CHAPTER 9
DELILAH
Every movement Pastor John made,I was aware of. My senses zeroed in on him as he circled around me making me feel like he was a shark and I was his unfortunate prey. My skirt was still bunched up, and my hands were bound behind me by his belt.
“What am I going to do with you, Eve? You come in late, act insubordinate, and have the audacity to look like that,” he said coming into my field of vision. As he looked down at me, I could see him loosening his tie, his eyes tracking my body.
It felt like slime coating my skin as he stared at me so openly. The door was shut and no one would be coming in here for another forty or so minutes. This was Pastor John’s free period, and I already knew that no one would come looking for me. I swallowed hard around a lump that had formed in my throat.
“I—I’m sorry,” I managed to whisper, even though I wasn’t the least bit sorry. I hadn’t even been late, but it fit his narrative to say so.
“Not yet you’re not, but you’ll learn to be.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that. It sounded like a threat, and before I had a moment to contemplate it, he was crouching down next to me. I could smell him and it soured my already sensitive stomach. Vomit clawed up my esophagus, threatening to spill over as one of hishands found the hem of my skirt. The other wrapped around the tale of my ponytail, rubbing the hair between his thumb and forefinger.
“Such beautiful hair.” He shuddered in a breath as he pushed the fabric of my skirt up, exposing me even more than I already was. My brain buzzed. What the hell was he doing?
“Such a temptation,” he murmured as tears gathered in my eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to turn seventeen. Waiting to get you alone. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want me just like I want you.”
No, no, no.
His touch was all wrong. And he was delusional. Waiting until I was the age of consent was ridiculous when I was clearly not consenting.
“Please, Pastor John. I’m so sorry. I have to get to class,” I begged, feeling like if I reminded him that we were in his classroom and at school, he might stop whatever it was he was doing. I didn’t want his hands on me. Didn’t want him looking at me like he was.
But speaking to him was clearly a mistake because the moment the words were out of my mouth, rage coated his blue eyes. Eyes that on even a good day, looked soulless.
I realized my mistake too late and felt the sting of his hand on my sore behind as he hit me in the exact spot his yard stick had. It burned and a yelp escaped my throat which seemed to excite him. When he moved, I caught sight of his pants, and my stomach dropped.
He was hard.
Dread burrowed deep inside my chest as I realized what was happening.
He was on me in an instant, ripping my underwear clean off my body. I could feel the air on my skin and smell his coffee scented breath.
The sound of his zipper undoing filled the empty classroom and fat wet tears streamed down my cheeks.No, fuck, no, please,my brain screamed.
“Please stop,” I begged, knowing that it would only make him angrier, but my voice was all I had. My legs were too numb to move, and my hands were still bound. I couldn’t fight him off, no matter how much I wanted to.
“I know you want this,” I heard him say. But I didn’t.
And then I felt him, and my brain stopped processing all feeling. Only aware of the screams that came out of my mouth till my throat was raw.
“Shut the fuck up and take your punishment,” He smacked the back of my head so hard I saw stars and black crept in the sides of my vision. “This is what you get for making me want you. You dress and act like a whore, you’ll get treated like one.”
His words didn’t make any sense. I dressed in the same outfit as all the other girls. But this wasn’t about my outfit. This was about him and his twisted, rotten soul.
I don’t know how long I was assaulted for. It felt like I disassociated from my own body, focusing only on my breath and the low buzz of the fluorescent lights before the door burst open and he was yanked off me.
Someone had come. Someone had heard me.
The moment he was no longer in me, I gasped, sobbing so hard that I felt my body begin to shake.
“Help. Help me! Please!” I screamed, tears and snot pouring down my face.
I could hear a fight breaking out behind me with grunts and what sounded like fists meeting bone. Shoes squealed across the tiled floor, and I pulled at my restraints hoping that it would break. But the leather belt was wrapped too tightly, and it was no use. My legs were fully numb now and my head was spinning. From the hits, the position, or the enormity of what had happened to me— I wasn’t sure the exact cause, but I couldn’t catch my bearings. My breath came in short, desperate pants as I lay there completely helpless, and irrevocably broken.
“Hey! The hell is going on in here?” A booming male voice that I was having a hard time placing said, rushing into the room. Suddenly, there were several teachers and students filling the hallway outside, some pushing in.
