I ran from the bathroom with my robe on and a towel wrapped around my head, but Owen noticed me anyway. He always had a creepy way of standing outside of my bedroom door, offering me a smirk and a joint. “Mom’s not home, precious,” he said, chuckling.
“Jase is coming over right now. I have to get ready,” I said, closing my bedroom door on him.
But of course, you could guess what happened. He wouldn’t let me close the door on him. He kicked his foot out and slammed his big, beefy hands against it, knocking it wide open. I lunged for the walkie-talkies, but he got me before I could reach them. My robe was ripped, shredded, right off my body. I threw a punch at him, landing my fist against the bottom of his jaw, but he pushed me easily up against the wall with his body.
But I wasn’t scared, because I could hear Jase as he tore through my front door. I could feel Jase as he yanked Owen clean off me and began pummeling and pounding on him with his fists. “She’s mine!” I heard him scream, over and over. “You don’t ever fucking touch her again, you hear me? You don’t touch her!”
Owen tried to fight back. But Jase was an animal when he fought. I crawled away, still naked, trying to stay away from the two male bodies that were about to kill each other in the small confines of my room, while attempting to find something to cover myself with. Within minutes, Jase’s father was there, separating his son from my predator. Jase’s father tossed my tattered robe at my face, yelling at me to get dressed. And Owen, Owen was a bloody mess, threatening to sue Jase and his family.
I can still see him. Jase, panting heavily in the corner of my room with that crazed look on his face. Unraveled. I tried not to look directly into his eyes, the color intense and overwhelming. But they were my undoing; they unraveled me and trapped me, forever. They were stunning, yet intensely vacant, distant, and completely empty. My beautiful monster. He wanted to kill Owen, without even a thought, without regret, he would have. He would have done it for me.
Mr. Delaney was still holding him back when Jase’s eyes zoned in on me. Both of his hands clenched on the edge of my dresser, his knuckles white with rage. “Let me go. Let me get Charlie. Let me see if she’s okay,” he begged through clenched teeth.
His father tightened his grip. “No, Jase. You went too far…”
“Move!” Jase shouted, his harsh growl cutting off his father’s threat. The muscles of his jaw tightened and he pushed against his father’s arms, cursing under his breath. “Let me fucking see her!”
“I’m okay, Jase,” I said. My voice was a little more than a whisper. “He…he didn’t touch me,” I said, wrapping the torn robe closer to my skin. I tried to walk to him, but his father blocked my way.
“This is over,” Mr. Delaney said. “The two of you, this thing you have, it’s done.” He grabbed Jase by the shoulders and shoved him out of my room toward the front door. Jase’s eyes never left mine. Not until the door slammed in my face and Owen was standing alone with me, beaten to a bloody pulp.
I walked calmly to the kitchen.
“You touch me again,” I said, pulling out a steak knife from one of the drawers, “ and I promise you, I will carve my initials in your dick.” Then, I walked backward into my room and locked my door.
Owen laughed at me for a good twenty minutes in front of that door, pounding and scratching at it just to taunt me.
Then, Jase’s father did what he always did when he son acted out—he sent Jase away. I can still hear him screaming my name sometimes, the way he did that night when his father shoved him in the car. I wondered how long he’d be gone. It was April and there were only three more months until graduation. He’d be back soon, right?
I stood looking out my window for hours, staring out into the night, waiting for him to come back…. but he never did.
I stood there, wondering what I would possibly do, what we would possibly do, without one another. I counted my breaths since he’d gone: one thousand, eight hundred twenty-four.
I slept in the tree house alone, praying each night for the feel of him climbing into my sleeping bag beside me and curling around my body. But he never did. Seven thousand two hundred and sixty-two breaths since he left.
I waited for his call. An email. A text. Anything.
But I got nothing.
And I wanted my breaths to stop.
Breaths turned into hours, then days, and then weeks. At the end of April, a handful of shingles on the roof of the tree house ripped off in a strong thunderstorm, and the rain ran down the wall where Jase once wrote the silly words of my one-time favorite book. Rabbit Hole looked like it had melted and ran down the wood, and the heart next to it looked mangled and broken with its red ink seeping into the grain of the wood.
