Opposite of Ordinary: (The Fareland Society, Book 1)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  When not a single answer comes to me, I curl up in a ball and sob. I know I should get up, try to find my way down this road, but everything from my legs to my soul feels broken. Plus, my head feels groggy, my mind hazy, like I’m floating between sleep and wakefulness.

  I want to go back to sleep and forget …

  I may have just done that if headlights didn’t pierce through the night. The sight of them makes my pulse spike, and I trip to my feet and stumble down the road in the opposite direction, desperate to get away. The vehicle skids to a stop just behind me, the engine idling as the driver door is opened. I can’t tell what kind of vehicle it is, but it’s big like the SUV.

  What if it’s them?

  I quicken my pace. Or, well, try to, but my limbs aren’t cooperating.

  “Hey, are you okay?” The sound of the familiar voice makes me pause.

  “Huntley?” I whisper without turning around.

  I don’t know what to do. I barely know Huntley, and from what I can tell, he might hate me enough to be one of the people who threw me into that SUV.

  “Ashlynn?” He must recognize my voice. “Fuck. Is that you?”

  Sucking in a breath, I twist around and squint against the lights. “Yeah,” I manage to get out, but each letter is agonizing.

  “Fuck,” he curses again as he strides toward me. His quick movements make me falter and stumble back. He freezes and holds his hands up in front of him, his face just a shadow as the light hits his back. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I just want to take you home.” He releases a breath then inches toward me. “Everyone’s been looking for you. Your mom and brother, Gabby, Maxon, Clove—almost everyone at the party.” He moves to shuck off the hoodie he’s wearing, making me realize he’s changed out of the Mad Hatter costume he was wearing at the party.

  How much time has passed?

  “Here. Put this on.” He offers me the hoodie.

  I hesitate before taking it from him, my teeth chattering as I slip my arms through the sleeves. As I move to zip up the front, my gaze lands on my waist where the word whore has been written in red ink. Then my gaze descends to my legs that are covered in dirt and blood. My hands are cut up, my fingernails are chipped, and I think my wrist might either be sprained or broken because it hurts like a bitch.

  What did they do to me?

  “I can’t … I don’t think …” I burst into tears, collapsing toward the ground.

  Huntley rushes forward and wraps his arms around me. “Shh … Take a deep breath,” he encourages, holding me against his chest.

  I cry harder, clutching his shirt and soaking the fabric with my tears. This is a guy I barely know. A guy who I’m pretty sure hates me. Yet, he allows me to lean on him and bawl the pain out.

  Eventually, when I calm down a bit, he guides me to the passenger seat of his truck, fastens my seatbelt, and then climbs into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t say much as he turns the truck around and drives back up the road.

  Tears spill from my eyes as I note the time on the dashboard—a little after midnight. I wish that’d let me know how much time has passed since I blacked out, but I can’t recall what time it was when I was walking down the road.

  Shivering, I stare out the window, trying to figure out where I am and how I got here. Trying to remember anything. But every time I push to see the memories, darkness pushes back.

  I can’t do this …

  I can’t breathe …

  “I know this is going to sound really fucking stupid right now,” Huntley says, breaking the silence. “But I promise you’re going to make it through this. It might sound impossible right now, but I promise it’ll get better.”

  “How do you know that?” I mumble without looking at him. “I’m not even sure what happened to me.”

  “You don’t remember at all?” He sounds worried.

  I shake my head, sniffling. “One minute, I was walking down the street, and the next, some guys jumped me, threw me into a SUV, shoved a pill down my throat, and …” My bottom lip quivers. “The next thing I know, I woke up on this road.”

  “Holy shit,” he mumbles. “Do you know who did this to you?”

  “No. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I curl into myself, hugging my knees to my chest.

  “That’s fine.” He gives a short pause. “Ashlynn, I think I need to call my dad.”

  I blink at him in confusion. “Why?”

  “Because he’s the sheriff, and this needs to be reported.”

  My hands tremble in my lap as the severity of the situation crashes against my chest. “Can I borrow your phone after you call your dad? I need to call my mom, and I don’t have my phone on me.”

  He nods, compassion filling his eyes.

  If only the circumstances were different.

  If only I hadn’t left the party.

  If only I’d told Maxon and Clove before Queeny did.

  If only …

  If only …

  If only …

  The words play in a mantra inside my head as Huntley calls his dad. He doesn’t say much, just that there’s been an assault against one of his friends and that he needs him to meet us at the hospital. I’d find it funny that he referred to us as friends, but nothing seems funny at the moment. Nothing feels like it’ll be funny ever again.

  “Why are you taking me to the hospital?” I ask when he hangs up and hands me his phone.

  He glances at the blood and cuts on my legs. “Because you need to be checked out and make sure none of your injuries are severe. Plus, when it comes to this stuff …” He wavers. “It’s best to get checked out so they can make accurate notes in the police report about what was done to you.”

  What was done to me …

  What was done to me?

  I literally don’t have a clue, but a dark, chilling, heavy feeling ravels inside of me …

  What if I was raped?

  “Pull over. I’m going to throw up.” I reach for the door handle, ready to shove the door open, even though the truck is moving.

