“Stop doing that,” Tina says, yanking my hand away from the hem of my skirt, which I’m trying to pull down, wishing it had a couple extra inches on it. “You look so hot. A ton of guys are checking you out,” she tells me smugly, like it’s a personal compliment to her since she picked out my outfit. I do as she says, mainly because there’s not much I can do but try to ignore the appreciative glances we’re getting.
Tina and I have been roommates since we were freshmen. You would have thought that by now I would know she doesn’t take no for an answer, yet somehow I’m still surprised that I’ve let her talk me into coming to a frat party, something I would never usually agree to. When I announced I was ready to leave our apartment, Tina marched me into her room and insisted I get changed. She actually refused to leave until I did, which is how I ended up wearing her tiny leather skirt, which fits way more snugly than I’d like and ends at mid-thigh. She matched it with a black crop top, and although it keeps my chest covered with its high neckline, there’s about an inch of my stomach showing.
Despite the outfit and my initial discomfort, we’ve had a fun evening. We started off by going to watch one of her friends sing in one of the clubs downtown, and she turned out to be an awesome singer. Also, the club didn’t card, so we were able to have a couple cocktails while we were watching. After a while, I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, was having fun and had stopped feeling self-conscious in my outfit. I was ready to head home when Tina got a text about this party and insisted we stop by on the way back to our apartment.
I really don’t go to many frat parties. I went a couple times with Tina when we were freshmen and decided it wasn’t my scene, and I’ve barely been to any Southern U frat parties since. I go to more with Ryan at Cal State than I’ve ever gone to at Southern U.
This particular party seems like a wild one. The music is so loud I can barely hear Tina, and it’s completely packed, wall-to-wall students everywhere. When my eyes stray to the sofas, I see more than one couple getting completely indecent. I pull a face and turn away to follow Tina. I guess this is what happens when you show up after the party’s been in full swing for a couple hours. We weave our way through the crowds, trying to find her friends. Tina’s way more active in the Southern U party scene than I am, and as she tugs me by the hand through the crowd, I know she’s definitely partied here before and knows which direction to head in. My eyes scan the crowds, seeing if I recognize anyone. I spot a girl who was in one of my classes sophomore year, but Tina pulls me into the kitchen, where it’s marginally quieter and we actually have a little more space. I lean forward to tell her about the live sex exhibition I was seconds away from witnessing, but my thoughts stay stuck on my tongue as I spot some of the football team by the doors leading to the backyard. My face turns into a scowl. “You didn’t tell me this was a team party,” I groan.
She grins back at me. “’Cause I knew you wouldn’t come if I did!” she explains cheerfully. “Besides, I am not against hooking up with someone from the team, and I can’t do that if I never see them, can I?”
I roll my eyes and follow her farther into the room. Tina had a thing for hooking up with football players when we were freshmen, but then she started dating musicians, and I thought she’d gotten over it. Apparently I was wrong. I spot Mason by a large table in the middle of the room, which is loaded with every type of alcohol you can imagine. He glances our way, and surprise briefly crosses his face when he sees me, followed by a massive grin.
“Rebecca McKenzie, to what do we owe the honor?”
I roll my eyes at him as I make my way over.
“Seriously, we don’t see you at our parties very often.”
“Yeah, well, didn’t have much of a choice,” I say, glaring at Tina, who winks at Mason flirtatiously. I doubt anything would happen between them though; they’ve been there before, a couple years ago.
Mason’s gaze drops to my outfit. “Does Ryan know you’re wearing that?” he asks.
“Shut up,” I snap. He grins harder.
“Hey, just good to know you actually have legs,” he tells me jokingly. I narrow my eyes and step up next to him, shoving him with my shoulder as I do. Maybe this party wasn’t such a bad idea after all; I haven’t hung out with Mason in ages.
“Daaamn, McKenzie!” My eyes drift past Mason as Bernie walks up behind him and claps his hand on Mason’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on my body.
“Eyes up here, Matthews!” I tell him.
He lifts his head and gives me a smile—the one that makes girls all over campus drool all over him. “Can’t help it, McKenzie. You look fucking good.”
I shake my head but can feel myself blushing. Don’t get me wrong, I know I don’t look horrible or anything, but it still feels weird to get compliments.
