Chapter 5
ELIJAH
SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
It’s just a party.
One drink, and we’ll leave.
It’s what I keep telling myself when Ryker knocks on the door a few feet away from our room.
Everyone is already in Hughes’s room when we go in. The music channel is blaring on the television while the guys sit in a circle on the carpet. Furniture shoved to the walls. Each clique bunched together. Hughes fans a deck face down with a tall glass planted in the middle.
“Ring of Fire, assholes,” Hughes announces. “No fucking whining. No fucking cheating. If you can’t hack it, get the fuck out now!”
He cuts a look at us and bugs his eyes like, ‘What are you waiting for?’
“Come on,” Ryker mutters, dragging me across the circle so we’re opposite the douchebag crew.
Hughes rattles off rules. “Newbies go first. Sylkes, you’re up. Pick a card and pray for mercy!”
It’s only two drinks. I can go slow.
I flip the card closest to me.
Three of hearts.
“Three is me, Sylkes,” Hughes announces.
“Drink, pretty boy,” Presley heckles with a sneer, starting off an all-around chant, “Drink, drink, drink… drink!”
Ryker hands me a glass filled to the brim with the liquor he brought. It takes one sip for me to know it’s not for me.
“Come on, Hallman!” Hughes claps, moving the game along quickly.
A piteous grimace scrunches his face as he holds the card up to me and mouths, Sorry.
“Eight is mate,” Hughes hollers over the chorus of oooos from the guys around us. “Pick a mate to drink with, Hallman.”
God, please, no. I groan to myself when Ryker toasts his glass to mine. I’m still trying to put out the fire in my stomach.
I take a small sip to keep the game moving and take the attention away from me. Much to my dismay, the next guy gets an ace, and we all have to drink until he stops.
He doesn’t stop until he’s finished his glass and most of mine is gone. I’m doing everything I can not to sputter or heave while my insides drown in hot water.
The guy to my left gives me a mini can of soda to wash the aftermath of the waterfall down. I pour it down my throat in one gulp, gutted when the cool fizz finishes.
“Thanks,” I tell him while the game continues.
I’m good for a stretch—until Presley’s turn. He holds up a Jack and smirks. “Make a rule… make a rule…”
“Hurry up, Tomes!” Hughes starts a countdown.
“Ah, I know.” Presley scans the circle, grin turning mean. “If your name ends with an H, you drink every time an even card hits.”
“What the fuck?” Cash groans.
“Suck it up, dickhead,” Presley flips him off.
The game continues with a King, another three, and a seven. Four guys away from my next turn, and it all goes south. I drink every single time with another waterfall before my turn.
I know I’ll never be able to keep up with the game when the warmth of the liquor slips down my throat and a hard shiver cuts down my spine as it lines my stomach. I don’t know why the guys love vodka so much. It doesn’t matter what I chase it with; the heat it holds in my gut makes me retch.
“You’ll get used to it,” Ryker mutters, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he leans in closer. “I heard my dad say this is the best vodka. The Japanese stuff is more expensive than the Russian, and it tastes better.”
“It’s awful.” I shudder watching him pour more of the clear liquid into his glass. “Tastes like nothing and something totally unpleasant all at once.”
I’m relieved when my next card is a King, and I pour part of my drink into the glass in the middle. I just want to be done with this glass so I can get out of here.
Ryker takes another card, grimacing at me as he shows me the six of clubs.
“Six is for dicks. Unless you are a pussy or have a pussy drink up, motherfuckers!” Hughes announces. “Sylkes, that’s two drinks for you.”
No. I can’t.
Please, God. Please, no.
“Pretty little bitches don’t get to play with the big guys,” Presley calls across the circle.
“Come on,” Ryker nudges my leg with his.
“You’re not just a pretty little bitch, right, Sylkes? You’re a man… huh?” Crawling across the green carpet, Presley leans closer, eyes spearing into mine when my phone rings in the pocket of my jeans.
Before I check, I know it’s Finley. She calls me after every game when everyone has gone to bed, and she can hide in her closet without the risk of her parents finding her talking to me.
When I try to get up, Presley shoves me back down.
The drink in my hand spills all over my chest as the glass tumbles up into the air with the whoosh of my breath.
I don’t know if it’s the liquor or the rush to get out of here, but my moves are sludgy and slow as he pulls my phone from my pocket, his scornful glare on the screen.