Then, two weeks after he left, I got a text message on my phone. Jase!
Come over
I’m in my bedroom
In the space between now and then, before and after, there’s a lifetime. A lifetime of the choices you could have made, the paths you choose at the forks in the road, and the paths you never took. It’s a lifetime full of wondering who you truly are or who you could have been if you had just taken that other path.
Sometimes, I cry so hard. Sometimes I scream so loud, just wishing for that heartbroken seventeen-year-old girl to take a different path.
But, she doesn’t hear me.
Running at almost warp speed, I dashed through his back door straight into the kitchen. His house was eerily empty. That should have stopped me dead, but of course it didn’t. Looking back in hindsight, everything could have been a path to turn back: Why would he text? Why didn’t he just come over? Where was he for two weeks? I should have turned at every question I had. But none of it was the way I went, because all I thought about was Jase and running straight to him.
I would have never thought that he would hurt me.
The door to his room was half open and I busted through it excitedly.
You couldn’t help but take a sweeping look around his bedroom when you first walked inside of it. His walls were painted an eggshell blue, and they were covered with heavy metal band posters: Avenged Sevenfold, Metallica, and Ozzy Osbourne. His computer was constantly on, playing a looped slide show, featuring pictures of him, Joey, and me—at school, riding dirt bikes, sitting in the sun. Scattered across his desk were a few empty soda bottles, an ashtray that he never hid from his parents, and dozens of books: Stephen King, Douglas Adams, John Green—all my idols. Leather bound notebooks filled with his writing and an empty bag of pretzels covered his bed. The smell that was only Jase filled the room; it was a mix between warm sunshine and his soap. It made my scalp tingle and my skin heat.
God, I’d missed him so much. I just wanted to be in his arms—safe.
A queen-sized bed took up the middle of his room, covered in a dark blue comforter. I had never sat on his bed; in all the years that I had known him, we rarely ever hung out in his room. And we had never been alone in it together.
I spun around in the middle of the empty room, confused. Then, the door clicked closed behind me. The lock snapped loudly into its chamber, and my heart swelled until it almost burst. I leaned in the direction of the door, ready to run to him, and swung my head around to face him. My cheeks burned from the wideness of my smile. I stumbled backward when my eyes discovered who was blocking the door.
It wasn’t Jase.
It was not Jase at all.
Not even close.
Standing before me in his typical ominous and overbearing disposition, was Mr. Delaney, Jase’s womanizing, abusive, controlling father.
I stumbled and flinched back so violently in shock that I slammed into Jase’s computer desk, causing his pile of books to fall and tumble against the wall and floor.
“I…I thought that…I just got a text…from Jase,” I stammered, moving across the length of the desk to further myself from Mr. Delaney. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, and everything felt wrong. Why was Mr. Delaney in here? Was Jase in the bathroom? Was he
going to yell at Jase and me again for what happened? Didn’t he realize that wasn’t my fault? Owen was a disgusting pervert!
Mr. Delaney, dressed in one of his fancy suits, slowly walked closer to me. I leaned away from him, practically bending myself backward against the edge of Jase’s desk. My hands, which were clammy with nervous sweat, slipped and slid over the surface of the desk, hitting into the computer mouse and grabbing onto the ashtray. If he tried to hurt me, then I was going to slam the damn ashtray against his head.
“Put that down, Charlotte. I don't want you to hurt yourself. The only one allowed to hurt you is going be me,” he said, menacingly.
The words didn’t register. They made no sense to me, as Mr. Delaney leaned forward, over my body, and grabbed for the computer mouse, sliding it over the mouse pad. “Turn around, Charlotte. I want you to watch something I found on Jase’s computer.” His free hand came up and pried the ashtray out of my grip. Tossing it onto the carpet, it made a loud thump against the wooden floor underneath, spraying a cloud of ash and cigarette butts across the room.
When I didn’t move, he grabbed my shoulders and forcefully turned me in the direction of the screen. A still shot of me was displayed in an open file, standing in that stupid white bikini that Jase loved so much. Tears stung my eyes. Why did he want me to watch this? Did he want me to feel ashamed? Embarrassed? Dirty? What?