“Dude, keep on looking at her like that, and Ryan will beat your ass the next time he’s in town,” Mason tells him, handing him a shot glass. Bernie laughs good-naturedly and winks, knocking back the shot and wrapping his arm around the blonde girl who’s followed him over. She’s giving me a dirty look, so I avert my gaze. It’s impossible not to like Bernie; it’s just a shame he indulges all the groupies that hang around the team.
Mason grabs a couple more plastic shot glasses and starts pouring tequila into them. He looks up at Tina and me. “You game?”
Ah, fuck it. I’ve got that buzz from drinking earlier in the night and a couple more might make this party more bearable, and it is Saturday night.
I nod and lick my hand before holding it out for him to dump some salt on. Tina does the same. He holds out the shot glasses and points out the lime he’s already chopped up. He gives us the nod, and all three of us lick the salt, down the tequila, and then bite into the lime wedges. I’m wincing from the burn of the alcohol but accept a second shot from Mason regardless. I don’t know what it is about tequila shots that I like; I think it’s the routine.
Mason whistles as I bite down into the lime for the second time, and he holds his hand up to give me a high-five. I grin and slap it. Mason starts hunting around, trying to find us a couple glasses for regular drinks, and my eyes scan the room, taking in all the girls who are here trying to capture the attention of the football team. Tina and I are getting some dirty looks just because we’re interacting with Mason and Bernie, which makes me smirk. I really don’t get the big deal with football players. I genuinely wouldn’t give a shit if Ryan never threw a ball again. What’s wrong with just being with a guy because of who they are? I’m about to announce my theory on football groupies to Tina when she leans her body into mine.
“Robbie Mulligan hasn’t stopped staring at you since you got here,” she whispers.
I pause and turn to see where she’s looking. Sure enough, there’s Robbie Mulligan, all six-feet plus of him, wearing a crisp white t-shirt and black jeans. It really is a shame he’s such an asshole; those good looks are a complete waste on him. He’s standing in the far corner, surrounded by a group of guys—some look like football players, and others look like your typical frat boys. Of course, there are also girls over there, lots and lots of girls. They’re all laughing and joking around him, but he’s not paying them any attention. His gaze is focused solely on me. Our eyes lock, and he holds my gaze for a moment before he pointedly runs his eyes up and down my body. It takes everything I have not to shudder. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he can bother me at all. When his eyes meet mine again, he cocks an eyebrow at me, almost daring me to approach him, but I quickly turn away, feeling very uncomfortable. I haven’t seen him since our argument a couple weeks ago. I saw him walking toward the food court one day and rapidly changed directions, and if I’d known he was going to be here, I definitely would not have come.
I accept another drink from Mason and down it quickly. I make small talk with Bernie and his blonde girl while Mason tells me all about his academic woes. Basically, he’s been partying too hard, and now he needs to get his grades up or he’ll be dropped from the team. I’m telling him to suck it up and actually study when Tina hears a song she loves and pulls me into another room where a makeshift dance floor has been made.
Usually I’d be the last person on the dance floor, but the alcohol I’ve had mixed with Tina’s energy loosens me up. Her energy is infectious, and soon I’m laughing along with her, jumping up and down and singing along to the music. Unlike a lot of the other girls on the dance floor, there’s nothing sexy about the way we’re moving. We’re having fun and laughing at ourselves as we drunkenly dance like idiots.
Mason and Bernie join us, twirling us around very ungracefully. Mason even attempts to dip me back like they do in the movies, and he nearly drops me on the floor. Because Mason and Bernie are on the floor, it suddenly gets crazy busy. Not only do the girls come out, but half their teammates do as well. It’s one big, hot, sweaty mess with all of us jumping up and down and banging into each other. Tina’s beaming at me, and I can’t help but grin back. Turns out, the party is pretty fun after all. I hardly ever get to party with Mason. He and his friends make me laugh, and when Mason attempts to breakdance, I almost fall over with laughter when Bernie starts beatboxing (unsuccessfully) next to him. Tina has to pull me over to the side so I don’t get crushed by everyone crowding in to watch the Bernie-and-Mason show. I’m grinning at Tina, knowing my face is probably all red and sweaty, and she laughs back at me. “I told you it would be fun.”
