BAY #3
"Well, so we’ve got a deal, kid?" The alpha tilts his head. "You give us what we want, and we’ll leave your dad be. No comebacks, no trouble. Sound good? Fair deal, right?"
"You’ll… you’ll really keep your word?" I swallow hard. "You won’t come back?"
"Of course, sweetheart. We always keep our word. It’s kind of our motto," the taller one grins.
The shorter one makes a step toward me, and a cold wave of terror crashes over me.
"We’ll start with a little warm-up," he says. "Ever given a blowjob before?"
I shake my head, barely able to move a single muscle. My body is completely paralyzed, and my teeth are chattering.
"Good a time as any to learn. Then we’ll move on to the main course."
Everything inside me dies in that one short moment, as the alpha’s empty, soulless eyes bore into me from above.
My world shatters; everything I was ends. I’m no longer the careless Bay I used to be. I become someone else, someone broken, fractured into a thousand pieces.
◆◆◆
Two hours later, I somehow stagger back home on my own.
By some miracle, Dad still isn’t back with my brothers. He probably took them shopping for last-minute school stuff, and that’s a relief. Not that anything could really be called a relief right now.
I can barely walk, every step feels like I’m on wobbly ground. My jeans are soaked in blood, I reek of those bastards’ stinky fluids, I’m just… wrecked. I’m not even a person anymore, just a shell, shaking, empty, damaged in every possible way.
Once inside the house, I climb the stairs and find my way to that tiny attic room no one uses; it has a little bathroom. My hands are trembling so badly it takes me three tries to turn the knob.
I strip off every piece of clothing, shaking, nauseated, and step under the shower.
The water hits me hard, almost scalding, and I just stand there, pouring it over my head, over my bruised body.
I don’t sit, it would hurt like hell. Instead, I crouch against the wall and stay there, scrubbing and scrubbing, washing and rinsing, over and over for what feels like forever. Thirty minutes, maybe more.
The bleeding stops eventually, but the pain doesn’t.
When my fingers are wrinkled and raw, I finally grab a towel, dry off, go downstairs, and shove my clothes straight into the washer. I hit the quick cycle, praying it’ll erase every goddamn trace of smell before Dad gets home.
Then I go back to my room, lock the door, and collapse on my bed, curling up tight, but I can’t stop shaking.
My whole body’s twitching, trembling, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. My mind’s a blur, my throat’s tight, and I can’t breathe right. Then I remember Dad’s got a stash of wine, expensive bottles he got from my uncle Van.
I stumble downstairs just in time to hear the car pull up outside. Shit! I grab a bottle, the first one I can reach, and rush back up before they get inside, feeling dizzy. I slam the door and lock it again.
The cork pops. One swallow, then another. The wine burns going down, but I keep going. Within minutes, most of it’s gone.
I never drink, so it hits me hard and fast. My stomach twists and I want to throw up, but I force myself not to. I drop onto the bed and black out, slipping into that soothing, dark nothing.
Somewhere in the fog I hear knocking. Once. Then again. Dad’s voice, faint but insistent. He’s probably worried, but I can’t move, I can’t fucking move.
Then, louder:
"Bay! Dinner’s ready!"
"I don’t want it! Leave me the fuck alone, I’m tired!" I yell, my throat dry.
"Bay, come on, you haven’t eaten anything."
"I said I don’t want it! I’m going to sleep!"
"It’s only five o’clock!"
"So what?"
"Bay, you’re going to school tomorrow. You were fine walking around earlier, so there’s no reason to skip." His tone hardens.
I squeeze my eyes shut. The thought of sitting on my sore ass in a classroom tomorrow makes me want to die.
"I’m not going tomorrow. I’ll go the day after."
"Bay, you’ll fall behind. What’s gotten into you?"
"I just feel worse now, okay? My throat’s killing me from all that singing. I’m going to sleep."
He sighs and finally gives up. I hear him walk away.
