by S Kline
When I see this brute of a man raise his hand in the air as if to strike her back I completely lose it. I step between them, blocking the hit with a firm swing to the guys gut. He lets out an agonized cry and stumbles back. He reeks of booze, and his staggering gives way to just how drunk he is. Still, that’s no excuse for laying your hands on a woman.
He lifts a meaty fist as if to retaliate, but his eyes go wide when he finally recognizes who I am. Being in Fianna Fáil did have its advantages.
“That’s right, fucker. If you take that swing I will lay you out. It’s really best if you just move along now.” I keep my eyes on him as he pushes his way backwards through the crowd. When I can no longer see him I turn around expecting to be met with gratitude, but she looks anything but grateful.
“I didn’t need you to step in. I had it under control.” She says, her arms crossed over a very impressive rack.
Was this girl for real? Standing this close to her I can easily see the defiance simmering in her deep gray eyes, the way her black, long-sleeved t-shirt hugs generous curves, and I desperately want to see what her ass looks like in those tight, holey jeans. Her face is slender and clean of make-up, she looks nothing like the other women here, and yet she has to be the most beautiful with her full lips and pert nose. The longer I stare at her the more annoyed she looks at me. I can feel the grin start to light up my face.
“I’m not fucking you just because you decided to put your nose where it didn’t belong. I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t need it.” Her words are clipped, but I can sense there is something more behind them, some deeper emotion I’m not privy to.
“I didn’t ask you to fuck me.” I keep my eyes trained on her, my brows scrunch down in irritation.
“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t give you a chance, and I won’t. So it’s really best if you move along now.” She mocks me as she cocks her hip to the side and holds my gaze.
“That’s the thanks I get for saving you? You just assume I’m going to take advantage of you, and then you tell me off?” I say quizzically, but she doesn’t respond. She just keeps her eyes locked to mine.
I have this crazy urge to run my fingers along the slender length of her jaw, but clearly that wouldn’t be appreciated. I can feel my jeans constrict with my growing arousal. What is it about this bitchy little attitude of hers that’s turning me on so damn much? I want to flip her over my knee and watch her ass tint pink under my palm.
I swallow back the desire that’s hammering through my veins. “Can I at least get your name? Isn’t that kind of customary in these situations?” I arch a brow, a grin playing on my lips.
She sighs, running a hand through her long, dark locks. They shimmer under the flashes of light, and I want to see if they feel just as silky as they look. I shove my hands into my pockets to resist the urge to touch her.
I watch as she blinks up at me, dark lashes framing the most amazing gray eyes I’ve ever seen. She opens her mouth to say something, but Trisha pushes through the crowd and stumbles into her side. I tense, wanting to grab Trisha and pull her away, but then she speaks and I realize they know each other. This girl looks way too pure to be hanging around with a slut like Trisha.
“Raven!” Trisha whines her name, and the sound makes me want to cover my ears.
I let my gaze run over Raven’s body again, thankful I at least have her name now. Raven. I let it roll around in my head. It fits her. She is all dark and light, strength and hidden vulnerability. I turn my head as Ethan walks out from the crowd; it seems to part around him. He slips his arms around Trisha’s waist and pulls her back against him.
Their clothes are disheveled, and Trisha’s blonde hair is a matted mess. It isn’t really hard to figure out what they had been up to. I snicker and Ethan’s gaze snaps to mine, a smile curling his lips.
“Thanks for keeping her company, D. I wasn’t sure anyone would pay attention to her in that frumpy outfit. You really have to let me pick out your clothes next time.” Trisha says her voice shaky and her words slightly slurred.
“No problem. I think she looks great.” I really do. She may not be dressed in a tiny skirt and heels, but she still has my pulse hammering.
Trisha laughs, loudly. “I bet you do, D! She has a vagina and she’s not ugly. Aren’t those your only requirements?”
Ethan chuckles with her, kissing her softly on the neck. Normally, I would probably make a joke here, or laugh along, but I want to impress this girl. Not that I am doing so hot in that department anyway. I look back at Raven to see her eyes are slanted in disgust and she’s looking at me. Well, fuck. I really have ruined this. Trisha pushes away from Ethan playfully, and reaches out to lock arms with Raven.
“Come on, Raven. I need to get you home.”