Suddenly the beat switches, and a slower song comes on. A guy who was dancing near Tina earlier appears at her side and takes her hand. I see Tina bite her lip, and her face lights up as she lets him lead her back into the middle of the dance floor. She smiles at me over her shoulder, and I wonder what I’ve missed. She clearly likes the guy, I can tell, and I watch with interest as he pulls her into his arms and starts to sway to the music. I suddenly miss Ryan—like I really, really miss him. Not for the first time this week, I wonder if it really is worth being this far away from him. Sure, I love Southern U and I love all my friends here, but I love him more. Spending so much time with him when I visited has made me realize that maybe he’s right; maybe after this year, I could consider transferring. The truth is, nobody makes me happier than Ryan, so why fight it?
I take one last look at Tina and see that Mason and Bernie have also found willing partners and are dancing slowly with them; in fact, Bernie’s partner looks like she’s grinding all over him. They’ll probably head out soon and find some privacy. I decide to go call Ryan. I know he’s already home; he went for a few drinks earlier in the evening, but I think he was tired from practice and decided to have an early night. I decide to give Tina a bit of time with this new guy and chat with Ryan before he goes to sleep. I’m just about to turn around and leave the floor when a hand grips my hip, pulling me back into a hard body. I don’t know what it is that makes me do it—probably the alcohol, probably being surrounded by so many couples who look so happy, probably the fact that I’m really missing Ryan—but I allow myself to lean back into the body, just for a second, enjoying the feel of arms around me before I abruptly remember it’s not Ryan. I quickly start to move away, but the grip on my hip tightens and the opposite arm wraps around my waist, pressing me back.
A face leans over my shoulder and hot breath hits my neck. “Just go with it,” is whispered in my ear. Robbie Mulligan—of course.
His words immediately sober me up. I stiffen in his arms and scramble to push his hands off me, stepping away in irritation. I can’t believe I let him hold me, even if it was just for a minute. My skin crawls knowing he touched me, and I can’t stand the smug look in his eyes as I turn to face him. He didn’t miss the fact that just for a few seconds, I didn’t push him off me. The arrogant asshole probably thinks I knew it was him all along, thinks I actually enjoyed it. “Do not touch me again,” I hiss then walk away, ignoring the smug look in his eyes.
My thighs are aching by the time I reach the third floor of the frat house. The drinks I’d downed earlier in the night were pressing against my bladder and the bathrooms on the first floor had a ridiculously long line, so I headed upstairs to try to find an available bathroom. I couldn’t even find the bathroom on the second floor; I tried a couple doors, but when I accidently walked in on a girl kneeling down in front of a guy, I quickly closed the door and rushed away. That’s when I noticed that there was a third floor, and I quickly walked upstairs, praying my bladder would hold out until I found a bathroom.
The music is deafening, even up here, and that’s when I remember walking past several speakers on the way up here; the music is booming out on every floor of the party. I glance around the hallway I’m on. It’s pretty narrow and cramped up here, and there are only two doors on either side of the hallway. At the end, there’s an open door, and I practically squeal with glee when I realize it’s a vacant bathroom. I hurry over to it, stumbling slightly in my drunken state, and slam the door shut behind me.
After I’ve seen to business, I check out my reflection in the mirror. My face is flushed from all the dancing, and my eyes are wide from the alcohol I’ve had. Bits of my hair have started to fall from the messy ponytail I threw it in, and my eyeliner is smudged. I bend down to grab my purse, and when I stumble again, I vow not to drink any more tonight and instead stick to water. In fact, I might just go home. I’ll see if Tina’s ready, and if she’s not, I’ll just get an Uber on my own. I grab my phone from my bag and call Ryan. He doesn’t answer, which means he’s probably asleep, so instead I send him a sappy text, telling him how much I miss him, which is really just telling him how drunk I am. I never get sappy with him unless I’ve had a drink, and he’s well aware of that.
I grab some tissue and wipe under my eyes, getting rid of the black smudges, then pull my hair out of its messy ponytail and retie it. I give myself one last onceover in the mirror, satisfied that I don’t look quite so disheveled, and turn to leave the bathroom.
