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“Always stealing other’s boyfriends.” Something I never did, but I don’t think it matters.
Vickie punches me in the stomach. I can’t avoid that one, but I throw one back in her face before Lea smacks me.
I feel dizzy, but thankfully don’t get knocked out by a palm to the cheek.
“Grab her,” Vickie hisses.
“Fuck off!”
Both Lea and Andrew take my arms and pin them to the wall.
Vickie lets her anger out on me. I grunt from the hits to the stomach, and my vision narrows when she punches me right in the temple, then my lips.
“Not so fucking cute now, is she?” She spits in my face.
“Fucking cunt,” I groan, blood dripping from my lips.
I feel sick from her saliva on my cheek, and I want to puke on her shoes. But nothing fucking comes.
“Go on, Andy. If you find her so fucking hot, get your fix. A slut is a slut. You’ll probably catch something, but hey.”
Vickie slaps me in the face when my eyes close for a little too long. “Stay up, bitch. Andrew wants a taste.”
“She’ll probably enjoy it too.”
Lea’s words make Vickie smirk. “Yeah. She’ll enjoy herself, and then pretend that she was assaulted. Boohoo.”
“Shut up.” More blood spills from my mouth. Fuck, I feel dizzy, and the alley is tilting.
“Remember, Jade?” Vickie insists. “Remember when you made all that bullshit up about Elliot’s dad?”
“Oh yeah, that was some big fat lie,” Lea snorts.
“I. Didn’t. Lie,” I grit out.
I didn’t. I remember it. Everyone wants me to forget, to ignore it, to convince me it didn’t happen. But I remember the sound of the bathroom lock behind me, and his face appearing in the mirror.
I remember my stupid self being too polite and smiling back at him. I was confused.
Are you okay, Joel?
He didn’t reply, and I felt the discomfort right away.
I’ll be done in a second.
I was washing my hands.
That’s it. All I did that day was go to the bathroom to wash my hands before lunch. It was Elliot’s birthday. He turned nineteen the day his dad broke me forever.
I didn’t expect it. I didn’t see it coming. He’d never talked to me much.
I was as surprised as all the people I told. All the people I sought for help.
People remember Elliot’s dad for being violent. To the world and to his son. He was unpredictable, and Elliot still bears the scars.
Why is it so surprising that he could have hurt me too? Because it wasn’t in the same way? Because it’s easier to blame me?
I don’t think I’m really present when Vickie hits me again.
