by Callie Hart
“This isn’t fun,” I snap. “Let me go, Jake. God, you guys are such fucking assholes.”
This is the moment everything changes. I'm expecting the guys to laugh at me, make fun of me for being such a spoilsport, but in my head, I'm still not entirely caught up with what's about to happen in this bathroom. I still think Jake's going to let me go. It's only when Cillian steps up and grabs the hem of skirt that I realize how badly this is going to go.
“What…what are you doing?” I pant, trying to step back, away from him. Jake’s a solid wall of muscle behind me, though; I go nowhere. Cillian’s hand touches the inside of my thigh, and I lock up, terror turning me into a statue.
“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Cillian’s tone is so bewildering. He sounds like he’s asking a bland, inane question that he actually wants an answer to. “You’re gonna like this, I promise.”
My heart feels like it’s surging too hard, a lightning bolt of panic lighting up my veins as Cillian’s hand rises up higher, to the apex of my thighs. “No. No more, okay. God, stop. This isn’t funny!”
I lash out, kicking like a crazed animal, but the way Cillian's crouched down too close in front of me makes it almost impossible to hit him. Jake's hand locks hard around my esophagus, crushing down on my windpipe, and for the first time in my life, I feel fear. Real, terrifying, all-consuming, blinding fear.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
Any hope I might have had that this is all some terrible joke disappears when I catch sight of Jake's expression in the mirror. His eyes are hard as jet. Gone is the smile he was wearing downstairs. Gone is the easy, laid back set of his shoulders. This version of Jake is nothing like the version of him in the kitchen, that flirted with me and put me at ease. This Jake is a stranger. The kind of stranger you cross the street to avoid. The kind that would strike instant fear into you if you stumbled across them down a dark alley.
The man I see in the mirror is gripped by a dark, cruel, wicked excitement that speaks volumes: Jake isn’t going to help me, he likely instigated this entire thing…and I am so fucked right now. So, so fucked.
I gasp as Cillian’s hand reaches my panties. Squirming doesn’t help. Twisting my body away from him doesn’t work. Jake has an iron grip on me. I can’t fucking breathe… I somehow manage to suck in a ragged, horrified breath when Cillian snags the material of my panties and yanks them down my legs, though.
No. No, no, no, no, nonononono….
Oh my god. I can’t get…fuck…this can’t be—
I still, my head falling back against Jake’s chest as Cillian’s fingers worm between my legs, pushing between the folds of my pussy, shoving their way inside me.
The music swells inside the bathroom, but all I can hear is a loud, desperate screaming sound in my ears. Raw. Desperate. Panicked.
With some astonishment, I realize that I’m making the noise. I'm screaming so loud and so hard that stars are bursting in my eyes, and my lungs feel like they're about to explode.
I’m still screaming, even when a warm, dizzying wall of pleasure begins to mount between my legs, inside me. God, the coke…Cillian rubbed the coke he had on his finger inside my pussy. Hot, burning shame licks at my face as I try to order my body not to react, but there’s no denying the chemicals. It feels good. It feels far too fucking good for words.
The feeling spreads, rising like smoke, a sharp kind of euphoria taking over my body.
“Fuck sake. Shouldn’t she be out by now, Jay? This’d be a lot easier if she wasn’t trying to kick me in the balls.”
Sam cackles at Cillian’s grousing like a drunk hyena. Jake growls, jerking me, digging his fingernails into my skin. “I only gave her half a dose. There’s nothing to her. I figured she’d be a little more docile.” His teeth scrape against my ear as he hisses at me. “Try and kick one more fucking time and I will break your fucking jaw, bitch. Do you hear me? Hold fucking still.”
I’m dimly aware of what he just said: “…only gave her half a dose. Figured she’d be more docile…” The knowledge that he's drugged me weighs heavy, pressing me down into the ground. The sluggishness. My inability to think straight. I should have known the way my body was reacting had nothing to do with the coke. The drink. He must have put something in the drink he made me. God, how fucking stupid could I have been? I should have known. I should have seen this coming.
But…
A cute guy I liked smiled at me and made me a drink. At the time, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing for him to do.
