CHAPTER 23
I haven’t said his name in years, not even inside my mind. It’s like summoning him, and every bad thing that happened to me while I was with him, with Dean. I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my hands.
As I ran down the front steps, I felt Peter’s eyes on me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I already ruined my life, I can’t ruin his. By the time I get to the bottom of the massive staircase and turn back, Peter is gone. I never heard him leave, never heard the click of the doors. He left without a sound. It makes me want to cry more. My vision is blurry. I can’t see a damn thing.
Yanking a tissue from my book bag, I fumble it and nearly drop everything on the ground. A few pens and Millie’s pepper spray rolls out the side. I sweep them back in, not paying attention. I’m shaking. Every ounce of me wants to fall down on the grass and cry—cry because I’m too afraid to move forward, cry because I can’t get over my past. I swallow hard and glance back up at the steps. Peter was willing to try.
But his pain is different, I think. She didn’t tie him to a seat and scratch his skin with his knife. She didn’t press harder to see if he cried. She didn’t use her strength to take what she wanted. She didn’t do things like that. His pain is different. It has to be.
I can’t relive those nightmares. That’s what being with Peter will do. I take a few breaths and steady myself. I drove over to this side of campus and need to get back to the dorm. I don’t want glassy red eyes when I walk inside. Everyone will want to know what happened.
After wiping my face again, I start down the sidewalk. The sky is so dark that it’s nearly black. There’s no moon tonight. The few trees rustle in the breeze. There are some guys ahead, toward the opposite end of the street, next to the dorm. Most are moving toward the parking lot and getting into their cars. Some are in the field next to the building, playing football. A guy with no shirt on launches the ball. I watch it streak across the sky, and it isn’t until my gaze follows the ball back down that I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I turn to see who’s watching me, but there isn’t anyone.
It seems as though I’m overly paranoid lately. I glance around, and my eyes go through the faces, most of which don’t even realize I’m there. They’re too far away, playing under the floodlights. I’m on the sidewalk in the shadows between lamp posts, two parking lots away from any of them.
Rubbing the hand over the back of my neck, I keep walking. My car is across the street. When I arrived, the main lot was full. I glance behind me one more time. I wonder where Peter went. Regret washes over me. I didn’t want to hurt him. God, the look on his face when I said ‘no’ was too much. I reach into my bag, feeling around for my keys, as I cross the street. When I’m out of the crosswalk, I hop onto the sidewalk and head into the parking lot. I’m several rows back, but it’s fairly empty tonight. Where are my keys? I pull my bag in front of me and shift things around, trying to find them. Everything is out of place from dropping the bag.
“You look as beautiful now as you did the day you ran away.”
That voice. My spine straightens. Every little hair on my neck stands on end. I nearly drop my bag as I look around for him. My fight or flight kicks in and my feet want to run, but fear holds me in place. It can’t be Dean. Why would he be here? But it is him. It’s the same voice from my nightmares. It’s a voice that I’ll never forget.
I don’t find my keys. I’m suddenly aware of how much air I’m breathing, and the way my skin is prickling. Little bumps form on my arms when I see Dean standing against the side of the building. My chest constricts. I have no words. I want to run, but for some reason I don’t move.
He pushes off the wall and walks toward me. “Damn fine way to say hello. Hello, Sidney,” he says stopping in front of me. “Then, you say ‘hello, Dean.’”
I manage to find my voice. “What are you doing here?” It’s Texas. I’m thousands of miles from home, hidden in a little town in a vast state.
Dean gives me a smile that makes my blood run cold. It’s the same look he had in his eye before he—
I push away the memories, but they won’t be tamed. I’m suddenly there again. It’s four years ago. Dean has a knife on my thigh. I can’t make a sound or he’ll cut me. I lay perfectly still, letting him use me however he wants. Another memory flies forward, from when the tiniest whimper left my lips. I feel the pain sear my neck like he just did it. There were too many times. I shiver and try to force them back, but I can’t, not with Dean standing there.
“Nice way to say hello. You were always a bit of bitch, weren’t you?” His eyes drop to my breasts as he speaks. They linger there too long before returning to my face. “Just the way I like it.” He steps toward me. He touches my forearm, runs his finger along my skin. I choke, but it’s silent. I make no sound because that’s what he conditioned me to do.
We’re standing a few spaces away from my car. My book bag is hanging off my shoulder. No one is nearby. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t, is replaying over and over again in my mind, but I say nothing. I’m frozen.
