From the Ashes

1. Jade

Jade

Why the fuck am I here? I ask myself. This is the thing everyone tells you not to do.

Don’t go to a party where there is alcohol with people you don’t trust. Don’t trust someone who has shown you their true colors. Don’t put yourself in a situation where you’re reliant on someone to get home, especially when you’re hours from home.

And I’ve somehow done all of those. In one fell swoop.

Sarah’s driving us in her car since my mom doesn’t trust me with one. She much prefers Sarah to me anyway, so it’s not surprising that she was able to talk Sarah’s mother—my mom’s fake best friend—into having her drive.

That way, I couldn’t come home. I was forced to go along with whatever Sarah decided to do.

The sun has almost set, leaving only a sliver of pink and red in the sky. It felt like the sun was going away so the forgiveness and cover of darkness could shine. I have such a bad feeling about this.

“I really don’t want to go,” I whisper to Sarah, the girl who has been forced to bring me along with her to a college party.

Sarah rolls her eyes, but paints on a smile that seems genuine. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time.”

“I’ve never actually gone to a house party,” I mutter, picking at my thumbnail nervously.

How’d I let Mom force me into this? When will it end?

Sarah whispers something under her breath. I look at her, wanting to ask her to repeat what she said, and find she’s saying a small prayer with the most annoyed look on her face.

Why the fuck am I here? I think, not for the first time.

Sarah’s mom and my mom had conspired together and basically forced us on this grown-up playdate. My mom is notorious for oversharing with others about how her only daughter is such an ‘interesting and reserved introvert that needs help getting out and about.’ I have to bite my tongue every single time I hear that. I’m nineteen years old, not seven. I don’t need help making friends, and I especially don’t need her spreading my business around.

Thus, the current situation I’m in.

She had opened her mouth to her friend, lamenting how she was worried about what I’d be like when I got to college. Worried that I’d be taken advantage of or not know how being drunk felt and something would happen to me. Her friend came up with the ‘great’ idea of having her daughter take me to one of the college parties she goes to regularly, apparently. Three hours from home.

When my mom brought it up to me last week, I flat-out refused, even knowing what that refusal would cost me. My mother is not a patient woman; she’s also not particularly warm. Over the past few years, she’s only gotten worse. Harder, harsher, quicker to anger and raising a hand to me. Everything I do, everything I say, every decision I make is the opposite of what she wants me to do or be, and she makes it well known to all just how disappointed she is in me. Again, thus the current situation I’m in.

Sarah and I may be going to the same college, but we do not get along. She is a mega bitch; she also got around plenty before dating a guy who lives in the college town we are going to.

I don’t know if he even goes to college, or if he just hosts parties for college-aged kids. This whole thing screams trouble, but on some small level, I want to see what being away from Mom and out on my own is like.

To my mom, this whole thing seemed like the best way to shove me out of the nest. Aggressively.

She agreed to Sarah’s mom’s plan, and they set it in stone before either Sarah or I could refuse.

I called Sarah a few days later and I could hear the disdain and reluctance in her voice. She didn’t want me to go any more than I did. But here we are. I called to find out what I needed to bring and what I needed to wear, and she just laughed.

“Just bring a change of clothes and whatever drinks you like. Kyle will get us liquor, but in case he’s not willing to get you a bottle, you’ll want your own,” she scoffed before she clicked off the line. That’s the exact moment I knew I was fucked.

Sure, I’m a little excited. I haven’t been to Carver, a small town in western Arizona, since I visited Kensington University at the beginning of the year. I’m excited to meet some people who live there, and maybe even make some connections so I’ll know one or two people before school starts. But it fucking sucks that I have to rely on Sarah freaking McFowell.

The drive has been awful. Filled with awkward silences, music blasting in my ear, and the nauseating feeling of dread. Sarah has dressed to the nines in a shorter than short miniskirt and a tank top that leaves little to the imagination, and her blonde hair is curled tightly and flowing down her back. There’s a reason she is so popular; not just for her looks but because she’s magnetic to be around. People flocked to her in high school, and I’m reluctantly interested to see how she does in a bigger pond.

Where Sarah is tall and willowy, I’m tall and solid. I’m not a size-two girlie and I won’t ever be. But I do fill out the cut-off jean shorts that I’m wearing quite well. I didn’t want to stray too far from what I’m typically comfortable wearing, but my mother and her opinions wouldn’t let me leave the house unless I passed her inspection. So, a cleavage-showing black blouse that clings to every curve and hangs off my shoulder, and cut-off frayed shorts are what I was able to ‘get by’ with.

Better than the sequined tank top she was shoving at me.