I freeze in irritation at the sight that greets me when I open the door.
Robbie freaking Mulligan.
He’s leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on me like he owns the damn place.
I scowl at him but his eyes zero in on my stomach, and when I glance down I see that my top has ridden up slightly and is showing a couple more inches of my stomach than I intended. I quickly pull it down, and that’s when he looks up at me. I don’t like the look on his face; it’s predatory, and I’m not in the mood for it.
“Did you follow me up here?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer, just stares back at me, his eyes flicking over my body, always coming back to my face before they start to look me over again.
“Robbie!” I demand. “Did you follow me up here?”
He finally stops his perusal of my body. “What do you think?” he asks quietly.
“That’s fucking creepy, do you know that?!” I tell him.
Again, he doesn’t answer, so I roll my eyes and step forward to go past him, but he pushes himself off the wall and steps in front of me.
“You look beautiful, McKenzie.”
I scowl at him. It’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to me. Usually it’s all about how hot I am or how much he wants to fuck me, how good he’d be in bed if we ever hooked up, never a straight-up compliment. That’s fine with me, because I don’t want one from him. The last thing I want is for Robbie Mulligan to think I’m beautiful.
“Go away,” I tell him.
He takes a step toward me. “Did you wear that for me?” My mouth gapes open at the sheer audacity of him, and he smirks at my reaction. The guy’s unbelievable. “Oh, come on. Don’t play hard to get, Becca. Everyone knew this was a football party. Why’d you think it’s so busy?”
“Your ego is insane, do you know that?”
His gaze drops to my body again. “Did you wear that for me?” he asks again, his voice low.
I can’t even be bothered to argue with him. I should tell him I had no idea about this party and just came along with Tina at the last minute. I should tell him I wouldn’t even file a fingernail for him. I should tell him the mere sight of him disgusts me, but I don’t. I’ve told him variations of all these things before, but it never does any good. He never listens, and I’m over trying to get through his thick skull. He can think whatever he wants; I have better things to do with my time.
I go to walk past him, but the alcohol has made me unsteady and I stagger a bit. Robbie takes that opportunity to reach out and grab me. Usually I’d be grateful for somebody stopping me from falling, but not him; I don’t want him touching me. I try to step back from him, but he doesn’t let go. His right hand slides around my waist, and his left hand firmly grips my hip. I glance down at our bodies, which are only inches apart, unsure how he’s managed to get me into this position so swiftly, and then he gives a quick tug so I’m pressed up against him.
My face jerks up to his, and he’s smirking down at me. I send him the dirtiest look I can muster then bring both my hands to his chest and push myself away from him. “Get off me.”
He doesn’t budge at all; if anything, he wraps his arm tighter around my waist and pulls me against him. I’m mortified when I feel him hard against my stomach.
“Jesus, Robbie! Get the fuck off me,” I demand again, pushing him away from me, but he doesn’t move an inch. The muscles of his chest under my hands barely shift as I try my hardest to get away.
He chuckles to himself, but it’s not soft and gentle; it’s mocking and insulting, like he knows he’s stronger than me and there’s nothing I can do to make him move.
I lean my upper body back, hating that it’s pushing my lower body against him just ever so slightly.
“Get. Off me. Now,” I demand through gritted teeth.
He chuckles down at me and I open my mouth, ready to fucking scream in his face if I have to, when he quickly lowers his head and captures my mouth with his. I’m so surprised, I just freeze, just for a couple seconds as I feel his tongue force its way into my mouth and start to sweep across my own. I can taste the liquor on his tongue and his breath in my nose. It tastes like he drank a whole bottle of liquor. Then it’s like a light goes on in my head, and I realize Robbie fucking Mulligan is kissing me! I rip my mouth away from him and reach up to slap him across the face, but his reflexes are too quick—he grips my wrist in his hand and forces it back down beside my body. I go to slap him with my other hand, but he catches that too and again forces it down beside me.
“You bastard,” I snarl at him, contempt clear in my voice. I’m suddenly desperate to brush my teeth, desperate to get the taste of him out of my mouth. “How dare you do that to me?”
He just smirks back down at me, his grip on my wrists tightening even more. “You enjoyed that.”