“Give it back,” I bark at him, pushing myself up into his face, gripping my phone awkwardly around his hand.
“What if I want to talk to my sister?”
“You’re the last person she wants to talk to.” I shove him back, but he can hold his liquor like most of the other guys on the team. “She doesn’t even like you.”
Presley chuffs cooly, glancing over his shoulder at his buddies. Before I can gather my wits, they’re on me.
Pinning me to the carpet while Ryker tries to diffuse Presley.
“He fucked you yet, Hallman?” Presley sneers, snatching the bottle of liquor from Ryker’s hand. “Or maybe you fucked him? Who’s the fucking ass bandit? The taker?”
“We’re friends, dickhead. More than you can say about most people on this team.”
The sound of muffled laughter echoes in the distance as Sullivan’s hand wraps around my throat to stop me from fighting against his and Martins’ hold. I can’t hear much above the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.
My vision begins to haze when Presley yanks Ryker up by the collar of his shirt and throws him on top of me. His thighs are straddling my hips, and his entire body is shaking over mine as he ignores whatever Presley tells him at first.
“Do it,” Presley screams, sending the entire room quiet as he pours more of the liquor on my chest. “Fucking lick it, gay boy.”
Ryker lets out a long breath. His thighs squeeze around my hips with the downward motion of his body when he leans down over my chest. He never looks me in my eyes before he licks my vodka-soaked shirt from one side of my chest to the other.
“Stop,” I sputter, my nails clawing at the short, clumpy pile beneath me while Martins continues pinning my arms to the floor. “Stop. Stop…”
My eyes screw shut at the deluge of liquor Presley pours into my desperate gasp while Sullivan squeezes my throat.
Choking on the overflowing burn, I focus on the throb taking over my head, my panicked thoughts, my senses while Ryker licks up my neck, sucking the overflowing liquor from my jaw before he laps it out of my mouth.
My phone rings endlessly. My head throbs. My pulse pounds.
I don’t know when it stops, but the weight of Ryker’s body hangs on to my body after he climbs off me. Sullivan and Martins’ grip on my arms clings to my skin when I flip onto my front and drag myself across the green carpet, crawling all the way to the door before I pick myself up.
I don’t look behind me as I open the door and leave. I don’t know how I feel. How anything feels as I breathlessly trudge the several steps to my room and fall inside.
My gut revolts against me before I’ve barely made it to the toilet. I can’t stop myself from vomiting over and over while I pray that it’ll help steady me. The overwhelming dizziness is the worst, and it’s suddenly so hot that I can’t breathe.
“Shit, are you okay?” Ryker asks.
I glance sideways over the rim of the toilet to where he’s standing in the bathroom doorway.
“Go away!” My yell morphs to a retch that pulls all my organs up into my throat.
I don’t have anything left in me to fight him when he wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me up to my feet, part dragging me back into the bedroom.
“This wasn’t meant to happen,” he says. “Hughes said it would just be some low-key hazing. He said it was just a game…”
I don’t know where the last ripcord of energy comes from, but I twist in his arms. Shoving him away from me, I stumble into the wall opposite the bathroom.
“You planned it?” Ryker looks down at his feet, holding out my phone to me. “You wanted to humiliate me.”
He shakes his head. “It’s just fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I trusted him.
What a fool, my gut jeers.
“Elijah,” Ryker takes a step forward when I snatch my phone from his hand. “It’s what teams do…”
“Get the fuck out, Hallman,” I bark, throwing my phone onto my bed. “Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.”
“Elijah…” I stumble as I swerve his reach, only for him to lunge for me. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Get the fuck off me,” I scream at the same time as vomit erupts from my mouth, garbling my words while I shove him out of my way, into the bedroom door.
The slam of the bathroom door behind me ricochets off the tiles when I throw myself in front of the toilet and continue vomiting until there’s nothing left.
Exhaustion settles in, thick and fast. Even if I wanted to move, I wouldn’t be able to. Everything weighs a ton. Closing my eyes, I tell myself I only need a second. One moment. A couple minutes…
When I wake up, my head is spinning, and my mouth is so dry that I can’t clear my throat properly. The acrid smell of sickness closes the air.
I thought I’d feel better if I rested my head…. I don’t. My stomach is still roiling, and my brain is lagging as I look about the bathroom, trying to figure out what to do. How to get myself up.
