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What happened to you in that church?
I watch him through a curtain of tears, waiting for the apology. For the begging. For the remorse. Not just for what happened right now—I don’t think I even fully comprehend it—but for the past four years. I look down, and he is hard.
So hard.
So very hard.
How did I miss this? The proper, abused Catholic boy turned out to be an improper, abusing man. My butt feels so hot and sore I doubt I’ll be able to sit on it anytime soon. My legs are shaking, and my heart aches dully in my chest.
I lost everything in the span of a semester. I didn’t get the boy, or the happy ending, or the perfect family, or even to keep my status as queen bee or the cheer captain badge.
“You are my worst mistake,” I whisper to him.
He smiles devilishly.
“And you, my darling, are my favorite sin.”
The weight of my love for you
Buried me so deep
I can no longer sleep
Or eat
Or meet
My own eyes in the mirror
When the first domino falls and my reality collapses in quick fashion, everything hovers in the air, motionless for a fraction of a second. That’s the moment I suck in a breath, bracing myself for the hit.
It’s where I am right now. Sore and wounded and scared. I’ve experienced the most tragic thing to ever happen to me—sexual, physical abuse—but somehow know the worst is yet to come.
I examine the red welts on my behind in the bathroom mirror at home, blinking back tears. They mar me with shame and horror and fear.
He touched me against my will.
He hit me against my will.
I played with fire and got so burned, it left a mark. Dozens of them.
The sad thing is, it doesn’t hurt half as much as seeing Penn in the hallways does.
I apply some aloe to the welts and slip into knee-long pajamas, going commando. Wearing any type of fabric against my bruised skin hurts too much. My phone chimes with a new text message, and I hesitate before picking it up.
It’s Prichard.
Meet me at Castle Hill Park at seven. The bench under the cherry tree.
Gabe Prichard doesn’t apologize or make excuses. He is dangerous, a loose cannon, and even though I’ve made up my mind about never seeing him again, there’s a good chance he came to his senses. Realizing Gus and Via can screw both of us over, he is probably planning to make it right. I know he thinks I’m too scared to tell my parents, but why take the risk? I type back.
So you can abuse me some more? No thanks.
He replies within seconds.
So we can sort out this thing and move forward with our relationship.
I’m about to let out a hysterical laugh when a fist crashes the door from the outside.
“You’ve been in there for an hour,” Via whines. “Save some hot water for the rest of us, princess.”
Of course, she feels comfortable talking to me like this when we’re home alone. I lift my pajamas, chance one last look at my butt in the mirror, and unlock the door, my hand still on the handle. I stare at her, waiting for an apology. An acknowledgment of what she did. Any. Freaking. Sign. Of. Humanity.
Nothing. Blank. Gurnisht.
Via arches a blond eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. She is wearing a gorgeous floral minidress Melody probably bought her. Perhaps in New York. Possibly while I grieved the death of my family as I knew it.
“You look like shit. Have you been crying?” She snorts, shouldering past me to get into the bathroom.
I shake my head. “You’re so screwed.” My voice is quiet. Eerily calm.
It’s the only thing I can think of saying right now. Maybe the only thing that matters at all. Because my life may be over, but so is hers. The difference is that I know my fate, and she doesn’t.
“What are you talking about?” She unleashes her hair from its elastic in front of the mirror, grabbing the makeup bag and getting pretty, no doubt, for Gus.
“What do you think Gus wanted from me when you gave him my journal?” I ask, parking a hip over the cabinet. She takes a step back. I take a step toward her. Her back hits the shower glass, and this is where I keep her boxed in.
I’m not going to hurt her. Not physically, anyway. Maybe not at all, seeing as I am desperately in love with her brother, and he wants her happy. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know what it means to love until everything hurts, and you shed your dignity and pride for someone else.
“Gus wants Penn to throw the game.”
Via’s eyes widen. It’s news to her, and that actually makes me release a little sigh of relief. Her wanting to screw me over is a given. Her getting back at Penn, however? I can’t stomach the idea.