Dean’s hands touch my skin lightly, trailing a sickening path up to my neck. He pushes my chin to the side and lifts the chain around my neck. He grins. “It scarred.” He looks into my eyes and grins. “Fun times, huh, Colleli?” He drops the chain and steps back.
Dean strokes his chin and shakes his head. “Damn shame we don’t have time right now. I’d love to fuck the way we used to, but I promised your brother that we’d meet up with him as soon as I found you.” Dean grins at me. His eyes sweep over my body and it feels as if I’ve been raped all over again. He pulls a phone from his pocket and texts someone.
I find my brain and what little sense of self-preservation I have left. “My brother’s here?”
Dean nods. “Yeah. Some family shit is going on. We’re here to take you home.”
My mouth opens and I’m shaking my head. Why is that worse than seeing Dean? Having Dean and Sam drag me home is unthinkable. “No, you’re not. I live here, asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.” I push past him, trying to get to my car.
Dean’s hand shoots out. He grips my arm hard and jerks me back. I’m standing right in front of him. “I’m afraid that you don’t have a say in the matter, but I like the spine you grew while you’ve been down here.” He yanks me, turning me around so my back is to him. “It looks great with that tight little ass.”
I kick at him, and try to pull my arm back. “Let go of me! I’m not going with you.”
Dean laughs. His grip on my arm tightens. “How sweet. You think you get a say in this. Well, you don’t. Get in the fucking truck.” I nearly fall over when I look up and see where he’s leading me. It’s the Explorer he used to drive, the same one where he did all those things to me. My knees go weak. I fall. My bag hits the ground next to me and the contents spill out. Pens, pencils, and papers go everywhere. The wind takes the pages and blows them down the street like they’re snowflakes.
My eyes are too wide. My lips are parted. The voice in my head keeps telling me to scream, but I can’t. I have no air. It’s as if someone hit me in the back with a board.
“Get up and get into the goddamn truck before I throw you in.” Dean pulls at me, but I’m dead weight slumped on the ground in a heap. He pulls harder, twisting my arm. I yelp and look up at him. “I’ll break it. I swear to God. Get up and get in the truck.”
I don’t move.
Dean twists my arm behind my back, hard. A scream rips from my throat. The pain that is shooting through me and into my shoulder is blinding. My gaze falls to the ground. Dean is talking, saying things that I can’t hear. He releases me, but the fire inside my bones doesn’t stop burning.
Dean pushes me with his shoe, yells at me. “Shut the fuck up. People are going to get the wrong idea.” Dean pulls me up by my other arm and drags me. When he’s nearly there, he lifts me onto his shoulder like I’m a child. He’s going to throw me inside.
I freak out. My brain snaps and goes Cujo on his ass. My teeth sink into his shoulder and I bite down. His shirt tastes of blood and I bite down harder. Dean screams, cursing, and throws me. My back hits the ground first. White spots form around the edges of my vision, making it hard to see. Unbelievable pain shoots up my arm and into my shoulder. It’s a million times worse than before.
I’m screaming. I don’t even know what I’m saying, but I start repeating, “Leave me alone!” over and over again. When Dean tries to pick me up, I kick at him. My foot connects with his face.
“You fucking whore!” Dean is holding his cheek, growling at me. “I’m going to make you pay for that.” He’s coming at me again. I stay down and kick at him. Dean dodges my feet and manages to grab my ankle. He drags me toward his truck. I twist around and try to crawl away. The asphalt shreds my palms to bits.
“Stop! Let me go!” I’m screaming. I’m trying to fight back. I am not getting in that truck. I manage to twist my hips quickly and roll onto my back again. I kick hard and my heel jabs him in the balls.
As soon as Dean’s hand is off my ankle, I roll over and crawl back to my bag. I find my keys, but before I can get up and run to my car, he hits me. Dean’s hand strikes the side of my face. The keys go flying. I’m sobbing and screaming. Snot and blood are mixing together. Dean is holding my face so hard that I can’t pull away. My teeth are biting into my cheek drawing blood. I taste it inside my mouth.
Dean’s brow is covered in sweat. He hisses in my face, “Get into the truck and I’ll make this easy on you. Keep fighting back and your ride home will be much less enjoyable. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” One hand is on my face, holding me tight. The other slips between my legs, over my jeans, and he grabs me.
Instinct takes over. I’m not the same girl I was four years ago. I’d rather die than let him touch me again. I slam my head into his nose and hear it crack. Blood gushes everywhere. Dean growls so deeply that he sounds more animal than human.
I’m running. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I run back toward the English building. Halfway down the sidewalk I run straight into Peter. My body slams into his. He steadies me, holding my shoulders and I cry out.
