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“Yes. I really do.”
“Okay. Fine.” She turns to me, and her eyes shine in warning. “I didn’thaveparents, Raina. I never had a father. I found my mom’s dead body when I was fourteen. Suicide. Pills. She was always a mess. After that, I was in foster care—which means I was abused, picked on, and sexually assaulted. I did whatever I could to survive. I cheated. I stole. I fucked people over. And I learned that you should never trust anybody. The worst thing you can do is make friends, because no one has your best interests in mind.”
Her tone is taunting as she tells me this, like she knows just how uncomfortable it will make me, though when she raises her head, her eyes are shiny, maybe with stress, maybe with tears. “You happy now?” she spits, her teeth clamped together. “Is thisbondingenough for you?”
My jaw trembles. “I... I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know.”
Boom.
The door to the bedroom flies open. I’m so surprised I back up against the headboard, the blood rushing to my ears. Alexis lets out a scream. A man with a ski mask over his face rushes toward us. “Don’t move,” he growls. All I can see are his wild, narrowed eyes.
“Don’t hurt us!” I whimper. I’m only half acting. Real fear shoots to my gut.
The man aims something black and blocky at us. A gun? I try to breathe. This is just part of the role-play, right? It can’t be real.
The man grabs Alexis’s purse, then mine, and dumps their contents on the bed. Lipsticks fly everywhere. Alexis’s phone hits the ground with a thud. We both beg for mercy, pleading for him not to hurt us. But as the man shifts, it’s clear he’s turned on. When he grabs me hard, it’s not to hurt me, but to ravage me. His hands travel up and down my body. His mouth, surrounded by the woolly mask, travels over my neck, the base of my throat. I don’t like it, but I try to get through it. It will all be worth it, I tell myself. Only a few more minutes.
The man turns to Alexis and kisses her, too, but he moves back to me within minutes. His kisses are unwelcome and pushy, all teeth and lips. Aggressively, he takes off my top and slides down my underwear. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shiny wrapper of a condom. All at once, I’m naked in this dingy, empty room, facing a man in a ski mask. I glance at Alexis, hating that she’s witnessing this. I feel small. Undignified.
The man’s pants fall to a twisted heap on the floor. He grabs my hips, spins me around, and pushes our bodies together. I shut my eyes, trying to think of something pleasant and innocent. His thrusts are so forceful and rough that the crown of my head slams against the headboard. I accidentally bite down on my tongue and taste blood. I open my eyes for a moment and see my palms flat on the mattress, my boobs flopping, a big stain on the sheets. Revulsion ripples through me.
“Stop,” Alexis says suddenly.
He doesn’t listen. My head knocks into the headboard again. The lone picture hanging on the wall falls off its nail, clomping to the floor. It doesn’t even have glass over the image anymore, and the frame is plastic. I wonder how many other times it’s fallen because of this very reason.
“Stop!” Alexis growls. “Goddamn it,stop!”
The man turns sharply to her. I can smell sweat seeping from his skin.
“We’re done,” Alexis says.
“Huh?” he grunts. I look at her quizzically, too. He hasn’t taken off his mask. It would be better if the camera recorded his face.
But Alexis doesn’t seem to care. She crosses her arms over her chest. “This is weird. And it’s not worth it.”
“Alexis,” I murmur impatiently. And then, impulsively, I twist around, sit up, reach forward, and pull off his balaclava. The man flails, trying to grab it, but I whip it across the room. “There,” I say to Alexis. “Nowtell him.”
The man frowns. He’s much better-looking than I would have expected. I feel like I’ve seen him before, too—though I don’t know where. “Tell me what?” he demands, making an ugly, surly, coitus interruptus face. His penis has gone limp. His chest heaves from exertion and excitement. “Tell mewhat?”
Alexis looks nervous, so I clear my throat. “We’re filming you. Everything’s on camera. And if you don’t want your wife to see—or anyone you work with—we’re going to have to negotiate.”
The man blinks hard like we’ve punched him. He wheels backward, covering his penis with his hands. “What the fuck?” he splutters, scrambling to pull on his underwear. Then he looks around the room. “Like hell you’re getting a video of me. Where are the cameras?”
I swallow hard. Alexis lowers her eyes. The man leaps off the bed and storms for her, flattening her against the wall. “Where are they? Where the fuck did you hide them?”
Why he’s taking this out on Alexis, I’m not sure, but in an instant, she’s flat on her back, and thisstrangeris over her, trapping her. His hands aren’t on her, but they could be on her in moments. His eyes are wide. His mouth is a straight, angry line.
“Tellme!” he pleads.
Terror spikes through me. I leap onto his back, pawing at his T-shirt. He whips around and he shoves me away—not that hard, but the effort surprises me. I tumble to the carpet.
He turns back to Alexis. “Tellme,” he says again. Alexis shakes her head stubbornly.
“Just tell him,” I urge. I’m afraid things are going to escalate. Maybe I should make a run for it.
But then I think of Greg Strasser. How he’d stepped back from me that night in his house, that beatific, pitying smile on his face. How he’d said softly, “You’re better than this.” It pisses me off that I’m thinking of him right now—it’s because of him that I’m in this mess in the first place. But I remember how inspired I’d felt. Someone finally believed in me. Someone had thought I transcended where I came from, how I acted, what I was.
You’re better than this.