I feel like I’m drowning in glue. The oxygen in the bathroom is sluggish as I try and pull it down into my chest; it should be a relief to breathe, but every time I try and fill my chest, I end up coughing, choking and spluttering.
It’s Jake’s hand. He’s…he’s strangling the life out of me.
“Get her legs, man,” Jake commands. Cillian obeys. I try to scream again as the room tilts, and I’m dumped roughly onto my back, but I can’t make a single sound. The slate tile on the bathroom floor is freezing against my shoulder blades and the backs of my legs. Jake lets me go, twisting around, placing one foot on either side of my torso. Before he can crouch down and wrap his hands around my throat, I draw myself together, adrenalin and fear doing my thinking for me, and I holler at the top of my lungs.
I’ve had dreams before. Dreams where I’ve been in trouble, but when I’ve screamed for help, only the softest whisper has come out of my mouth. Well, that’s not what happens this time. The scream is piercing, loud enough to wake the dead. It echoes around the bathroom, grating and high-pitched, a help-me-I’m-about-to-be-fucking-raped! scream. Jake cuts it off with his fist.
Pain blossoms on the right-hand side of my face as my body registers the swift, vicious right jab I just took on the jaw. I've never been hit before. Never like that. My head swims, and for a horrible moment, I think I'm going to pass out. Don’t you fucking dare, Parisi, don’t you fucking dare! I’m high, scared beyond reason, and now I’m in pain, but I know for a fact that I don’t want to lose consciousness. Yes, being awake for this is the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me, but if I pass out, I’ll never know what they did to me. I will only have my imagination to supply the details, and my imagination already likes to picture the worst. I need the cold, hard facts. I need to be able to hold each of them accountable for their individual actions.
A spiderweb of agony laces its fingers across the back of my head, where it hit the tiles just now. Jake sneers, face contorted, his features all warped and twisted as he looks down at me in disgust. I am seeing him for the first time. This is the real him, and I suddenly have no idea why I’ve wasted the better part of the last two years lusting after him. He’s so damn ugly. All the anger, and the hate, and the loathing he’s wearing on his face is enough to make him the most hideous creature I've ever seen. He grabs my face by the jaw in one hand, holding me steady, and slowly purses his lips, letting a string of saliva fall from his mouth. I try to turn my head away, but it's no good. His grip on my skull doesn't waver for one second. The only thing I can do is close my eyes as the wad of spit lands on my cheekbone, rolling into the well of my eye socket.
“God, you’re a fucking mess, Silver.” I whimper when his thumb presses down on the top of my eyelid. I have no idea what he’s trying to do for a moment, and I imagine the worst—that he’s about to gouge my eye out. Quickly, I comprehend what’s really happening, though; he’s smearing my eyeliner down my face. Not quite as awful as losing an eye but humiliating none the less. His thumb shoves into my mouth, and I do the only reasonable thing: I bite down as hard as I can, until I feel my teeth scrape against bone.
His howl of pain is almost as loud as the scream I let out a moment ago. Another blow hits me in the temple and blackness seeps in, threatening to swallow me up in its oblivion. “Stupid bitch!” I’ve never heard anything that comes close to the rage in Jake’s voice as he grabs a fist full of my hair and yanks my head up,
smashing it back down onto the tiles. “Looks like you need to learn a few lessons, Parisi. Who do you think you are? Mmm?” Again, he smashes my head down, and I open my mouth, stunned by the shockwave of disorienting pain that floods my being. “You’re nothing. Worse than nothing. You’re a piece of meat, put here on this earth for our pleasure. Don’t you know how this works, you dumb fucking cunt? Me and my boys? We’re from different stock. Purebreds. We do what we want. Say what we want. Take what we want. You should be fucking grateful we even deigned you worthy of our attention.”
He’s dripping blood onto the floor, a red, gory circular welt around the knuckle of this thumb. The sight of the wound I gave him does something to me. I should stay quiet. That’s what I should do. I should ride this out, keep my mouth shut, and hope they’ll go easy on me. Be a good possum and play dead. But…I can’t. It’s just not in me to lie down and take something like this. I will fight them every step of the way. I will kick, and scream, and bite, and I will cause as much chaos as possible, if it means that this won’t be easy for them.