Was it my imagination, or did Raven just tense up. No, it has to be my imagination. Why would going home make her tense? She probably can’t wait to get away from me.
“Should you be driving, Trish? You look pretty sloshed right now.” I really don’t like the idea of Raven getting in the car with Trisha in this state.
Trisha laughs drunkenly again. “I already called a cab, D. Thanks for worrying though.” She winks at me, and I roll my eyes as Ethan punches my shoulder jokingly. I think.
The girl I was with earlier chooses this moment to wrap her arms around my waist from behind me, her fingertips slipping into the waistband at the front of my jeans. I breathe in the scent of her expensive perfume, as her tits press against my back. My eyes shoot to Raven. Her brows have somehow narrowed even further, her lips sneered in disgust, and her stormy gaze locked to the spot where this girls hand is.
“Are you guys coming to the fight next week?” I’m desperate for another chance to see Raven, to talk to her.
Trisha laughs again as she starts tugging her away from us. She doesn’t answer and I know that’s because of Ethan. She likes to play this cat and mouse game with him, and he lets her. One second they are fucking like bunnies, and the next she is grinding all over some other guy. I really don’t know why he does it.
“You ready to have a good time?” The quiet voice breaks into my thoughts and I grasp the hands on my jeans, undecided on whether I should take her up on her offer.
Seriously, Dylan? I shake my head. Of course I’m going to take her up on her offer. One conversation with a feisty angel isn’t enough to stop me from fucking this girl. Besides, I was hornier now then I was when I got here with her. I might as well put this hard-on to use. I grin on a lifted brow and turn around to face her.
“Lead the way, sweetheart.”
***
Raven
The cab driver stops just outside of the apartment complex, and I squeeze my hands into fists so tight I can feel my nails bite sharply into my skin. My heart is hammering, but I suck in a deep breath and school my expression as Trisha pulls me in for a drunken hug. She reeks of sex and booze, and I wonder if Uncle Jim will notice when she gets home.
“You have to come out with me next weekend!” She slurs next to me.
I glance up at the cab driver who’s staring at us through the review mirror, an amused grin on his aging face.
“Of course I will.” Anything to get away from this Hell, I add mentally.
Trisha’s smile grows. I envy her ability to live so carelessly. She is beyond gorgeous with long, curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I think even a model would be jealous of her thin frame and lengthy legs. She looks like a taller version of the girl that had wrapped herself around him. I wasn’t really sure who he is. Trisha called him D, but I assume that stood for something. I’ll have to ask her when she is more clear-headed.
I pull back and exit the cab. The chilly ocean air washes over me, and I breathe in the salty scent. That smell is the only good thing about this place. I think that if freedom had a smell that would be it. It’s a shame that it ends as soon as I step inside.
The door creaks behind me and I pray no one will hear it. Shivers dance over my sk
in and I swallow thickly. I am relieved and disgusted when I hear moms bed banging loudly against the wall amidst loud moans and grunts.
My eyes move around the messy living room. Trash liters every available surface in the kitchen, a crack pipe and lighter are clearly visible on the tiny dining room table, and moldy dishes fill the sink. I have the desperate desire to clean everything up, but I rush to my room instead, closing the door quietly behind me. I don’t want to be out there. I don’t want him-
No, I shake my head to rid it of those thoughts, and swallow back the bile in my throat as I flick the lock on my bedroom door. I hate that it’s so flimsy, and I swear that in two months, when I turn eighteen, I will find a place with massive locks on the doors.
I quickly change into baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt, rolling my pants so they fit around my thin hips. They were my dad’s, and I have to remember to change quickly in the morning before mom catches me wearing them and loses it. I miss daddy so fiercely that my chest aches still to this day at the thought of him. I was six when he died, shot down during a gas station robbery.
I slip between the sheets and threadbare quilt, and pull out the MP3 player Trisha gave me. I hide it under my mattress so that mom won’t find it and sell it to support her habit. Next I take out the tattered notebook and chewed up pencil that I keep there with it. The music helps drown out the sounds coming from the next room, and I crank up the volume as loud as I can stand it.