“If you ever do that to me again, I swear I’ll bite your tongue off.”
Mulligan lets out a humorless laugh and pushes me up against the wall. He’s so quick, I’m pressed against it before I even know what’s happening. “I’ve been waiting years to do that,” he tells me.
“Get your hands off me right now,” I demand. I go to raise my right knee, aiming to kick him in the groin, but his body is pressed up against me, forcing his weight onto me and stopping me from being able to move.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped playing hard to get?”
My mouth falls open in disbelief, and he takes the opportunity to attack my mouth again, pressing up against me, sweeping his tongue into my mouth. I try to move my head to the side, try to get his lips off me, but his head turns with mine, pressing painfully against me, stopping me from breaking the contact. Then, when my brain finally snaps into action, I try to bite down on his tongue, his lips, anything, but he’s pushed his mouth so hard against me that I can’t close it. When he finally breaks away, we’re both breathless, and my mouth feels swollen from the rough kisses. I again try to push him off me, but he holds my arms firmly down by my side, his grip so tight I swear he could snap them in two if he wanted to.
“GET OFF ME. RIGHT NOW!” I scream in his face and it sounds loud to my ears, but the noise from the speakers drowns out most of it. I have never been so angry in my entire life. How dare he think he can touch me like this?
“You want this,” he hisses down at me.
“No, I fucking don’t,” I hiss back at him, venom dripping from my words, and when I look up at his face, I don’t just feel angry—I feel uneasy. His brown eyes have turned practically black, and there isn’t a hint of warmth in them. They’re cold and determined.
“Robbie, please,” I start, using a different tactic. “Tina’s waiting for me downstairs. So’s Mason. I have to go.” I try to turn and walk away, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen. If anything, it gets tighter. “Robbie, please,” I say again. “They’ll be looking for me.”
“They’re not looking for you,” he tells me, and I realize he’s probably right. Mason was dancing with whatever girl he grabbed on the dance floor, and Tina was with that guy she was all smitten over.
We stare at each other for a minute, and I realize my heart is beating loudly in my chest, only it’s not from excitement or adrenalin. He looks down at me, not saying a word, and then suddenly, it’s like he’s made up his mind. He hauls my body against his, reaches to his left, and opens the door I hadn’t even realized was beside me. He pushes it open and shoves me ahead of him, into the room. I whirl around just as he’s locking the door behind me.
My eyes dart to the door and then back up to his face. “What are you doing?” My voice is quieter than it was outside. I don’t understand how this has happened, how I’ve ended up in a locked bedroom on the top floor of a frat house when there’s a raging party going on downstairs. My butt bangs into something, and I realize I’ve been backing away from him without knowing it, subconsciously trying to put some distance against us. I glance down to see what it is—a desk—but that’s a mistake, because it means I’ve taken my eyes off him. When I glance up, he’s striding toward me.
“No,” I start, shaking my head as he gets closer. “No!”
He’s on me in a second. He grips my hips, picks me up, and sets me on the desk behind me.
“Robbie, no,” I say again. For the first time, real panic is setting in on me. What is he doing? How is this happening? How have I gotten myself into this situation? This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.
I need to calm down. I’m panicking. I’m exaggerating. He just wants to make out, and eventually he’s going to get it through his thick skull that I’d rather tear out my own eyes than do that.
“You want this,” he hisses, grabbing hold of both my hands—which are trying to push him away—and forcing them behind my back. Before I have time to think, he’s on my neck, planting wet, messy kisses there as I try to move back from him. I try so hard, but he’s strong. He’s so, so strong, and I’m genuinely scared about where this might lead. No! He isn’t about to do what I think he’s going to do. There’s no way he’s about to do that.
“Robbie, please. Please stop.” My body is trying to move away from him, jerking away from his touch, but I realize he’s so much bigger than me as his body looms down on me.
“You need to stop playing hard to get, Becca,” he mutters against my neck. He lets go of one of my wrists and grips my left breast in his hand, squeezing it painfully. Shit, shit, shit. Robbie Mulligan is touching me. Robbie Mulligan is touching my body.
