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My body feels like I’m vibrating, but my hands are surprisingly steady. I do everything I can not to react to them. They want a reaction, and by denying them, maybe they’ll get bored. So far, this theory isn’t panning out.
Delight brightens the muddy brown of Chad’s eyes, and the urge to cry or beg is so strong I almost give in to it. But it won’t make a difference. If anything, it’ll just make it worse.
“John, grab the bar of soap from my bag.” Chad doesn’t look away from me when he says it, watching for my reaction. The boys laugh, and John turns away to do as he was told. They are probably all victims of Chad as well if they don’t do what he wants.
“Are you gonna chirp for us? Squawk?” Chad moves in closer to me as John shows up with a blue plastic soap box. Chad holds his hand out, and John gives it to him without a word.
Without thinking about it, I step back, right into Andrew. The curly-haired blond guy is the biggest guy on our team and is known for being a bruiser. His arms band around me, forcing what little air I was able to manage from my lungs.
I’m going to throw up. I can’t do this.
I yell as loud as I can, hoping someone will hear me, but they never fucking do. It’s not fair! Why am I always the damn target? I hate this place and everyone in it.
Chad shoves the bar of soap into my mouth so deep I choke on it, but he won’t let me spit it out. He holds it in as I gag, tears running down my cheeks as I try to breathe and not throw up. My body tries to save itself, turning and squirming, trying to get away, but Andrew is fucking strong and has the upper hand. They all laugh at my pain, at my fear, at my humiliation. The bitter taste of soap fills my mouth, bubbles forming on my tongue and around my lips from the movement. Chunks of the bar wear onto my teeth too, and I will never be able to get it all out of my mouth.
“No one will ever believe you.” Chad finally moves his hand and the bar falls, leaving me panting and coughing with drool dripping down my chin.
I used to love coming to practice, lacing up my skates, and taking to the ice like a bat out of hell, but now I dread it, and I can’t even tell anyone why. I’m lying to everyone because I’m so fucking ashamed of what I’ve let them do to me.
Someone punches me in the stomach, but I don’t see who it is, and it doesn’t matter. Andrew lets go of me, and I drop onto my knees hard enough for the sound to echo.
“I hate you,” I manage to get out. Chad grips my hair in a tight fist and jerks my head up.
“Look at you, birdy. Crying, on your knees like a bitch.” He backhands me. Hot, sharp pain explodes across my cheek. “If you want to act like a little bitch, I’ll treat you like one.”
Dread settles like an iceberg in my stomach. What does that mean?
“Hold him still,” Chad says, and it feels like Andrew grabbing a hold of my elbows and pulling them behind me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I start to tremble and try to pull away from Chad, but all it does is put me closer to Andrew.
Chad unzips his pants and pulls his dick out, stroking it until it starts to thicken.
“You aren’t exactly my normal type, but a mouth is a mouth, right?”
* * *
The pull of my hair and saliva on my chin don’t matter, but I choke and cough when he finishes. My stomach rolling at the bitter taste on my tongue. The bang of the locker door closing makes me jump, and for a second, hope blossoms in my chest. Is someone going to find us and help me?
No one can know about this.
I hold my breath, both wanting to be saved and hoping no one finds me like this.
Coach Williams comes around the corner, lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything about me on the floor, probably looking distraught and a complete mess.
“Boys, time to go. Come on.” Coach Williams meets my eyes for a second, then turns and leaves. My heart breaks, shatters in my chest. How is this my life?
“You’ll make someone a good pussy if you practice.” Chad puts himself away, ruffles my hair, then turns and strides down the aisle with his lackeys following along behind him.
Scrambling on my hands and knees, I grab my gear bag from the now empty locker room and run outside to wait for my mom. It’s cold, but I don’t care. It’s better than being in there.
I sit on the dirt next to the building where the wind is blocked, and my stomach rolls. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I race for the garbage can, throwing up everything in my stomach. Water, my protein bar, soap, andhim.It burns my nose and throat and leaves me gasping for breath. My abs ache, but it’s better this way. I don’t want any part of today left in my body.
A shiver races up my spine at the thought, and I settle back against the wall, using my shirt to wipe my face.
I don’t want to do this anymore, but I don’t know how to make it stop either. The coach doesn’t care, clearly. He’s supposed to support us, shape us into the best players we can be, but he’s allowing his kid to torment me.