My knees felt weak; all of my bones felt feeble and shaky, like I was a person made of straw and one strong wind would scatter me across the earth. Then, he clicked on the play arrow, and the video of me dancing across the lawn in a very skimpy bikini started.
“You like making these movies? Letting him take pictures of you?” His voice was low and angry.
I didn’t answer. All I could do was look down and let the tears fall, spilling against my shirt. I knew about the video. I knew Jase watched it...a lot. It never made me feel dirty or awkward. But, with Mr. Delaney standing over me, it was the first time I felt bad or disgusted about it. His father just made it filthy when all it ever was before was innocent and beautiful.
Grabbing my face, he yanked it back up to look at him. “I asked you a question. You’re supposed to answer me when I do that,” he growled, nostrils flaring.
“N…no…” I stuttered, trying to slide my body away from his, but he just gripped my face harder with his hand. What was I supposed to say to him to make him understand how much I loved Jase? It was just me in a bathing suit; I never took it off! It wasn’t the start of some seductive striptease. That video was innocent. Why was he trying to make me feel guilty—and dirty?
“You’re a liar,” he spit out, pushing his body up against me, slamming me hard into the edge of Jase’s desk. He was so close to me, bending over me, that the heat from his putrid breath was gagging me. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, but the smell of rotting alcohol and stale cigarettes seeped into my skin. I shivered from sheer disgust.
I tried to push against his chest with both of my hands, but he didn’t budge. His hands dropped from my face and gripped both of my wrists so tightly I thought my bones would break. Tears blurred my vision as I looked up at him, and when my eyes fixed on his, I knew I was in trouble. My mind started freaking out, raw panic had my chest heaving violently, and my heart was hammering so hard I felt it in my throat.
His body was locked against mine; my hands were trapped in his. Not one damn part of my body would work to try to get myself away. In my head, I was this brave fighter, twisting and clawing my way to freedom, tearing his face off in my defense. But in reality, my body wouldn’t move—couldn’t move.
With one hand, he yanked the mouse cord from the computer and I started struggling to get free, thinking that he couldn’t hold me with just one hand. But I was wrong. I dropped my body to the floor, trying to make myself heavy as he wrapped my wrists together with the cord.
He pulled me up and dragged me across the rug. My knees scraped and stung as I tried to pull back and escape from his grip. I screamed until my throat burned like fire, and his hands came up, muffling my mouth to silence me. “Shut up, Charlotte! You’re going to wake my wife,” My body shook violently from my sobs.
He threw me on Jase’s bed and I tried desperately to kick out my legs, but Mr. Delaney just straddled them, pressing all of his weight on me, sinking me deep into the mattress. Yanking my hands above my head, he looped the mouse cord against the metal frame of the bed. He quickly yanked my yoga pants down, and I kicked at him violently when one of my legs broke free. Slamming his fist into my inner thigh, I cried out as the pain overwhelmed me. I couldn’t move. Laughing, he tied one of my feet to the end of the bedpost with my own fucking pants and sat heavily on the other leg that was throbbing with pain.
Pulling up my shirt, he yanked down the cups of my bra, and sat over me, staring at my naked breasts. Then, his hands were on them, greedily touching what wasn’t his to touch, and I cried out a loud whimper.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” he yelled, smacking one of his hands hard against the side of my head. He continued squeezing and touching my breasts. His harsh touches made me want to curl into a fetal position and disappear. Melt away and crumble into dust—blow away and evaporate into the wind.
His eyes traveled down my trembling body to my panties, and he licked his disgusting lips. “You’re going to enjoy this, Charlotte. Just relax, okay?” he murmured, trailing his fingers hard against the skin of my belly and down over the cotton material of my underwear. Finding that special bump, he circled his thumb over it and brought his mouth down over my nipples and pulled at them with his lips.