“If you’re waiting for me to show gratitude,” I spit, choking on the word, “then you’re gonna be waiting a hell of a long time, Jacob Weaving. I am not nothing. I have a voice, and I will use it. I do not give you permission to touch me. Let…me…go.”
Jake’s had my arms pinned by my sides all this time. He snatches hold of my wrists and pulls them roughly up high over my head, a dangerous, malicious, crazy light in his eyes. “Hmm, that’s it, is it? Pretty Princess Silver. Too good for all of us. Too fucking special. Don’t bite. Don’t kick. Don’t scream. Spread your legs and keep your mouth shut, bitch, and we’ll see if we can make this quick.”
Setting my jaw, even though it hurts, and my teeth feel like they’re shattered, I look him dead in the eye. The drugs are still there, churning around my system, making it difficult to focus, but in this moment everything becomes crystal fucking clear. He wants more than my body from me. More than my pain. He wants my fear. He, alone, is so much stronger than me, but with Sam and Cillian thrown into the mix, I don't have a hope in hell's chance of fighting them off. They're going to do what they set out to do. I've pissed Jake off, so he is going to make this hurt. But there’s one thing I can do, one thing I can keep from him, and that’s my fear. I won’t fucking give that to him.
Jake’s sickening smirk deepens as he leers, eyes roving down to pause on my chest. “Sam, what the fuck are you doing, dude. Get over here. Take her hands. Hold her tight. Wait. Are they scissors over there?”
“A razor blade,” Sam says, holding up a blade that’s identical to the one Kacey used downstairs to cut her drugs. “You want it?”
“Yeah. That’ll do nicely.” He takes the blade from Sam in exchange for my wrists. If anything, Sam’s grip is even harsher, grinding the bones of my wrists down into the floor. It hurts. It feels fucking terrible to be so vulnerable, at their mercy, but I draw in a breath, holding it in my lungs. Then I force my face to go absolutely blank. It would take more control that I possess right now to stop pulling and straining, trying to get free, but my face I can control.
I barely even blink as Jake makes a show of holding the blade the material of the dress I borrowed from Kacey, slicing easily through the fabric. He tears and rips at it, pulling away handfuls of black, his eyes glinting with frenzied expectation. “What you staring at, Parisi? You like this after all?” he growls. In no time at all, the dress is gone. I don’t even flinch as he greedily saws through the pretty red bow between the cups of my bra. My breasts spring free, and frightening tension begins to mount in the room.
“Shit, Silver. You’ve been holding out on us,” Cillian says thickly. “Who knew you were hiding those bad boys underneath your clothes all this time. Fuck, look at her nipples. They’re so fucking pink.”
Sam uses a knee to pin my hands, reaching for me, cupping me in his hands, his fingers pinching painfully at my nipples, rolling them as he grins down at me. “God damn. And here I was, thinking this’d be a waste of time. If I put my dick in your mouth, Parisi, are you gonna suck it for me?”
Jake punches him hard in the shoulder. “Wait your fucking turn, asshole. I brought her to the table. I get to fuck her first.”
“All right, man. All right! No need to get shitty.” Sam leans back, his weight on my wrists, and the pain is excruciating. I breathe in deep through my nose, trying to compartmentalize it, distance myself from it, but it’s just too much. Jake’s gaze crawls over my skin, feasting on me. He sits back on his heels, looking at me, and I’m dreading what will come next, but I don’t look away. I meet his gaze, burning my hatred into him.
“You’re blocking the view, man,” Cillian complains.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jake snaps. “We’ve got all night, haven’t we?”
Cillian mumbles something inaudible and unhappy in return, but Jake ignores him. Getting to his feet, he shrugs out of his letterman jacket, removing the button down shirt I admired downstairs, slowly unfastening his belt, and then his jeans. It’s probably not the smartest move on my part—definitely not the smartest move on my part—but I let out of a bark of laughter when I realize that he’s planning on leaving his MVP medal on.
Jake falters, glaring down at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”
“Don’t you have any pride?” I fire back. “Is this the only way you can get a girl to fuck you, Jake? Do you have to force yourself on women ’cause none of them will voluntarily climb into bed with you?”