I’ve always found solace in music, losing myself in the lyrics, escaping. I start scribbling in the notebook, jotting down my thoughts and feelings, my fears. No one knows that I do this, and I prefer it that way. As much as I love writing music, creating lyrics, it’s all so personal. I don’t think I can ever share it. Not even when I leave here.
***
I jump awake with a start. Sweat is coating my skin making my t-shirt stick to my chest. My black hair is matted in rivulets along my shoulders. I wipe the drool from the corner of my lips and grimace. My body is tingling in a way I don’t recognize and I have no doubt that it’s because of my erotic dreams. My stomach clenches and coils as I try to hold back the vomit sitting at the back of my throat.
I don’t dream about sex. At least I never have before. Sex has brought nothing but misery to my life. It has never been special, or consensual.
For whatever reason, dreams of a perfectly disheveled boy, with sandy hair and mischievous green eyes, has somehow infected my subconscious. As much as I want to go with Trisha this weekend I now know I can’t. I can’t risk seeing him again.
I stand up and strip out of my dad’s clothes. I throw on a pair of my own ratty pj’s, and gather up a fresh pair of jeans and a pink pullover. I don’t know who started this trend of holey jeans, but I owed them. No one questioned the rips in the fabric. They just assumed I paid to have them there. I was more than fine letting them believe that.
I step up to the door, press my ear against the cheap wood, and listen for noise on the other side. It is quiet. Breathing a sigh of relief I pull the door open.
A startled yelp leaves my lips and I jump back, cursing myself for the reaction. He likes my fear so I don’t react anymore. Except when he catches me off guard…
He leans against the wall across from my door, arms crossed over his thin chest, and a smarmy smile on his twisted face. I can feel my heart rate increase, sweat beads over my skin, and I try my hardest to shove that fear to the back corner of my mind.
“You got home awful late.” His voice is dark, and haunts every one of my nightmares.
I don’t respond. Instead I try to walk past him and toward the bathroom for a shower. I really want to go back in my room and lock the door, but I can’t show him fear. He grasps my arm in a hold so tight I can’t help but wince. I know there will be a bruise there in a few hours.
“Let go of me, Steven.” I grit the words out through my clenched jaw. I flicker my eyes around looking for help even though I know there isn’t any.
Steven’s sinister laugh tells me he knows it too. Mom is probably passed out in bed, but even if she were awake she wouldn’t help me. She never helps me. I swallow past the bile clogging my throat.
“What are you going to do about it, Raven?” He uses his strength against me, pushing me against the wall, and pressing up against me tightly so that my front is against the wall and he is covering my back.
I can feel the hard ridge of his erection against my ass, and my arm is shooting pain through my shoulder at the awkward angle he’s twisted it in at my back. I don’t speak, not because I don’t want to, but because I know I will vomit if I try.
“You smell like vanilla.” Steven breathes into my hair.
I jerk my head back trying to connect with his nose, but he avoids the blow and chuckles at my attempt. He reaches his other hand up and twists it into my hair, yanking harshly as he pulls my head back. His lips graze along my neck, my ear. I heave loudly and he slams my face against the wall.
“Don’t puke on me again, bitch.” He growls the words into my ear, but I can hardly register them through the pain in my head, the sparks dancing in my eyes.
Fuck, I’m going to have a concussion. Steven keeps his hold on my arm, but releases my hair. He runs his sick fingers over my back and grabs my ass.
“You weren’t planning on showering without me were you?” Steven’s hand slips from my ass, gliding around till he is gripping the waistband at the front of my sleep pants in his fist.
I can’t speak, and my throat burns with the scream I try to hold in. I blink quickly, trying to rid the tears from my eyes. I won’t cry. I can’t cry. Please don’t cry, Raven!
A groan leaves his mouth as his fingers slip inside my pants, under my panties, against my bare flesh. I can’t stop the scream now. I jerk against him, forcing him to remove his hand so he can’t keep control of me.
“Shut up, Raven! You wake your mother and I swear to God it will be so much worse next time. I will make it ten times more painful than ever before!” His demented shouting is what will wake mama.
Steven loses his hold on me and I run for it. Not caring that he knows I’m scared. My survival instincts have kicked in and I am sprinting out of the apartment. I have no shoes, I’m in ratty old pj’s, and my hair is a mess, but I can’t bring myself to care as I rush down the crowded streets of downtown Palms.
***
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