I curl up onto forearms and knees, resting my head on the cool tile floor before I use the rim of the toilet to brace myself up onto my knees and then my feet.
The soured smell lingers, even after I’ve flushed the toilet and washed my hands and face. It’s in my pores and sticky on my clothes.
Maybe a shower is what I need?
Holding on to the edge of the vanity, I lean across the small space to grab the shower curtain.
Using it to steady myself while I slowly get inside and flip on the water.
The cold spray hits me like a sharp blade cutting straight down the middle of me.
It takes me a while to strip as my clothes become drenched, but the hot water feels so good that I’m in no rush.
This is nice, I keep telling myself while I suds my body. Like it’ll make me feel better, in spite of the hot water burning my skin and shooting the throb from the deeper cuts on my feet to my ankles.
The white hot pain makes it impossible to move when I feel the air stir behind me. The sudden cool shift shocking my skin with a frisson of goosebumps all over my body. Awareness heightens in my pores as I move deeper into the shower, trying as hard as I can to disappear for a while longer.
Ryker lied to me. He tricked me. I felt bad for him, and he took advantage of it. Of me.
I trusted him.
Sucking down the sob ripping out of my chest, I focus on the burn it radiates in my lungs as I shuffle right into the corner and allow the water to beat down on me.
“Crying again, baby?”
I freeze when the curtain pulls open behind me.
The limescale-encrusted tiles are slippery with steam from my scalding shower. In the near distance, voices boom in the room next door, smothered by the overwhelming, sickly sweet scent of men’s body wash and spray.
My head is still swimming, even though it feels like I’ve been in here for hours. I’m going to be sick again.
“Little pussy boy… D’you know what happens to pussies, Sylkes?” His hand grips the back of my neck, shoving me into the wall, beneath the hot spray.
Body wash rivulets from my hair, over my face. Stinging my eyes as I try to push back, but my hands slip. Nothing is working still. My head and my body are on a delay from each other, and nothing is functioning as I try to free myself.
“Stop!” Sucking in a lungful of soapy water, I choke on my yell.
Maybe it’s a scream with the way my throat rips raw. A garble of words I can’t quite think up with the sudden dark blankness. My heart hammers into my chest, warning me of the danger too late.
I can’t move.
I can’t scream.
Help me. Help me. Please.
All my pleas burn in silence. Quashed by the unshakeable weight at my back. The cold bluntness presses right there.
Right there. And I freeze. Hold so fucking still that my body forgets how to live. Because, if I move… if I fight…
God, please. The soundless scream rips raw from my throat to my head with the abrupt shove that forces my insides up through my throat.
It hurts.
It burns.
It kills.
“Not so fucking brave now,” he growls into my ear, pressing his hand into my neck harder until it might snap.
I want it to snap. Beg for it with every drive into me.
“I told you to watch your back, pretty boy.”
“Stop… stop… please…” The garble of words dies into bleak blankness as my face presses into the waterfall on the wall and drowns my plea.
“What was that?”
My heart pounds.
My body howls.
“Please.”
“Can’t hear you, pussy,” he scoffs, shoving so deep inside me that my teeth snap on my tongue and my scream shoots from there to my head. “Want me to drown you, yet?”
I don’t know.
I don’t know my prayers anymore.
I don’t know where God is to help me.
I don’t know how to make it stop.
I just close my eyes and wait for it to be over.
For the pain to end.
For him to leave.
My knees buckle, taking my feet from under me as I crash to the floor with an echoing shatter.
“Next time, it’ll be your whore. I will ruin every fucking hole she has, and I’ll make sure she knows it’s because of you. Understand?” His hand grips my jaw, lifting my blurred stare to his icy blue one as he holds Ryker’s bottle up in front of me.“Keep it, fucking pervert.”
Standing, he drops the bottle beside me with a pleased sigh when it shatters. Like me.
He washes his hands with my soap.
Humming mindlessly while I grip the shard of glass at my fingertips and clutch it in my hand. I keep waiting for the bite of it to sting. For it to shock me back to life. Maybe it’ll wake me up. Perhaps it’ll dull the burning pain lodged inside me.
But there’s just blood as he walks away, shaking his hands like the rest of him isn’t soaked through.
My blood.
My pain.
My shame.