“Get away from me. You’re a sick asshole,” I shout, then spit at him.
That makes him angry because in two moves, he steps back and strikes a blow across my face with a force that knocks the wind from my lungs, knocking me off my feet. I fall to the hardwood floor in a pile of agonizing pain, gasping for breath. I cough, choking on my own tears, spit, and snot.
“You think you’re above me?” he shouts as I gasp in pain, struggling to breathe, but coiled deep in me is the need to do as much damage as I can to him and escape.
“The great, wealthy residents that live at the top of the hills, thinking that you’re better than everyone else.” He goes on, his voice getting louder in his rant.
But I need to get away.
I crawl toward the door. I need to get out. This evil man with the rough, scratchy voice is not just going to hurt me, he intends to destroy me for whatever agenda that will appease him, but I won’t stand around like a hopeless damsel.
“Do you honestly think that I’m just going to stand back in the great shadows of Westbrook Blues and watch you shit all over my hard work? I’ve worked so fucking hard for this town. I’ve done so many things for that despicable bastard that calls himself king over this town,” the man shouts.
In my groans and moans of pain, I allow him to go on with his mad-man rant, my gaze now trained on a lamp that sits on top of a table by the door. If only I can get to that…
“After all the groundwork I laid, fucking a cold bitch like Denise, all of that, and he thinks he can just use me and it’ll all be over? I don’t fucking think so.” He growls the words out loud, like a possessed demon. He grunts, his focus not on me, probably because he thinks I’m useless and have no fight in me at this point.
So, as he starts pacing with long strides back and forth across the small room, I make my move. With every ounce of strength I have in my body, I quickly stand up and leap, literally leap, for the lamp. I grab it, and in one fell swoop, I do a one-eighty and bash his head with it as hard as I can. Shards of broken glass fall all over the floor as the man howls in pain.
“You fucking bitch! I’m going to make you pay!”
But I don’t stay to listen. I turn, and with a burst of adrenaline, I throw open the door with so much force it’s probably off one of the hinges, and then, I’m running. I scream as I run through the dark hallways, not stopping for anything.
His pounding feet are behind me. He’s gaining on me, getting closer, but I scream anyway, hoping that someone, anyone at all, can hear me.
As I run at top speed down the hall, my left leg missteps, and I land on my ankle with such force and briskness that the pain is instant and intense. A broken gasp leaves my lips, but I bite my tongue. No crying. No screaming. No pain.
But there is pain, and the intense feeling of it breaks a part of my spirit because a part of me knows…I’m not going to make it out the front door.
No. I will. The rest of me is still fighting; a twisted ankle won’t stop me. Ignoring my ankle altogether, I run toward the staircase that will lead me to my escape. If I can just make it out the door…
“You can’t run. I’ve waited long enough for you,” he shouts and then starts laughing as if taunting his prey.
But I run.
I reach the stairs as quickly as I can with a sprained ankle. I wobble, jump, and wobble again down the stairs as fast as I can.
My mind is racing. I can taste the tangy metallic taste of blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, but that doesn’t matter. Shivers and goose bumps are all over my skin, and I can see my life flash right before my eyes in the dark.
I have to escape.
I have to run.
I have to get help.
I need my brother.
I need my protector.
I need Ace.
As I wobble down the stairs, I look over my shoulder. The man isn’t there anymore, and that makes my stomach drop like a bag of cement. My heart pounds even faster as dread moves through my system. Where is he?
My eyes are wide-open and getting dry as I frantically look around, hardly able to blink for even a split second. I know he’s somewhere, but I’m not staying to find out where.
Or to find out who he is or what he wants to do to me.
So, I run. The front door is right in front of me. I’m almost there.
I get to the last step and turn for the front door. I have no idea where he comes from, but he tackles me, actually tackles me like it’s a football game, and it’s rougher than anything I’ve ever felt. I scream in pain as I land on my hip, my body slamming into the hard floor. My hip is definitely bruised and sore now, making it difficult to fight, but I won’t stop.
“You have fire in you that sparkles in your eyes. Did you know that?” The man chuckles, straddling me like he just conquered me. I kick and scream, but I should’ve known better. His attempt—or lack thereof—of stopping me from screaming meant he was confident no one was around to hear what was going on.
