by Nicole Fox
We also don’t talk about the night of his party or Dallas, though that’s mostly because of me. Finn told me he didn’t hurt Dallas, and I believe him about that.
But I’m not sure about anything else.
Truthfully, I just don’t understand what’s going on in Finn’s head on these drives.
It’s not as if Finn has become a teddy bear. He hasn’t. He is controlling and impulsive and harsh more often than anything else.
But I’ve also seen a more human side to him. I’ve seen the way his face darkens at the mention of his father. I’ve seen the hurt in his eyes when he told me his mom and sister died. I’ve seen flickers of genuine human emotion underneath his cool exterior, which makes me think it is all a façade.
Occasionally, I even see something akin to shame on his face when we are tangled together in the back seat of his car. Like he doesn’t want to be doing what we’re doing, even though I can tell that he wants it.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m not playing directly into his hand.
I feel like I’m acting of my own free will. Like every time I strip down and let Finn inside of me, it’s my choice. But isn’t that exactly what he said would happen?
I’ll do horrible things to you, Lily. Terrible, dirty things. But you’ll like it. By the time all is said and done, you’ll beg for it.
I was the one who went down on him that day in his car.
I was the one who grabbed his hand and led him up to his room the first time we had sex.
I was the one who touched myself in his car. Who brought us both to orgasm at the same time with nothing but my hands.
And when Finn teased me about spanking, the idea stuck in my head for days until, weak with need for him, I asked him for it.
His eyes went wide, pure shock on his face. “You want me to spank you?”
I bit my lip and nodded, looking back at him over my shoulder. We were folded into a strange position in the back seat, his legs tucked underneath him while I slid my legs to either side of him and backed onto him.
My ass was right there in front of him, and all I could think about was him slapping it.
And he did.
Over and over again.
He spanked me through one orgasm and then another. He spanked me until my skin stung and felt raw, until tears sprang up in my eyes. But I could tell it was working for him, so I bit my lip and pushed down my pain, trying to make it good for him.
When we were done, and he asked me how it was, a sob forced itself from my chest when I sat back on the seat.
“Baby,” he mumbled under his breath, grabbing my chin and turning my face to look at him.
When he saw the tears in my eyes, I saw shame in his.
He kissed me softly, tenderly. His lips whispered apologies over mine, continuing them down my neck to my breasts.
Then further, until all was forgotten and forgiven.
Until the pleasure rolling through me was enough that I couldn’t feel anything else.
I begged him to spank me. To hurt me. I asked him for it, and that fact has haunted me every time I’ve seen him since.
Why is he doing this to me? And why am I letting him?
I’m drowning in these thoughts lately.
I want to talk it all through with Dr. Sharon at my therapy sessions, but I can’t do that without admitting that I lied to her about life at Ravenlake Prep. Once the tap opens, I know I will never be able to close it.
We got close to broaching the subject at our last appointment.
“You’ve been running at night again?” Dr. Sharon had asked.
“A bit. I stick to the main roads and well-lit areas.”
“Still. That’s great,” she said. “You haven’t been able to do that since the night of the attack, right?”
“Right,” I admitted. “Even though I can’t remember much about it, I know enough to be afraid of the dark.”
“Even if you don’t remember, you do,” she said, pointing to my head—to my brain.
She told me early on in our meetings that my brain probably couldn’t process the trauma of what happened to me, so it blocked it out. Rather than memories of fighting and screaming and being beaten, there is a blissful, impenetrable wall of black.
“Well, I’m keeping it a pretty big secret from me,” I joked.
“You haven’t had any other flashbacks recently?”
I just shook my head.
In the first few weeks after The Incident, memories had come back to me in bits and pieces. I could see a group crowded around the girl on the table. I could hear the ground crunch under my feet. Feel my heart pounding in my chest.
But no matter how many times the same memory overtook me, I never saw any faces.
No one besides Nico Barber.
I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. I’ll never be comfortable talking about that night, but I also don’t want to walk around broken for the rest of my life.
Maybe if I can finish the memory, if I can put faces to the shadows dancing at the edges of my mind, I can finally find some peace.
Maybe I’ll be able to move on and put it in my past.
But I can’t live in fear. I can’t keep hiding from what happened.
And Finn clearly isn’t coming to pick me up for a drive today. So, feeling antsy, I decide to go for a run.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say to Mom. I slip on my sneakers, give her a kiss on the head, and then I’m out the door.
Dr. Sharon wouldn’t approve of this. She has told me in the past that when I am ready to follow this trail again, I should bring someone with me and go about it slowly. I should go at a different time of a day, in a different season, wearing different clothes. Maybe instead of running the trail, I should walk it or ride my bike. I should do something to disassociate myself from that night and avoid a flashback. I should do something to break the cycle.
Except, I’m not ready to break the cycle.
Not until it has played out entirely.