I push my hair over my shoulder and try not to fuck up the curls I’d brushed out to resemble loose waves. Pulling the visor down to inspect my makeup, I almost don’t recognize myself. My makeup is heavy and black, intense to make me look older in case we go clubbing.

I don’t like it. I don’t like makeup, period. But I have to admit, a cat-eye looks good on me.

“Just another few minutes,” Sarah mutters, turning onto a neighborhood street. It’s already dark so I can’t see anything very distinctive about where we are.

Talk about off-putting.

“Look,” Sarah huffs as she parallel parks in front of a one-level brick house. There are already lights flashing from the windows and a heavy bass that I feel in my chest. “I’m here to see Kyle. I haven’t seen him in a month and I really like him. I’m not going to hold your hand the whole time.”

“Wow, your tune changed really quickly,” I mutter.

“No, I’ll still be there, just not by your side like a babysitter.” She rolls her eyes and pulls her visor down to inspect her own makeup. “If you really need me, call me, but try not to need me.”

“Understood.” Rolling my eyes, I slam the passenger door and go to open the trunk to get our overnight bags out, but Sarah stops me.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my bag?”

“We don’t bring that shit inside. Not yet.” Sarah closes the trunk. “Just bring your phone and your wallet. The rest we’ll figure out.” She flips her curls over her shoulder and shoves her hands in her bra, fixing her smaller boobs to make her cleavage more prominent. “Remember what I said,” she snaps and walks off, leaving me to either follow her inside or sit out here for the rest of the night.

I don’t know which would be worse.

The cool air pricks my skin and makes goosebumps rise, and I concede. Following her cowboy boot stomps inside the house, I swallow my nerves and my reluctant excitement.

What the fuck am I doing here?

* * *

This place is the most quintessential bachelor/frat house I’ve ever seen. Like, straight out of the movies. It’s grubby and dingy; beer cans and red solo cups are strewn across every surface with stray chips and snacks stuck in liquid. People are everywhere. The place is so full, I have to push drunks out of the way just to follow Sarah deeper into the house.

“Delta Gamma forever!” a dark-haired guy drunkenly yells. Everyone around him chants it and holds up their drinks in cheers.

“A fraternity house?” I yell-ask Sarah, grabbing her hand and turning her to face me. “You failed to mention that!”

“Would it have mattered?” She throws her head back and laughs. “You were going to come regardless. Maybe get a drink and finally fucking relax!” With that, she rips her hand from mine and stomps off to find her guy.

What a bitch.

Looking around, I bite the inside of my cheek and take a deep breath. I’m here now, I just have to deal with it. A drink sounds like a damn good place to start.

Pushing through the gyrating bodies, I make my way toward the kitchen. It’s an older house, and far too small for the number of people currently partying. The kitchen is slightly less busy. In the dim lighting, it’s difficult to really see anyone, but the couple basically having sex in the corner are clear as day. Quickly averting my gaze, I grab a red cup and open a can of generic, lukewarm beer.

“That’s not a good call.” A guy with dark blonde hair, curled in a perfectly messy way that makes me want to run my fingers through it, leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. His blue plaid button-down stretches with the movement. He’s hot, don’t get me wrong, but not the type I usually go for. He has this charisma that gives me the ick a little. Like, he’s so slick, but it’s oil.

“What do you mean?” I ask while making eye contact, refusing to show how out of place I feel.

“That beer has been sitting there for at least four hours. If you want a drink, let me make you one. What liquor do you like?” He takes my cup and tosses the beer down the drain.

“Uh…” I stutter as I try to think of any kind of liquor at all. “Tequila?”

A smile crosses his face slowly and he chuckles darkly. “Tequila, eh? My kind of girl.” He moves to one of the dark wooden cabinets and pulls out a bottle of clear liquid.

“Shots or a drink?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Both?” The moment the word leaves my mouth, I wish I could take it back. Warning bells are going off in my head, but I want to be cool. I want to be accepted, to be wanted. By anyone. This seems like the quickest way to achieve that.

This mystery guy bites his lower lip as his eyes rake over me. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me and let me tell you, it’s a good feeling. I stand a little straighter and flick my hair over my shoulder.

“I’m Hunter.”

“Jade. Jade Henderson.”

He smiles wolfishly and winks. “Very nice to meet you, Jade. Jade Henderson.” He pulls down two shot glasses and pours tequila into them.

Worry fills my stomach again as I realize I truly have no idea what I’m in for. I’ve never had any alcohol, yet here I am signing up for tequila. I’ve never heard great things about tequila, but it was the first liquor I could think of.

Hunter hands me a glass and throws the liquid back without so much as a grimace. My mouth drops slightly, and he raises his eyebrow in challenge.

No going back now.