“You would have happily climbed into my bed an hour ago, you pathetic piece of trash. You would have parted your legs for me just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “You don’t understand. We’re given everything we want. The world bows down and lays itself at our feet. It’s boring being given so much, Silver. Sometimes, to know the depths of your own true power, you’ve got to take…” He unzips his fly, pushing his boxers and his pants down in one go, and then he stands there, as if he’s expecting me to swoon at the glory of his body.
I’ve seen a penis before. He’s acting like he’s unveiling the eighth wonder of the world, though. I look down at him, terrified to the marrow of my bones, my panic an insidious thing, working its way into each and every cell of my body…but, somehow, I find the courage to laugh again. At him. At the hard, straining appendage hanging there between his legs, looking like some comical design flaw. “God, Jake. Now I get it. If that’s what you’re working with, then it makes sense that you’d need two guys to pin a girl down.”
Jake’s face turns a frightening shade of purple. He’s shaking as he sinks to his knees, kicking Cillian out of the way. I try to twist out from underneath Sam one more time, frantic, the opportunity to escape flashing before my eyes, but Jake’s too fast. He moves quickly, forcing me back onto the tile, the weight of his body bearing down on me. “You’re going to regret that,” he snarls. “You’re gonna wish I’d cut out your tongue with that razor blade, so you couldn’t have said something so fucking stupid.”
I’m already regretting it. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I fucked up. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to fucking kill me. I whimper, struggling, hating myself for cracking, for letting any sign of fear through, but none of it matters. Jake roughly shoves his way between my legs, baring his teeth in a savage rictus of hate as he drives his hips forward, his erection butting up against the inside of my thigh. “Fucking cunt!” he seethes. “Fucking dirty, disgusting cunt!”
A sharp, breathtaking moment occurs, suspended in time, and Jake stills on top of me. His pupils are blown, dilated wide enough to have swallowed his irises. He’s inside me.
He’s…
God…
I bite the inside of my cheek, reviling the new stab of pain between my legs. The signal that I’ve lost something I will never get back. “Oh, Silver. Silver, Silver, Silver. This tight little pussy of yours has just made all the hassle and trouble you’ve caused w
orth it. Fuck me, but you’re tight. Does it feel good? Am I making you feel good?”
Hot, burning tears streak from my eyes, but I don't make a sound. I just look up at him, my face blank again, though this time from shock.
I can’t believe…
This isn’t…
It can’t be…
Jake begins to undulate on top of me. I can feel him pulling out of me and driving back up and inside, a fresh wave of pain coursing through me with every roll of his hips. My stomach is rioting, threatening to eject its contents, and I do nothing to hold it back.
“Don’t look at me like that, Parisi,” Jake snaps. “I’m doing you a fucking favor.”
In my head, I laugh. I laugh that he could ever think that, because he does. He really believes this lie. On the outside, I remain closed off, numb, my eyes boring into him as he thrashes, quickening his pace on top of me.
“Look away,” he commands.
I don’t.
I won’t.
If he plans on continuing this violation of my body and my soul, then he’s going to have to bear the weight of the judgment in my eyes as he does it. Jacob Weaving, captain of the Raleigh Roughnecks, one of Raleigh’s most respected, influential students, grunts, gouging his fingers into my breasts as he fucks me against my will. Sam makes a guttural sound at the back of his throat, his eyes dancing with amusement as he watches Jake writhe on top of me. I pay him no attention, though. I only have eyes for Jake.
Frustrated, furious, his hand swings down to connect with my cheek, and I taste blood. “I said look away!” he yells.
Again, I don’t.
Time stretches and slows, taunting me as each second drags by. Jake bites the top of my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. He bruises me, gouges, digs, twists, pinches. He fucks me harder and harder, and I see the mad lust in his eyes changing into something else. Something that resembles desperation. I don’t know how long he continues for. I wrestle for each breath. I struggle and pull. I do everything in my power to get away—which is to say I can do nothing. And every time he pushes himself inside me, grunting and sweating, I make sure I’m glaring at him with, cold, dead eyes.