Not until I know what is hiding behind the layer of fog in my mind.
So, when I reach the mouth of the trail where It happened—the break in the trees that is shrouded in darkness—I hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and taking off.
My legs feel strong. Adrenaline is pumping through my limbs, making it so I barely even feel the ground beneath my feet.
I’m aware of everything else, though.
My head is on a constant swivel as I run, checking the shadows on either side of me for a sign of movement or anything.
I can’t see much in the dark, but when the trail turns right, I know I’m close to the spot where it all started.
The instinct to turn and run rears up, but I push past it.
This is a new day. It’s not that night months ago. There is no one in the carved-out space in the trees.
Except, what if there is?
The reality hits me all at once that I’m alone … in the dark … in a forest. If there is someone out here with me, there’s a very high chance they don’t have good intentions. Parks at night are not exactly Good Samaritan Central.
So, what in the fuck am I doing out here alone?
I skid to a stop, my sneakers digging into the dirt.
And suddenly, the world is too quiet.
So quiet that the air feels thick and heavy. Even breathing becomes difficult.
I lay a hand on my chest to try and count my heartbeats, to try and ground myself in my own body.
But my heart is hammering way too fast to count, and I am quickly losing control.
This was a terrible idea. A stupid, horrible idea.
The wind blows, rustling leaves to my right, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hello?” I regret the word the moment I speak it. I sound like any of a hundred dead girls from slasher movies.
There isn’t anyone there. I know that. And yet, I swear I can hear the low rumble of laughter coming from between the trees.
&nbs
p; Even though I’m standing perfectly still, I can imagine myself finishing the curve, pushing aside the overgrown branches that reach across the opening in the trees, like arms trying to block the way, and stepping into the small grove.
The place where The Incident happened.
I see shadowy faces and figures standing in a circle around a girl propped up on the picnic table.
There is a cell phone on the table with the flashlight turned on, casting everyone in harsh, ghostly white light. There are flashes of light as people take pictures of the debauchery.
Then, there is Nico.
He turns around with a phone in his hand, the screen bright and illuminating his face. He is the only one I can make out, but I see his surprise shift to anger at being interrupted.
And when I turn and run, his is the voice I hear bark out the order.
“Chase that bitch down!”
Back in the present, I don’t realize I’ve started running again until a branch whips me in the face.
Today is a new day. Nico Barber is gone. He isn’t chasing after me. He isn’t coming for me.
Yet, I can’t stop running until I’m back on the main trail.
The lights along the sidewalk are designed to look like gas lamps, and the light they emit is wavery and thin, but it’s better than being in the dark of the forest trail.
I prop my hands on my hips and throw my head back to look up at the sky, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
“I’m an idiot,” I huff, shaking my head.
I had a flashback, but I didn’t discover anything new. I just nearly gave myself a panic attack.
As far as I can see, I’m still alone in the park, but I feel safer with the wide-open space. Without the tree branches pressing down on me, I feel more in control.
So, when I hear footsteps behind me, I jolt in surprise and spin around.
I see the shape of someone walking along behind me and I feel silly for being scared. It’s a public park, after all. Other people are allowed here too.
I chuckle softly to myself, but just before I turn around, the person walks past one of the lamps, and I catch the leather jacket and the patch on his shoulder.
I don’t need to be closer to know it’s a Hell Prince.
I spin back around and pick up my pace, not yet running. Running would be an overreaction. I need to be patient and calm.
Then, I look to my left across the grassy area in the center of the park, and I see another figure walking towards me. He isn’t on the path, but rather, cutting across the damp grass … moving directly towards me.
And behind him is another person.
All of them in leather jackets.
I start walking even faster, my heartbeat whooshing in my ears.
Is this real or am I imagining it? I’ve never had such a sustained flashback before—and this isn’t even a flashback of anything that has happened to me—but I could be crazier than I think. Maybe I worked myself into such a panic earlier that now I’m hallucinating.
I turn around to be sure the footsteps behind me are indeed getting closer.
They are. The guy behind me is close enough now that I can see the scraggly state of his facial hair and hear his heavy breathing.
As I see it, I have two choices: decide I’m crazy, keep walking, and potentially get attacked in this damn park again…
Or run and risk looking like a lunatic fleeing nothing.
Easy decision. I lower my head and break into a sprint. I’ll take looking like an idiot over death by biker.
As soon as I take off, I hear the pounding boots of the men starting after me.
The ground feels like it is shaking with the force of their pursuit, but I stay focused on the path in front of me.
I’ve been running for years, training for this very moment without knowing it. I know for a fact I can outrun any of these burly assholes, real or imagined.
I come flying out of the park like a bat out of hell. I don’t stop sprinting when I’m clear of the trees.
In fact, I don’t stop sprinting until I can see the motel in the distance. Even though my legs are on fire and my lungs feel like they’re filled with battery acid.
