“But here’s a question that begs an answer: Who the hell is this ‘Society’ asshole who wrote the script? Who is he to choose who I can be friends with or who I’m allowed to love? I want to meet that sanctimonious prick because, I’m telling you, it must be one pretty fine high horse he’s riding.
“What if I decide his script sucks and I let my heart write one that really speaks to me? What if I love outside the lines? Will Society turn his back on me? Would that be a bad thing? Or would it be empowering to live by my own standards instead of bowing to his?”
I push away from the podium. “So, to the graduating class of 2015, I say burn the fucking script. Write your own and to hell with Society and his high horse.”
I turn and walk off the stage back to my seat and stunned silence.
I fight to keep my eyes on the superintendent—who’s wearing makeup for the camera crew and is now at the podium doing damage control—to stop myself from looking for Caiden. I know he’s not here. He’s in prison. Because of me and Society’s fucked up script.
He didn’t tell me he loved me, but I swear I felt it in his kiss, his touch. I wish I could ask him if any of it was real, but with the restraining order, I won’t be asking him anything for at least another year.
Neither Mom nor Dad say anything about my speech on the way home. I skip the party and go to straight to my room. I throw my regalia on the floor and tug on a soft T-shirt, then climb into bed. I lay in the dark with my earbuds in, listening to the Arctic Monkeys on repeat until my mind winds down. I sink into a restless sleep with images of Caiden flashing through my mind: a secret smile from the resource desk, his eyes on me as I read onstage, chocolate ice cream, the hot aching need in my belly as he lays on top of me.
I feel him there, his body hard and coiled against mine. His breath hot on my neck.
His fingers slip inside me. My hips rock to his rhythm.
“You want it bad, baby girl, don’t you?”
The words seep into the periphery of the image, become part of the dream. “Yes,” I whisper as I spread wider for him.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he says, sinking his dick into me.
I open my eyes as a sudden jolt of cold fear wrenches the sleep from my body.
Nate hooks his elbows through my knees, bending me into a pretzel and forcing my legs so far open that my hips are on the edge of dislocating. He grunts as he drives himself deep inside me, and the breath in my face is sour with something that smells like it probably went down sweet. Something stronger than beer.
“No, Nate!” I cry, trying to push him off. We may be the same height, but he’s outweighs me by at least forty pounds of solid muscle.
He keeps his elbows through my knees and straightens his arms, wedging his hands under my ass. He’s got my thighs plastered to the mattress on either side of me and my knees in my armpits, curling me onto a ball and forcing my ass into the air. His chest presses hard on mine as he supports his weight there and leverages to drive himself deeper inside me. His hips come down hard against my pelvis and there’s a pop followed by searing pain in my right hip as it’s twisted out of shape. I cry out.
“That’s it, baby girl. You’re feeling me?” He pulls out, his full body weight pressing down on my chest and crushing me. I can’t breathe. Then he pounds hard into me, over and over.
“You—are—mine,” he growls with each thrust, as if marking his territory.
Fear takes physical form as a barbed thing in my throat, choking off my protests. I struggle against him and gasp ineffectually for air. There’s no breath to scream, or even cry out.
Spots flash in my eyes and the room starts to spit as I slowly suffocate under his weight. When I can’t find anymore strength to fight, my arms fall limp to the bed at my sides. The pain in my body starts to fade with the sounds of his grunts.
Tears sting my eyes and run down my temples in rivulets, pooling in my ears. “Please stop,” I whisper on my last breath.
Finally, he does. He thrusts twice more before collapsing on top of me. “Fuck yeah, baby girl,” he groans in my ear. “Just fuck yeah.”
I’m still pinned beneath him. My legs are numb. My hands tingle. The only air I can get is in tiny pants. The only part of my mangled body I can move is my neck. I turn my head and close my eyes as tears pour through my hair and soak my pillowcase.
After an endless minute, Nate climbs off me. Sharp needles begin to prick my legs with the return of blood flow. White hot pain cuts through my hips and back as I roll on my side, away from him, but I swallow the gasp. I listen to him pull on his clothes and pray sincerely to God for the mattress to open up and swallow me.
I flinch a minute later when he leans down and kisses my cheek. “Love you, baby girl.” Then the door clicks closed.
I sob into my pillow until yellow light breaks through my curtains hours later.
∞
Nate and Marcus are downstairs. I don’t even know what time it is, but I’ve been laying here listening to them for what feels like hours. Every time I hear Nate’s voice, all my insides pull tight and my lungs feel like they’re being crushed again.