Peter’s eyes narrow and a look of fury spreads across his face when he notices the blood. It’s everywhere. “What happened?”
“He’s here. Behind me in the parking lot.” I can barely breathe.
Peter drops his things and pulls out his cell, punches in a number, but the call doesn’t connect fast enough. He’s looking around. He doesn’t see them, but I do. I stiffen in Peter’s arms. Sam and Dean are walking towards us. Peter is dressed in his suit pants and white button down shirt. His jacket is draped over his bag. He doesn’t look threatening.
Sam and Dean grin at each other when they see me with him. Peter steps in front of me. “What’s going on? Which one of you did this to her?”
Sam throws my bag at my feet. “Cut it out, Sidney. It’s time to go. Pick up your shit and get in the truck.”
“I’m not going with you.” I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“It’s not an option,” Sam says, his eyes flashing a warning at me.
“She isn’t going with you,” Peter repeats.
Sam steps toward Peter. “I’m her brother. I drove down here to get her and bring her home. Our mom needs her. I guess she didn’t recognize Dean.” He looks over at his friend and laughs. “She must have thought you were a mugger or something. She beat the shit out of you, man. Sid didn’t even recognize her old boyfriend.” He turns back to Peter and acts like what just occurred is normal and could have happened to anyone. Sam holds out his hand, gesturing for me to come. “Let’s get going. It’s a long drive back.”
“You’re her brother?” Peter asks. Sam looks at me and then nods. “And you’re her ex?” Dean is holding his shirt to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Yeah, that’s what he said, shithead.” Dean says it to Peter, but he’s staring at me like he intends to rip me apart once we’re alone.
Peter’s voice is so deep that it rumbles. His shoulders tense. He only says two words. “Leave. Now.”
Dean laughs and looks at Sam, and then back at Peter. “Or what?” Dean steps in front of Sam and keeps talking. He’s so close to Peter. “You’ll write me up? Any chance you have a little crush on my girl? Because she is my girl, Sidney will always be mine.” He grins at me and my insides go cold. “Did she tell you that we used to be an item? Did she tell you that she likes some messed up shit?”
Peter doesn’t respond. His hands are at his sides. The only reason that I can tell that he’s upset is the way his fingers twitch every few seconds, as if he’s.
Dean gazes past Peter, and gives me a look that makes me sick inside. “Or did you already do her?”
Peter doesn’t answer.
Sam is annoyed, “Cut it out, Dean. I don’t want to hear what shit my sister does in bed.” He snaps his fingers at me like I’m a dog. “Come. Now.”
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Dean smirks and presses his finger tips to Peter’s chest. “Or are you just pissed because she won’t sleep with you.” He pushes Peter again. Harder this time.
Peter moves. In two steps he’s behind Dean with his arm around his throat. Peter’s hissing in Dean’s ear, saying things too low for me to hear. Dean claws at his throat. He swings his elbow back, but doesn’t do it hard enough to make Peter let go.
“What the fuck?” Sam yells. He gives me a look that I recognize all too well—this is your fault. Sam throws a punch and hits Peter in the side. Peter lets go of Dean. Sam and Dean go at him.
I scream, bellowing like a banshee. I can’t stop. The players down field stop and look toward us.
The three guys are fighting, but it seems as though Peter is getting overpowered. I don’t know what to do. There are a few guys from the field hurrying towards us. Peter lands a hit on Sam’s face. Something cracks. Sam drops back, yelling. Dean doesn’t stop. His knife, that fucking knife, is in his hand. Peter’s eyes lock on the knife and he backs away. Sam moves and is telling Dean to put it away, but Dean doesn’t. He jabs it forward, narrowly missing Peter.
No, no, no. My bag is on the sidewalk. I see it, that silver pen, the one Millie gave me this morning. I race toward it and pick it up. I’m so nervous that I can barely line up the cap with the mark on the side. It isn’t a pen. It’s her pepper spray. I shake the thing as I rush back toward Dean and Peter.
Peter sees me coming. I spray my brother. He screams and rubs his eyes, cursing at me. When Dean turns to see what’s happened, the stream of liquid hits him in the face. Dean yells, clawing at his face and doubles over, dropping the knife. I kick it into the drainage ditch and tug at Peter.
“Take me home. Now.” I grab my bag, Peter grabs his, and we’re running toward his car. The field full of guys sees us run past. They don’t say anything. I recognize Mark. He sees my face, the blood. His eyes widen before they narrow. He pulls out his phone. I see him talking as we pull away.