  Luckily, Huntley gets the truck stopped right before I dive out. Since I’ve already thrown up two times, I end up on my hands and knees, dry heaving. Huntley comes over and crouches down beside me to hold my hair out of my face.

  This guy, who I’ve treated like shit, helped torment, and ruined his chances at the science competition, is holding my fucking hair while I have a meltdown on the side of the road. It makes me wonder who exactly Huntley is, who the guy is living underneath the cold mask he’s been sporting for the last week.

  “Thanks,” I mutter after my stomach has settled.

  He remains silent as he helps me to my feet. Once he gets me back inside the truck, he steps back to shut the door but pauses.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so rude to you,” he says quietly.

  I laugh hollowly, the sound the most miserable noise I’ve ever heard. “Trust me; you were hardly rude and you had every right to be.”

  He wavers, strands of his brown hair falling into his eyes as he slightly tips his head forward. “No, I don’t think I did. What’s in the past is in the past and holding on to it can sometimes be a bad thing. If anyone knows this, it’s me.” He leaves it at that, stepping back and shutting the door.

  But his words linger in the air.

  What’s in the past is in the past and holding on to it can sometimes be a bad thing.

  I wonder if somewhere down the road, I’ll be able to say the same thing.

  I wonder what was in the past that Huntley had to let go.

  22

  I call my mom on the way to the hospital. She’s hysterical, sobbing into the phone, in complete freak-out mode. I feel awful and decide to keep the details of what happened to me at a minimum until we’re face to face, knowing she’ll handle it better.

  By the time we arrive at the hospital, my eyes are swollen from crying and my chest aches. When Huntley parks out back instead of at the front entrance, I glance around in co
nfusion.

  He must read the puzzlement on my face because he says, “I figured you might want to go in the back way where they’ll be fewer people around.”

  I nod in gratitude. “Thanks. But are you sure it’s okay that we’re back here?”

  He nods, pushing the door open. “I have connections.”

  “At the hospital?”

  “Everywhere.” He hops out and shuts the door.

  So weird.

  By the time I get the door open and start to climb out, Huntley has rounded the front of the truck and is offering me his hand. Since his truck is lifted and my legs are as useful as two wet noodles right now, I take his hand and let him help me. Then he lets go of me and reaches to put his arm around me.

  I instantly tense. I’m not even sure why, other than I feel like a skittish cat right now.

  “I’m just going to put my arm around your back so you can lean your weight on me,” he explains carefully. “If that’s okay.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure.” I nod unevenly then hold still as he carefully slips his arm around my back. Then he guides me across the parking lot, letting me lean on him.

  Again, I feel like I don’t deserve his kindness, but I’m too tired to pull away.

  Once we get inside the hospital, he leads me into a room that looks like a standard hospital room,

  “Don’t we need to wait in the waiting room?” I ask as he urges me to take a seat on the bed.

  He shakes his head. “I have connections, remember?”

  I eye him over, and he offers me a small, slightly teasing smile. A smile that makes me want to hug him, smile back, and burst into tears all at the same time. The latter ends up winning as tears pool in my eyes.

  “Do you need me to get you anything?” Huntley asks as I climb onto the bed.

  “I’m fine.” I ball up my hands and stare at the floor. “You can leave if you want … I know this is probably really weird.”

  Silence stretches between us, and then he sits down on the bed beside me. “I’m fine with being here.” He threads his fingers through mine, and I hold on to him for dear life. Because it feels like, if I don’t latch on to something, I’ll end up tumbling into an abyss of despair and fear.

  “Shit,” Huntley abruptly mutters.

  I glance up at him and find that he’s staring at his phone.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He sets his phone down on the bed, looking everywhere but at me. “It’s nothing.”

  Clearly, it’s not.

  “It sure seems like something.”

  “I think it’s better if you don’t …” He trails off as a man dressed in a uniform pops his head into the room. His dad, I’m guessing.

  Huntley tenses at the sight of him. “Hey, Dad.”

  His dad offers me a stiff smile then nods at Huntley. “I need to talk to you in private for just a second.”

  Pressing his lips together, Huntley hops off the bed. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He waits for me to nod then steps out in the hallway with his dad.

  Hushed whispers flow across the air, and I start to lean forward to listen when a phone dings. I instinctively glance down and see Huntley has left his phone on the bed. I don’t mean to look, but the words Heartbreaker Society jump out at me.

  BA: Did you see the video?

  QO: Yeah, I did, and I’m so fucking pissed. See? This is why we need the Heartbreaker Society.

  J: I feel fucking sick. I can’t believe this is happening. Has MX seen it yet?

  BA: Not yet. I’m afraid to show him.

  J: Me, too.

  BA: I feel so bad. Poor Ashlynn.

  What is this? Who are these people? Is Huntley part of the Heartbreaker Society? And, what video?

  Nausea burns in my stomach as a possible answer dawns on me.

  Did those guys record what they did to me?

  “Ash?”

  The sound of my mom’s voice draws my attention to the doorway.

  The sight of her face makes me break the fuck down.

  Shatter.

  “Mommy.” Tears flood my eyes as she rushes toward me and wraps her arms around me.

