The night of Ashland’s high school graduation party is when she believes her fate with Jim was sealed. Things hadn’t really changed much after the night he’d gotten her blackout drunk. He continued to play his games, giving her just enough of his attention to leave her wanting more.
Before the party, she took extra care in getting ready—curling her hair, putting on makeup, and even wearing a dress. Jim had called her beautiful, and she wanted to live up to his compliment—to feel worthy of it. He never showed up, though. At least not until the very end when it was late, and she was drunk, again.
She’s not entirely sure how he ended up driving her home that night—why she hadn’t simply stayed the night at her sister’s. Maybe it was an idea that he planted in her head or maybe it was her finding an excuse to spend time with him. Either way, it’s a decision that will forever haunt her.
He was quiet during the drive, but she never expected anything was off—that he was planning something—until the Jeep came to a stop and she realized she wasn’t home. She asked him what they were doing, why he hadn’t taken her home, the fear in her veins audible in her voice.
“I thought we could talk,” he said.
The conversation started out like many before, him asking how she was doing and how things were going with Allen. When things took a turn, she couldn’t say for sure, there might have been a question about her having an interest in any other boys. All of that is a bit of a blur, but the next part is crystal fucking clear.
“Tell me why you don’t think you deserve better than the likes of Allen,” Jim said.
She shrugged, turning her head away and looking out the passenger side window as her eyes began to water. He reached over and placed his hand under her chin, urging her to look at him again.
“I want you to tell me all the things you don’t like about yourself, and I’ll explain how those things actually make you special and beautiful.”
Of course, she tried to refuse. The last thing she wanted to do was point out all her flaws, not to him or anyone. But he wasn’t letting it go, and she merely wanted the conversation to be over.
“I’m too tall,” she said.
“That’s a good thing, no guy likes bending down to kiss a girl.”
“I’m too pale,” she said.
“Your skin is incredible, you have a glowing complexion.”
“My eyes, I hate my eyes. They’re tiny and brown,” she said.
With that one, he leaned in closer, cupping her face with his hands as he looked into her eyes. “Your eyes are beautiful. You. Are. Beautiful.”
He sighed as his own eyes closed and he rested his forehead on hers. She remembers the way his breath felt as it brushed against her lips. Her heart was in her stomach by the time he opened them again, his stare screaming out his intentions. He’d said all the things she always longed to hear from a guy and was looking at her in a way that no one ever had before, but she knew the moment was too intimate. He was her sister’s boyfriend, what he was doing was wrong and she needed to stop it, but she froze.
“You should know by now that my words are sincere. After the night at your house and my party last week, you should know how I feel about you—how badly I want to kiss you right now.”
He’d admitted it—said the words out loud, and it lit a fire under Ashland. She pulled out of his embrace, crushing her body against the passenger side door as she shook her head. She told him he shouldn’t be saying or thinking that because it was wrong, but being the master manipulator, he quickly twisted things until she felt bad for her reaction.
He told her she was right. “You must think I’m a horrible person,” he said. When she tried to deny it, he told her she should, that he felt horrible for wanting to kiss her—for trying to kiss her. “We’ve grown so close and I care about you so much, my feelings for you are all mixed up.”
As much as she hated it, that was something she could understand. The way she felt about him was complicated at best, completely screwed up at worst. Before she knew it, she found herself comforting him and excusing his appalling behavior—telling him it was okay, that she understood.
This is where he tested her, and she failed. He asked if she wanted him to tell her sister about everything that happened between them. There are no words to describe the sheer panic and utter dread that filled her in that moment. The thought of her sister knowing, of her hurting because of Ashland, was more than she could stand. A big part of her feared that she’d blame Ashland for all of it, maybe because she felt so responsible. That’s why she told him she didn’t want him to tell her.
“Nothing happened, she doesn’t need to know,” she said. “You can’t do that, though. We can’t cross that line.”
“Kissing your girlfriend’s sister is crossing the line, got it,” he joked.
It was a relief that they were laughing about their uncomfortable situation, and her intoxicated brain didn’t think very carefully about the next words that came out of her mouth.
“You’ve already kissed me four times,” she said. “Once on my cheek, once right here, and twice on the forehead. You just aren’t allowed to kiss me on the mouth.”
His laughter after her statement caused warning bells to ring in her mind. It was sinister and the smile that followed cunning.
“You’ve been counting my kisses?”
Wide-eyed, she nodded and watched as he slowly moved closer. Then he began planting kisses all over her face and neck. As she squirmed to get away, he climbed into the passenger seat with her, letting the seat back as he straddled her.
He had her pinned then and any humor she found in the beginning of his little game had evaporated into shock and terror.
“How many times have I kissed you now?” he mocked.
She shook her head and tried to move, but he was so strong.
He asked if he was crossing a line, then began to make a trail of kisses from her collarbone to her jawline. When he got to the end, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. I won’t kiss you on the mouth.”
He leaned back to meet her gaze before his eyes traveled down to her chest. With her arms still pinned at her sides, her cleavage was on full display in the deep v-cut of her dress. He told her how hot she looked, said she should wear one more often.
“Did you wear this for me? I like it,” he said. “Dresses are very accessible.”
He shifted then his hand made its way to her inner thigh, and her dress rose as he began to work his way up. She’d heard the phrase “paralyzed with fear” her entire life, but this was the first time she personally experienced it.
“Line,” she said. It was all she could manage, the word weak and meager, but somehow it still stopped him.
She’s often wondered why he hadn’t forced himself on her that night. Was he afraid someone would catch him in that abandoned parking lot? Did he decide that the Jeep wasn’t a sufficient location for such an act?
As awful and fucked up as it is for her to admit, she also spent many nights wishing that he had. Maybe it would have saved her from the months of hell that followed.