Every breath hurts, but I don’t stop. I’m out in the open, sure, but that’s no guarantee of safety.
The only place I’ll be safe is back in the room with my mom.
So I keep going, putting one foot in front of the other, checking back over my shoulder every three seconds to make sure I’m alone.
No one else emerges from the park.
And by the time I get back to the motel, I have to wonder…
Did that really happen?
Or am I starting to lose my mind for real?
31
Lily
The room is empty. My heartbeat starts to ratchet up to panic levels again. Did they get my mom? What the hell have they done with her…?
Then I see that there’s a handwritten note on the bed.
Went out for a quick errand. Be back in a bit. Love u.
I let out a deep sigh of relief.
Then, for reasons I don’t understand, I grab my phone and search for Finn’s name in my contacts.
“Lily?”
Before I can formulate a plan, Finn answers and says my name, effectively scrambling my wits.
My mouth falls open, and I realize the problem with my plan: Finn isn’t a calming presence. Nothing about being with him or talking to him calms me down. It scrambles my brain to complete mush.
“Hello?” he says again. I can’t be sure, but I think I sense a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“Oh, hi,” I say, as though I’m surprised he is on the other end of the line.
He lets out a small breath. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m—” Fine. Except, I’m not. Even less so now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you. Butt dial.”
There is a long pause, and embarrassment mixes with the panic already in my chest, and I feel like I’m going to combust.
“Well, anyway, sorry again. I’m going to go and—”
“So soon?” I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Do you want to talk?” I can’t hide my own surprise.
“Kind of. What are you wearing?”
Heat drops low in my belly at the familiar tone of his voice. I’ve heard it before, and it always ends with one or both of us naked. “I just got back from a run.”
“You’re sweaty?”
My face flames, and I’m grateful he can’t see how easily my body responds to him. “Yes. Very.”
“I just got out of the shower,” he says, and I think I hear a door closing somewhere on the other end of the phone. “I’m in my room, wearing a pair of shorts.”
“No shirt?” I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve never had phone sex. I’m not even sure what it entails. But I know that I am desperate to see Finn without a shirt on. His body is broad and lean, and I love feeling the hard edges of him under my fingers.
“No shirt,” he confirms. “Are you in a sports bra?”
“A gray one. With black running shorts.” I want to be sexy, but thinking about running has me back on the trail, back with those bikers, running for my life. I want to get out of these clothes. “But I’m taking them off now.”
“Please do.”
I lift my hips and push the material down my legs, grateful to be rid of them. “Now I’m in my thong.”
He groans. “Do you wear thongs often? I’ve never seen you in one.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t wear any panties when I run.”
“Lily…” he says softly.
I’m surprised to find that I’m bolder when Finn isn’t directly in front of me. When I can’t see his blue eyes on me, when I’m not worried about what he thinks of my body or what I’m doing, I can say exactly what I want. I thought talking to him on the phone would be hard, but turns out, it’s easier.
“Does that make you hard?” I ask
boldly. “Does the idea of me bare get you hot?”
“You make me hot.”
Maybe I’m not the only one willing to be bolder over the phone. I can’t imagine Finn saying something like that to my face.
“Then touch yourself,” I command. “Wrap your hand around your shaft and stroke. Slowly.”
His breathing hitches on the other end of the line. “You too. Slide your hand inside your panties. Tell me how wet you are.”
“Dripping,” I admit, spreading my legs. “I wish you were here.”
Why is that true? After everything, the person I want to see most right now is Finn. Because he always seems so in control. Of himself. Of the people around him. Of me.
When I’m alone, my head runs rampant with worries and fears and flashbacks and questions. But with Finn, I can only focus on him. He is like a black hole, sucking all attention towards himself.
“Pretend I am,” he says. “If I was there, I’d slip a finger inside of you. And another.”
My mouth falls open as I follow his orders, pressing my fingers inside myself. There is no resistance. My body is ready, aching for release.
“Then, I’d—”
“I’d pull your hand away and climb on your lap,” I say, interrupting him. “I’d straddle your hips and roll myself against you.”
Finn exhales loudly, and the thought of him sitting in his bed, hand around his cock, thinking of me is so hot that I momentarily forget I’m supposed to be telling him what I’d do to him.
“What next?” he breathes.
“I’d … push your boxers down and position you at my opening.”
“No foreplay?”
I chuckle. “I don’t need any right now. Do you?”
“No,” he says on a laugh. “I’m ready to explode.”
“So,” I continue, pressing my fingers to my center, anticipation building in my body like a bonfire, the flames licking the walls of my chest. “I’d position you at my opening and slide down slowly, taking you inside me in one thrust.”
“Fuck,” Finn sighs.
“I’d roll my hips and slide off, doing it all over again.” I slip my fingers out and thrust them back in, curling them along my insides on the way out. “I’d ride you, going faster and faster.”