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Certainly not now.
My knees buckle. His grasp is hard, holding me up, not caring that my high heel snaps, my feet an afterthought. I try to look over to the building, the helicopter blades slicing through sound itself, taking over.
I’m about to faint.
No. I can’t faint.
Drew, I want to scream. Where are you?
“Get in,” John says in a pleasant voice, as if we’re taking a day jaunt to a private island. As if we’re off for a pleasant sun-filled trip with yachts and jet-skis, cavalier and free, troubled only by our own stresses and worries about not conforming to the expectations set by our peers and parents.
If only.
I can’t scream, because the sound of the helicopter blades takes over all the available space for noise. Nothing I do will get anyone’s attention.
How’s that for irony? The whole point of coming home was to blend into the scenery and be a boring prop for Daddy’s family image.
And now I can’t make myself stand out long enough to be saved.
Daddy said I was going back to the Island. Even he couldn’t lie to me and pretend his coffee plantation plan was real. Gentle yet firm, he’d sat me down last night to explain it all.
And I’d complied, because good girls do what they’re asked, right?
All the while, I’d rubbed my hands together, worrying that little Band-aid next to my thumb.
Nothing they do matters.
Nothing.
Not Daddy, not Stellan, Blaine and John, not my mother – no one.
Because Drew’s smarter than all of them.
And he’s coming for me.
No matter what.
That thought comforts me as John shoves me, hard, up into the helicopter. My shin bangs against the iron step, the metal’s edge scraping up the long, thin bone so hard I know it’ll leave a speckled bruise in the morning.
He’s strong, with tight muscles. That’s right. Baseball player. John Gainsborough, big league pitcher extraordinaire. His knuckleballs are un-hittable, and those same knuckles dig into my ribs. Top of his game, and in prime condition. A guy like that has some serious discipline, right?
I should scream. Pain sears me, his scent a swift reminder of the past, John’s musk drifting into my nose.
I’m transported back four years.
Only this time, I know what he’s about to do.
What they’re about to do.
I’m not sure which is worse.
Not knowing or knowing.
I go limp. I’m not making this easy for him. The longer I delay, the more time Drew has to rescue me.
“Cute,” he hisses in my ear, licking the shell. Horror bursts through me, my blood carrying messages to my limbs, my brain, all screaming danger! as I stop breathing. My breath halts as if it can’t continue.
Just can’t.