My body started shaking in sheer horror when his lips and fingers started making things happen inside my body. This was a contradiction of what was happening to me. My head did not want his touches; my brain was screaming, “No!” But, the cotton material of my panties were slowly becoming damp from this man knowing exactly where to touch me, how to touch me. “Please, stop. Please. Please, stop,” I cried.
Bloodshot eyes looked into mine. His mouth traveled down, meeting his fingers. Watching me, he pulled my panties to the side and took a taste of what he was doing to me.
I closed my eyes tightly and let my head fall to the side so I couldn’t see him anymore. With the cord biting into my wrists, the resolve and fight drained out of me. I closed in on myself. It was bad enough I had to feel everything he was doing to me; I didn’t want to freaking watch it too. He spread me wide and ran his tongue along me, sucking and nipping at my flesh.
Hearing him pulling his zipper down, a new wave of terror shot through me. Through my tears, I watched as he held himself in his hands and rubbed his head around my opening.
“Please don’t,” I sobbed, trying to hip thrust him off me.
And then the weight of him pressed heavily against my chest, and an intense burn ripped up from between my legs as he thrust into me with long hard strokes. He buried his face in my neck and whispered into my ear. “You like this, don’t you?”
“No,” I sobbed through clenched teeth. My bound hands tightened into hard fists, and I struggled violently to pull them free. His weight was so heavy against my stomach and chest, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. I closed my eyes tighter to the monster above me—a real-life breathing, panting, moaning, grunting, disgusting monster that was hovering above me, slamming itself inside me, over and over again. My mind took me to a safe place, and I was four years old again, sitting in my tree house for the first time ever, staring in awe and wonder at the castle in a tree that my father built for me. I remembered pretending to be Rapunzel, locked away in her tower, waiting for someone to rescue me. It was always Joey who pretended to be my prince, as long as he got to use his plastic sword or his Ninja Turtle nun-chucks; he always came to rescue me. Fuck those perfect, untouched Disney princesses and all their bullshit happily-ever-afters. To hell with those piece-of-shit useless princes, who never come to get you and just end up dead.
Reality was a cold, hard bitch, slapping my f
ace. Mr. Delaney’s laughter echoed through my happy place, his dirty words, his vile voice, making my safe imagination crumble into a harsh reality before my eyes. “Yes, you like this, baby girl, you like when I fuck you,” he panted.
“No. I. Don’t.”
His raspy laugh puffed heat against my neck, “You’re fucking lying to me again. This feels so good for you, doesn’t it? I’m going to fuck you until you come so hard that you’ll want to come back here tomorrow.” Leaning his head back, he yanked me by the hair on the top of my head to force me to look at him. “Don’t close your eyes, Charlotte. Look at me while I fuck you.”
His hands clenched tightly at my esophagus, squeezing it until I did look at his crazed, wild eyes.
I didn’t want to watch his face over mine—the sweat dripping from his brow, the bared teeth and tensed muscles as he moved inside me. So, I just pictured my Jase and how he always looked at me like I was his treasure when we were together. The beautiful image of his face was the only thing I saw as this man, this sick, fucking, nasty, monster of a man, ravaged and ruined me. And here, I thought stupidly that nothing could ever erase the worst event that ever happened to me. Here, I thought whenever I closed my eyes, I would always relive the moment my best friend was beaten to death less than ten feet away from me, and I could do nothing to help him. Finally, I found something else to repeatedly see on the back of my eyelids—the laser blue eyes of the disgusting man as he took everything from me.
Dipping his hand between our bodies, he rubbed against me until that low tension built deep inside, and no matter how hard I fought it, how hard I fought him, my body still ended up defying me. That pressure built and built, until I couldn’t control the madness, and my body convulsed hard and pitifully around him. I wished I could bury my face and my shame, but I couldn’t. He was still grunting and pumping relentlessly against me. His heavy body jerked violently, and with one last, loud grunt, he exploded painfully inside me, spilling what felt like fire deep within me. I never felt that before, none of it. Jase and I were always so careful, using condoms and now…now I was violated, defiled, and utterly destroyed. I turned my head and vomited against the blue comforter beneath me. The horrid smell of it made me heave more, and I spit remnants of my breakfast across the top of the dark blue blanket.