I drink the shot slowly, letting the liquid pour over my tongue. It’s sweet and acidic, and I know right away I hate it. Hunter laughs boisterously at me. I can feel my cheeks heat with a blush. I’m so fucking embarrassed—of course I did this wrong.

Just like I fuck up everything else.

“First shot, huh?” He takes the empty shot glass before handing me a red Solo cup with some kind of drink he’d made with tequila and some juice. I cough from the burning in my throat.

“No,” I lie.

“Yeah, okay.” He snorts and opens a beer for himself. “Let’s go find something to do.” He holds out his arm and offers to tuck me into his side, like he’s taking responsibility for me. It’s nice—odd, but nice.

“What is there to do here?” I glance up at him, taking in his green eyes that shine with mischief in the dark.

A slow, wolf-like grin stretches across his lips. “Oh, there’s always something.”

* * *

“If you’ve never taken a shot, I’m sure you’ve never played beer pong.” Hunter takes the still-full cup from my hand and sets it down near a six-foot table set up inside the house. There’s an array of Solo cups set up in a triangle formation at each end of the table.

“No,” I answer meekly.

“It’s easy. It’s a fun way to get drunk and show your athleticism.” He bounces a white ping-pong ball on the table. “Who wants to play us?” Hunter announces to the room.

A flash of blonde curls enters my fuzzy vision as Sarah and Kyle, the guy she was meeting, step up to the other end of the table.

“Always willing to beat you, Hunter,” Kyle grins, ignoring Sarah completely while Hunter pulls me to his side. There’s a crowd around the table now, and people start to watch as Hunter throws the first ball. It lands in one of the cups with a soft splash .

“Drink up, Miller,” Hunter orders with pride. He’s smug about it, while everyone cheers for Kyle as he chugs. Beer drips from the corners of his mouth before he crushes the cup and throws it to the side.

“My turn.” Kyle takes the ball and throws it toward the cups closer to us, but it misses all of them. The crowd collectively says, “Ohhhh,” and Hunter throws the ball back to Kyle for another turn.

I don’t know this game, but I’m a quick study.

Kyle throws it again and sinks it into a cup at the last moment.

“You earned that one,” Hunter smirks cockily.

Kyle winks at Sarah, then Hunter fishes the ball out. “Bottoms up!” Kyle shouts.

Hunter chuckles and drinks. “Ah!” he says proudly before crunching the cup and turning to me. “Your turn, Boobs.”

What the fuck? I scoff, “Boobs?”

There are mostly guys around us now, circling the ping-pong table like vultures. One greasy-haired jock laughs so hard, beer shoots out of his nose. Others nod along, eyeing my chest more obviously than they were before.

“Well, yeah. You’re Boobs, because wow .” Hunter looks at my cleavage, gesturing with his hands to my chest, then bobs his head to the side. “And you came here with Boots.” He tips his chin over to Sarah, who I just now notice is the only one wearing them. That is definitely weird in this country town. “So, Boobs and Boots. You’re up.”

I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. But the tequila is making me feel fuzzy, so flattered is winning.

A guy—no, a man —wants me. He’s actually showing me attention and seems to be interested in me.

“I’ll take it.” I shrug as I grab the ping-pong ball from him, making sure to brush our fingers together. “I suppose.” Lining myself up so I can throw the ball, he steps in close behind me. So close, I can feel his body heat, and my breathing quickens.

“It’s a compliment,” he whispers against my ear. I try to brush him off and actually throw well, but his hand comes to my waist.

“I’m sure,” I mutter.

“Really. Look, would you rather be called Boots?” Hunter asks.

I chuckle lowly, awkwardly. “I suppose not.”

“Exactly.”

I throw the ball, and it bounces off the side of the table, making everyone groan. I see Sarah smirking off to the side and she crosses her arms under her boobs in a move I know means she’s trying to push up her small chest to look bigger.

“Again.” I hold my hand out for another ball and Hunter puts one in my hand.

“Focus, doll ,” he whispers, bringing his other hand to the other hip to steady me. Another weird nickname?

I take a deep breath and throw the ball. It lands in a middle cup and everyone cheers. Hunter smacks my ass and says, “Nice one.”

I smirk, feeling more and more confident as the time goes on. The shot makes its way through my system. Maybe I should drink some more, I think idly as I watch Sarah chug the flat, nasty-looking beer. She grimaces and narrows her eyes at me in a sneer.

Clearly, she wasn’t expecting me to be visible at all.

The crowd starts to chant, “Boots, Boots, Boots, Boots!”

Sarah smiles like she’s won something and throws her ball.

Splat. It lands on the first throw. Fuck.

I pick up the cup, scoop out the ball that’s been touched by who knows how many people, and see floaties moving about the cup. “Do I have to drink this?” I ask nervously.