“I guess that’s why he favors you. He hates you, no doubt about that,” he smirks, staring down at me. “But he’s so very much addicted to you.”
“Go to hell.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I will, but first, I’m going to enjoy what I know he wants more than anything in the world. I know, even right now, he’s dreaming about you, salivating about tormenting you to soothe his demons, demons that I gave him,” he says. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
I have no idea who he’s talking about, and I don’t care. This man is delusional, but what gives me pause is what I see so clearly in his eyes as he looks down at me with barely contained rage.
The glint of evil in his eyes and the hate…
God, there’s so much hate in his eyes my heart actually stops for a few beats. That hate, the presence of it, is my only tell.
This man is going to destroy me.
I fist both hands and punch him twice, frantically trying to get away. I try bucking him off me, with all my strength, using all my core muscles, and at the same time as he jostles, I slither my way from under him, then I’m on my feet, not bothering to look at him—which is probably my mistake. I run for the other door that leads outside. The man shouts in frustration, and this time, I know the time for games is over.
Before I can run farther to the door, he grabs my arms, twisting them with such viciousness, I scream in pain. He has just dislocated my arm. I let out a sound I’ve never made in my life, howling into the night as the pain intensifies throughout my entire body, from my now useless arm.
It’s too much. Why is this happening to me? Is this some kind of a sick, twisted movie? And if so, where is the hero? Where is the knight in shining armor to save me from this kind of evil?
“I’m going to put out that fire, something he’ll never be able to do, because he’s weak.” He spits in my face, then he pushes me down to the floor, right in the middle of the great foyer of the house we moved into. I reach over with my good arm and grab his mask, tearing it from his face, revealing his face that makes my blood run cold.
He growls like a freaking tiger, his shock at my sudden action mixed with displeasure so clear on his face, but I’m frozen in place, subconsciously committing his face to memory.
I’ll never forget his face.
He flips me over immediately, and my limp body doesn’t even fight.
Bitterness sweeps through me as I anticipate his next move. I know I should fight, but the pain… Oh God, the gruesome pain my body is in. My chest is pressed into the hard, cold floor, and with the heavy weight of the man pinning me down, I can’t move at all.
“Please, get off me.” I cry, making a fist with the hand of functioning arm, and pound the floor. My tears, snot, and spit pool below me on the hardwood floor, I can almost see the terror on my face if I look close enough. My heart threatens to cease working altogether. My entire body is prickly. I feel like, at any moment, I’m going to die.
“This is for him. A message for him.”
&nb
sp; He hikes up the short skirt I’m still wearing from the party earlier this evening. He rips off my panties, the sound of torn fabric echoing in my ears. I scream and struggle with all my might, but he easily subdues me.
“I’m only ever interested in the forbidden,” he whispers in my ear, his voice deeper with sick excitement. I can feel his vile touch on my bare butt cheeks, rubbing softly. I dry heave right there on the floor.
“Best not delay.” He pushes my legs open, and spits on me. I hear the telltale sound of a zipper being opened and a belt buckle being undone, and he groans. Feeling like I’m going to pass out any moment now, I scream but it’s weak and filled the gruesome knowledge that this is happening to me.
He pins me down with his entire body over mine—a position that makes this violation much more vile and cruel— and I’m literally buried underneath him.
Even if someone were to come in, no one would be able to see me. He groans again in excited pleasure, thriving in the frightened fight I put up.
“Please don’t do this. My father will kill you.” I cry and scream at the same time, terror filling my bones, replacing all the hope I had that I might escape. I fight and try to buck him off my back, but there is no hope there either.
My boys will kill you.
Ace will kill you.
But I don’t say that because a massive wave of pain hits me as I feel the man’s fingers violating the untouched territory of my womanhood. But that’s not where his attention is.
He penetrates my back entrance.
“No, sweetheart. It’s not your father’s attention that I want. But I think you should question if he is, indeed, your father.”
A wave of pain hits me so hard that I scream and howl like a broken beast into the night as he grunts, groans, and laughs, my body writhing in untold pain. I can feel a huge part of me dimming, no longer able to fight, its voice gone.
And as I realize no one will come for me, that part of me just…dies.
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Cruel Kisses: It’s Just High School #2 Page 32