  I sob, holding on to her, letting everything pour out that I’ve been keeping bottled up inside me.

  I don’t know how to make the pain stop. Don’t know how to pick up all the pieces falling off me and shattering against the ground. Don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again.

  23

  The next few hours pass by in a blur as a doctor comes in to examine me. I’m beyond skittish, every touch and question sending fear and disgust through me. The only positive part of the night is when the doctor says there are no signs of a sexual assault. But that still leaves me wondering what was done to me while I was blacked out. And I was still violated when somebody took off my clothes and wrote whore on my stomach. Plus, my wrist is sprained, and I need a few stitches. Other than that, there’re just cuts and bruises. On the outside anyway.

  On the inside, I feel wrecked beyond repair.

  After the doctor gives me a brace for my wrist and patches me up, I put on a pair of stretch pants and a T-shirt my mom brought for me.

  By the time the sheriff comes in to ask me questions, I’m past the point of exhaustion. Between that, the side effects of the drugs still lingering in my system, and the fact that I can’t remember much, most of his questions are unanswerable. Finally, he asks if I can come down to the station tomorrow afternoon after I’ve gotten some rest. I nod, grateful.

  He hands me his card. “If you can think of anything else, call me, no matter what time it is,” Sheriff Porrterson tells me.

  “I will.” I take the card.

  “And you should probably be careful until we find out who’s behind this,” he says. “It was probably just a random act, but you never know.”

  “We definitely will,” my mom assures him with her hand on my shoulder.

  Great. I’m probably going to be on lockdown now. Then again, I don’t have any friends anyway, so what does it even matter? Plus, the idea of going out anywhere right now makes my stomach churn.

  The sheriff nods then turns to leave when I realize I still have Huntley’s hoodie.

  I pick it up off the bed. “Can you give Huntley this and tell him thanks for me? I didn’t get a chance to tell him before he took off.”

  I haven’t seen Huntley since his dad pulled him out of the room, other than when he hurried back in to get his phone. But I hardly noticed because I was in the middle of a breakdown.

  The sheriff takes the hoodie from me and offers me the same stiff smile he gave me when he first showed up. “Sure.” Then he walks out of the room, his boots squeaking against the linoleum.

  “Are you ready to go home?” my mom asks, smoothing her hand over the top of my head.

  I nod then start to clumsily climb off the bed, but she stops me.

  “I’m going to get a wheelchair for you,” she says, starting toward the doorway.

  “Mom, I don’t need one …” I trail off as she rushes out of the room.

  I lower my head and massage my temples. My head is throbbing, and I still feeling so foggy.

  The doctor said that some of my memories may come back to me in flashes, but there’s a possibility I may never remember what happened. And that frightens me, yet so does knowing. And the fact that I can’t even remember the make or even the color of the SUV is going to make finding who did this pretty difficult, at least according to the sheriff. I did tell him a little bit about what was going on with Queeny, but he didn’t seem too interested. Honestly, the guy seemed a bit offish. I’m not sure why, especially when Huntley was so kind to me tonight.

  And, what about this whole thing with Huntley being part of The Heartbreaker Society? What is the society? Why were they talking about me in those messages? What video?

  My head feels like it’s on the verge of exploding, and the back of my throat burns with vomit again.

  I stumble over to the trash can and dry
heave until my stomach aches. Then I let my head bob back against the wall. The light stings my eyes, but I don’t close them, afraid of going into the darkness again.

  I stay on the floor until my mom comes back with the wheelchair. She helps me get into it then wheels me to the car. I’m so tired by the time I’m climbing into the passenger seat, but I refuse to close my eyes. At least, I try not to. But one minute I’m waiting for my mom to start up the engine, and the next, I’m sinking into a nightmare …

  24

  Bright lights. Blinding pain. Someone laughs.

  “Just hold her down and make it look real, okay?” they whisper.

  “I’m not so sure about this,” someone else mutters.

  “Quit being a pussy,” the first guy who spoke snaps. “And do it. Remember why you’re doing this.”

  “Because you fucked up,” someone else mutters then something presses down on my body.

  I want to scream, but my lips are too heavy to open …

  Help me! Help me! Help me!

  No one hears my silent pleas …

  * * *

  When my eyes roll open, I’m staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom. My head is pounding against my skull, my wrist throbs, and my legs burn, but my mind is way less foggy. Prickles of dreams stab my mind, trying to surface, but I can’t make much sense of them.

  Sighing in frustration, I glance at the clock on my nightstand and realize it’s almost noon.

  Even though I’m not ready to face the world today, I decide to get up and at least take a shower in an attempt to wash off last night’s events.

  When I step out of my room, the house is quiet, except for the humming of the television in the living room. Either my mom or Lucky is out there—I can’t see for sure from where I’m standing. If I go out there, they’ll want to talk, and I don’t feel like talking right now.

  Sucking in a breath, I tiptoe down the hallway, duck into the bathroom, and slip out of my clothes. After the water heats up, I climb into the shower and begin washing the dirt and red ink off my skin. But apparently, those assholes used permanent marker because, no matter how hard I scrub, the word whore still faintly stains my skin.