Hunter and Kyle look at each other, a silent understanding passing between them as the room starts chanting for me to chug. Hunter shakes his head, grabs my cup that I’d sat down on the side, and hands it to me.

“We’ll make an exception. But rules are rules, and you’ll have to chug the rest of this instead.” He hands me the cup that’s barely empty with a knowing look on his face.

“Oh, come on,” I groan.

“Rules are rules, Boobs. Get to it!” a guy in the crowd calls out, signaling to the rest of them to do the same. I don’t want to. I know this is a bad idea, but I’m so far gone already. Hunter is looking at me like he’s not going to step in and stop the crowd. Sure enough, he starts chanting with them. I look to Sarah, thinking maybe she’ll be chanting too, but her eyes are wide and worried. Her hand goes to her throat as she watches the crowd, watches Hunter, watches me.

I can’t figure out what it means, but I feel the pressure to fit in. To be desirable. To be known.

So, I chug the mixed tequila drink and hope I don’t throw up.

“That-a girl.” Hunter grins as I drink it down, swallow after swallow until the cup is dry and the whole room cheers.

I don’t feel so good.

The alcohol mixed with the sweetness of whatever juice Hunter put in my drink makes my stomach turn and the whole room spins. I stumble, turning to set the cup down on any surface and Hunter catches me.

“Whoa, there. Are you okay?” he asks. My vision is off, because it honestly looks like he’s smiling. But that can’t be right.

Can it?

My vision goes hazy at the edges, making it hard to focus on anything. It feels like everything takes a few seconds to register before I understand what’s happening. When I look up at Hunter, I know he’s smiling.

Sinisterly.

Something’s wrong. I feel my legs give out, but Hunter’s arms are holding me up as he yells out to everyone that the game is finished. As he ushers me toward the back of the house, I do my best to grab onto anything, anyone.

Something feels… wrong.

“Help me,” I whisper, but everyone just laughs. Hunter picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, laughing boisterously and calling loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Can’t handle her liquor! I’m putting her to bed, I’ll be right back!”

Everyone around us laughs again and I think I start to feel him walk downstairs. I don’t really know; it’s too dark, too hazy.

I can’t focus, can’t move. Can’t see. But I can feel .

I can feel my body thud against Hunter’s with every step. I can feel him swatting my ass every so often, like he’s trying to reassure me. I can feel the chill on my skin as we descend into the basement of this old house.

“You really are fresh meat, you know that? Too many girls know how to protect themselves these days, but not you. I clocked you the moment you walked in. You look so innocent, so desperate to be seen that you’d do anything. Think of what’s about to happen as your first real college experience. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll come back for seconds, but we’ll see how you do first.” He’s monologuing like a fucking villain, and I realize now that’s exactly who he is. A villain with the face and charisma of a prince. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, luring in the innocent, only to betray and prey on them when they get close.

I have no one to blame except myself. Because he’s right. I wanted to be seen.

Terror fills my body as I try to kick, to scream, but nothing happens. I can’t move, can’t talk, can barely breathe.

I’m completely in his hands. And the person I chose to help me through this whole situation was the fucking villain all along.

“Don’t worry, doll.” Hunter slides open a door, lays me down roughly on the cold cement floor and starts to undo his jeans. “You’ll probably enjoy this,” he grunts.

Now it makes sense.

I’m going to become his doll; unable to move, unable to protest, unable to fight. A moveable little doll curated for him to play with how he wants.

“No…” I plead, screaming in my head, but only a whisper comes out.

“It’s too late for that, Boobs .” He sneers at the nickname. “Just let the medicine relax you, or I promise this is going to hurt. Usually, the girls aren’t so fucking talkative. You’re a fighter. Feisty. I like that.”

I can feel whatever he slipped in my drink taking more of an effect and my consciousness starts to fade even more.

“Stop,” I whisper, the word coming out no louder than a breath.

“Shush,” Hunter commands as he starts to pull off my shorts and shove my shirt up. His hands are everywhere, pushing and gripping. Pulling and prodding. I didn’t want my first time to be like this. I wanted to have the choice.

I wanted someone to want me, to maybe even love me.

The agony of it all brings tears to my eyes.

He keeps moving on top of me, and a tear rolls down my face as I realize what a fool I’ve been.

Black clouds fill my eyes. I almost welcome sleep; at least then I don’t have to deal with this. I can’t fight him off anyway. I said no.

I said no.

I said no.

I said no !

His groan is the last thing I hear before I welcome the darkness to take me. Hoping that, however I wake up, I’m still alive to fight another day. Because he has one thing right—I am a fighter.

What am I fucking doing here?