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She discreetly peered at him to see if he was as uncomfortable as her, but he seemed very content to watch the waves in the hushed moment.
More power to him because she could not stomach it.
Maybelle rose from the sand holding her sandals by their straps in one hand, “It was uh— good catching up, I’m gonna go find my brother though. Good night, Daniel.”
Daniel nodded and gave her that small, sweet smile as she left him alone in his silence. Maybelle trudged up the beach toward the fire searching for a new hiding spot, bitter she had to give the perfect one up. This was already becoming the longest night of her whole life and it had been about an hour since her mom dropped them off.
Maybe she could steal a camp chair from the core of the party circle, pull it to a far-off corner and read one of her books she had downloaded onto her phone.
Wow.
She really was a loser.
Maybelle glanced around for a familiar face, hoping to catch sight of Liam or even Trey at this point, but they were nowhere to be seen in the dense crowd. Watching the party carry on and pulse to the music that blasted from a speaker, it all slowed as Maybelle thought back to when she once thrived in this type of atmosphere.
To a time when she was carefree, to a time when she got to be a child and didn’t feel the need to hide herself. It was moments like these, and a compilation of the day's events and feelings that even after all the time, the therapy and healing shewas forced to acknowledge that she still wasn’t fixed. She still wasn’t that girl and maybe she had to accept that probably would never be her again.
Unbidden tears pricked her eyes, she wanted to go home, lay in bed, and read a book. As she came closer to the fire Maybelle grabbed her phone from her sweater pocket then pulled up her mom’s contact. She wasn’t made for this. So, what if the source of her need to be home, to be alone was her anxieties, her brokenness and past? So, what if she was probably being weak, giving over control to her insecurities and heartache? Maybe one day she could try to push herself, try and put herself out there to make friends again but today was not that day.
Just before Maybelle could press call,her phone was ripped from her fingers and the reek of alcohol, poor hygiene and repugnant body spray assaulted her senses. She glanced up from her hands to find a drunk Clayton Thomas had swiped her phone.
A sober Clayton was already a massive asshat, a wasted Clayton was not somebody she wanted to get to know.
“Who are you calling, Mason? Mommy?” Clayton slurred looking at her phone, onyx eyes bleary and bloodshot before plopping it into his back pocket. Maybelle tensed as the attention of a dozen sets of eyes landed on her.
“Yes, I am. Please give me my phone back.” Her voice cracked against the sudden urge to cry or scream, maybe both. She held a handout to accept the phone wishing that a sinkhole could, in fact, appear and swallow her whole now.
Clayton rocked forward into her space, “Spend some time with me, Mason. I'll show you a good time.” A disgusted shiver vibrated through her body and to make matters worse, her hands began to tremble.
She really hated this guy.
Maybelle wanted more than anything to scream at him, kick him where the sun does not shine and tell him to just... just… A lot of gross, derogatory words came to mind that would make her mom faint to hear spewing from her mouth, but Maybelle stood silent.Even as his greasy hand snaked up and latched onto her elbow, pulling at her, she remained quiet while her mind raged.
Maybelle’s mouth stopped listening to the screaming and begging of her brain and heart to speak, to say anything.
Her legs disobeyed her pleas to walk away, and her arms wouldn’t pull themselves free from his grip. Maybelle wanted to fight, she wanted to fly but all she could do was freeze. Her body, taking on a mind of its own, shifted into survival mode, recalling another set of unwelcome, wandering hands on her, blistering words, and violent touches.
The only control she had was in the glare of absolute unadulterated loathing she leveled at Clayton, but he was too drunk to even notice.
“Come on Mason, let me take that tight ass for a ride.” Clayton’s eyes roamed her body then pulled at her again, harder this time making her drop her sandals in the sand, “We could find some place dark and quiet.” He sputtered against her ear.
Maybelle stayed put.
She may not have the courage or power to scream or smack him, but she refused to be led off alone into a dark corner. Maybelle knew what would happen if she were to allow him even an inch, she’d been taken to too many dark corners before, and she wasn’t so sure she could survive another.
Maybelle tried to search for help in the eyes of the people that had watched the scene start to unfold but conveniently, they all found themselves busy with other conversations. She had never felt so invisible yet so exposed than she did in this moment.
She quickly turned her efforts to finding her brother but when she finally did see Liam, he was too preoccupied with shoving his tongue down the throat of a redhead girl to see Maybelle's silent cries for help. She was alone, utterly alone and she had no one to blame but herself.
Clayton’s grasp on her arm turned bruising as he slithered his other hand around the back of her neck making her look at him, “Who are you looking for, Mason? It's just you and me here.” He hissed.
Maybelle gritted her teeth, her dinner threatening to make a second appearance. She hated herself for this, for this weakness. For allowing herself to be subject to this prick. She hated the lack of control and the fear that continued to take her over when threatened, even after all these years.
But more than anything, she hated just how alone and abandoned she had made herself. The tears drowned her eyes and fell off her freckled cheeks as Clayton’s hot breath burned in her nose. She needed to speak, she needed to push him away, she needed to do something. Maybelle was a prisoner inside her own mind, so busy with pounding against the walls of her skull that she barely noticed Clayton had released her until a right hook sent him sprawling into the dirt.
A chorus of gasps from everyone around joined Clayton’s loud moans of pain. Miraculously, like a fallen angel that heard her prayers, Trey’s large gentle hands were cradling her face, his thumbs pushing her chin up while he inspected her, “Are you ok, May?”
She only managed a slow head bob in response, but she felt far from ok. Trey’s thumbs swiped at the tears on her cheeks before he spun back to Clayton who was groaning, face first in the sand.