“Robbie! Don’t tou—stop! Please, please just stop.” My voice has gotten quieter as I squirm, trying to get away from him as I realize that he might not stop. I push that thought away. No. No, he’s just drunk and he wants some action, that’s all. I happen to be the girl that’s here, but he’ll snap out of it in a minute. He’ll stop any second now and back off.
“You want this,” he says against my neck again, and his teeth drag painfully against my shoulder, biting at the skin. “I know you want this,” he repeats over and over, like it’s his mantra, like he actually believes it.
He lets go of my other wrist, and I feel a moment of relief as I reach out and push him away from me, but it’s short-lived. He doesn’t move an inch; his body is made up of muscle after muscle, and I’m reminded of when Ryan pins me down—never painfully, never to hurt me, but when he does, I know I can’t get away, and Robbie has the same build as Ryan. The difference is that I never want to get away from Ryan. Robbie’s hands go to my skirt, and to my horror, he starts to push it up over my thighs. “No,” I whisper. “Robbie, no, no, no. Please stop. Please don’t do this.”
He doesn’t stop; he doesn’t even halt. When I look up at his face, his eyes are so focused on my legs and getting the skirt up that I’m genuinely terrified about how this is going to end. I reach up for his face and push it away, thinking that at least I can do that; at least I can move his head, and it might snap some sense into him. He just moves his head out of my reach, and when it comes back, I rake my index finger down his cheek, digging the nail into his skin. He hisses in pain, and when he finally drags his eyes away from my legs, I’m horrified by what I see in them. It’s not the look I’ve seen when he’s tried to rile me in class or around campus; it’s not even the determined look he had outside in the hallway. No, now there’s nothing there at all, just cold, passive, dark eyes that have already made up their mind.
Tears well in my own eyes, and he roughly grips my ass and pulls me up slightly, pushing the skirt up so it sits around my hips. My legs are kicking at him, but it doesn’t do any good. He doesn’t stop, and I am so weak, I can’t get him away from me. I can’t stop this.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper over and over. “Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.”
His fingers reach for my knees, and they dig so painfully into my flesh that I gasp out loud as he starts to pry them open. I try to get them locked together, twisting my ankles together, doing everything I can to stop my legs from opening to him, but it doesn’t work. I can’t do anything. I’m utterly defenseless against him as his hands inch farther and farther up the inside of my thighs, forcing me to open to him, digging into the soft flesh there. I’m in so much shock I don’t even feel it. Even though it must hurt, even though I know it does, even though I know his fingers are digging so hard they must be leaving bruises on my pale flesh, I don’t feel it. It’s like I’ve left my body and am watching this scene from above—that’s how utterly insane this is to me right now.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my neck. “Stop fighting it.” I realize my legs are now just limply open, no longer trying desperately to stay closed. I know I can’t fight him, I know he’s going to do this, but tears still drip down my face as his fingers go to the zipper on his jeans, unzip them, and pull down his underwear. I don’t look. I can’t look at him. My eyes stray to his chest, his arms, the rest of the room, anywhere but his penis, which is hard and ready. My hands still try to push him away, my arms still grapple with him, and my voice still repeats the words I’ve been saying again and again and again.
“Don’t. Please don’t, Robbie. Please don’t.” I’m begging now. My voice is desperate, broken, but somehow I know he can’t hear me. He’s not even listening to me. Robbie is in his own head, and he’s decided that he’s doing this. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
He reaches out behind me and grips my ass. His hands are on the bare skin of my butt, dipping under the fabric of my underwear, and the tears start coming harder now. This is really happening. Robbie Mulligan is touching me, touching me intimately, and there’s nothing I can do about it. His grip tightens on my butt, and he hauls my body forward, my open legs making it easy for him to step in and rest his hips against me.
I’m shaking my head now. “No, no, no, no. Don’t, don’t do this. Please, please don’t do this.”
He either doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care. He gives no indication at all that he’s heard me, and I want to throw up. I actually feel my stomach churning, and I want to throw up.
“This is what you want,” he tells me, but I have a feeling it’s really what he’s telling himself, which makes me think he can hear me after all. “This is what you’ve always wanted.”
With that he reaches between us, shoves my underwear to the side, and roughly drags a finger down my most intimate area—an area that is bone dry from horror and fear and disgust. He thrusts forward, entering me with one big, painful, agonizing thrust.
