, my whole body sick with tension.
‘I . . . nothing.’ My voice shook, and I hugged myself harder, trying to keep it together. ‘Oliver . . . ’
‘Sure?’ Oliver looked at me. ‘I’m buying. Go crazy.’
‘Please,’ I heard the note of begging in my voice, ‘I just want to go home.’
Oliver ignored me, winding down the window and leaning out. ‘Yeah, I’ll get a burger deluxe, two portions of fries . . . Oh, and a milkshake. Chocolate.’
I looked at him in disbelief. I’d called him to come pick me up in the middle of nowhere, barely able to speak, and he was ordering fast food like nothing was wrong.
‘There’s a sweater in the back,’ Oliver said, glancing over again.
‘What?’ I didn’t understand.