I’m sobbing now, full-on messy sobs, as he thrusts into me again and again. I stop fighting him at this point. I just want it to be over. I want it to stop, and if that means he has to finish, then so be it; I just want it to be over as quickly as possible. A loud, guttural sob escapes from my throat with every painful thrust, and finally, after what feels like a lifetime, with a groan of his own, he stills against me, holding my body against his, resting his head on my shoulder.
He stays like that for almost a minute, a whole minute where I don’t breathe in fear of what he’ll do next. Please tell me it’s over. Please tell me it’s done. Then he stands up, pulls out of me, and turns away, tucking himself back into his jeans. I slump against the cold wall behind me, all energy completely drained. My mind flashes back over the last ten minutes, wondering how this happened, how something so horrible could happen to me, could happen so suddenly. I reach up to wipe the tears from my face and close my legs, trying to ignore the screaming pain from my lower body, which has just been violated, has just been attacked…my body, which couldn’t stop his assault.
By the time I’ve managed to pull myself together, the loud, shaking sobs have finally stopped. I wipe the tears from my face with a hand that is shaking so hard, it takes three attempts for me to get it anywhere near my tear-soaked cheeks. I think Robbie’s left, but when I look toward the door, he’s standing there, watching me impassively like nothing’s even happened, like he didn’t just destroy my life.
I stare back at him, and he’s the one who looks away first.
“Come on, Becca,” he says quietly. “You can’t stay in here.”
For some reason his words make sense to me. I can’t stay in here. I can’t stay in here where he did this terrible thing to me. I need to go. I need to go home and lock the door behind me. I need to get into my own bed and pray this was all just a terrible dream and none of it really happened.
I push myself off the table and pull down my skirt, which miraculously doesn’t even seem to have a single rip in it. I tug on my top, trying to pull that down too. I hate the thought that so much skin is on show, hate that this outfit could have given him ideas and gave him easier access to my body. I stumble toward the door where he waits for me, only this time I’m not stumbling from the alcohol—I’ve never felt so sober in my life. I’m stumbling because my legs seems to have forgotten how to work, and I’m shaking so hard, it’s difficult to put one foot in front of the other.
He opens the door as I approach and I shrink away from him, desperate not to be anywhere near him, certain I’ll die if he ever touches me again. I hear the door close behind me and pray he’s stayed in there, but then I feel him behind me, feel his big, powerful, unyielding presence, and I know he’s only a step away. This knowledge propels me forward, and I walk as quickly as I can to the stairs.
“Whoa!” Two hands reach out to steady me, and I flinch away in horror, desperate not to have anyone touch me.
“Becca? Becca, are you okay?” Two pairs of wide hazel eyes stare back at me, and I look up to see the freshman redhead Mason introduced me to. Lennon? Leroy? Liam? Liam. I think Liam was his name, and right now he’s looking down at me in concern. “Becca?” His voice is gentler this time.
“She’s fine.” Robbie’s firm voice comes from behind me. He’s far, far too close, and I see Liam’s eyes flash behind me in surprise before coming back to me, concern etched all over his face.
“Becca?” His voice is soft and so, so sweet. It makes me want to cry all over again. “Should I get Mason? He’s just downstairs.”
“She’s fine, Coppell,” Robbie repeats coldly. “Stay out of our goddamn business.”
I see his eyes widen in surprise as he takes in Robbie’s words and their implication. Then his gaze sweeps over me. He must see the skirt that isn’t quite in place, the top that is slightly askew, the hair that is completely disheveled and falling down around my face, but his face doesn’t morph into a smirk like I expect it to—no, his eyes narrow in concern, and he takes a step closer to me. I flinch away yet again. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Coppell.” Robbie’s voice has a warning it in.
“What happened to your face, man?”
I hear his words and look to Robbie in confusion. I see the small scratch I managed to make on his cheek when I was trying to get him to stop.
“I have to go,” I manage to whisper, and it’s true—I have to get as far away from here as possible. I turn and run as quickly down the stairs as my platform shoes will allow me, practically tripping in my haste to get away. I burst out the front door, down the steps, and turn to the nearest bush. With a loud retch, I bend at the waist and empty the contents of my stomach all over the ground behind it.