Staring at the ceiling, I just lie there. My stomach hurts, my head’s spinning, and the bottle’s still sitting on the nightstand, one-third full, trying to catch my attention as I desperately want to forget.
Then I look at my nightstand. It has a second, secret drawer hidden inside the larger one, beneath a sliding false bottom. That’s where I keep my diaries.
I open the newest one, the one from this year.
My hand trembles as I flip through the pages.
Scribbles, childish confessions, then more scribbles, and even more childish confessions.
All shallow reflections that now seem ridiculous.
Bay, who was a kid, wrote it. They’re no longer valid, just silly. I’m not a kid anymore.
Drawings? I check them too. I always liked to draw, even though no one showed any sign of talent for it in my family.
I thought I had a little something, a tiny spark.
My secret. I drew the lake, my dad, classmates from middle school, a few singers I liked, even flowers…
I’d never show them to anyone. They’d laugh at me.
Wincing, I jab the surface of the flower I drew yesterday with my pen. I scratch at the paper, smudge it, even punch it, fighting the urge to sob.
Then I go still, feeling suddenly numb.
Finally, I open to a blank page and write the date.
They raped me. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. I was silent. I didn’t let them think they had won, but they did. Inside, I’m broken; inside, I’ve lost. I died inside.
My fingers are shaking; I can't write anymore.
I slam the drawer shut.
My eyes find the bottle again. Just by being there, it taunts me until my eyes start to burn. It offers the mirage of forgetting. Then the tears eventually come, and with them choking, muffled sobs. I cry until I can’t breathe, cry like a fucking fool who’s lost everything.
Inevitably, I lose. I’m a loser after all. So, I grab the bottle, drink the rest, and let it drag me down into thoughtless sleep.
Thinking hurts. Feeling hurts. I just want to disappear, forget, erase everything. I don’t want to be me anymore. I just want it all gone.
Dawn drags me back.
Nothing has changed; I feel sick, my whole body aches. I haul myself out of bed and head to the bathroom I share with Rain, my younger brother.
It’s early enough that he’s still asleep, thank Fate. I throw up everything I drank, flush twice, spray air freshener, then take another long, scalding shower. I brush my teeth until my gums sting.
Then I go back to my room.
Sleep drags me under again, like my pathetic body’s trying to escape the world too.
Dad’s knocking wakes me around seven thirty.
"Breakfast. You coming down?"
"Can you just leave it by the door? I’ll grab it in a minute."
A frustrated sigh. "Bay, what’s going on with you? Are you okay? Why can’t you just come out of your room?"
"I just don’t have the energy, Dad. I’m still weak. Please, just leave it by the door." My voice cracks, almost begging.
"Alright, son. I’m taking your brothers to school now, but Storm and Skye are staying home, they’ve caught the same bug you did, looks like it. What a start to the school year, huh?"
My gut twists. Great! The last thing I want is anyone home. But there’s nothing I can do.
A minute later, he sets the tray down. I’m grateful he doesn’t push, I don’t want him to see me, to see this… what’s left of me. I’m not who they knew anymore. I feel like a disgusting ghoul, a hollow shell pretending to be human.
With a violent move, I open the door, grab the tray, close it fast.
The food does not look appetizing, but still a few bites go down, just enough to keep me functioning. Tomorrow means school, and I’ll need strength for that.
The sound of Dad’s car fades as he drives off with Rain and Sun.
The house doesn’t go quiet though. Storm and Skye clearly aren’t as sick as they claimed. They’re running around, shouting, firing their stupid plastic guns for a solid hour.
For fuck’s sake. How much longer?!
My nerves are shot already, and the constant rat-tat-tat from the hallway is driving me insane.
By nine, I snap. I throw on some clothes and storm out of my room, face twisted like a brewing hurricane.
"What the fuck is going on here?!" I yell, full fury mode.
Skye lies on the floor, wrapped in a green blanket, I figure he’s trying to mimic some kind of soldier’s camouflage.
Storm crouches behind the couch in the living room, holding a rolled-up paper tube like a spyglass.
The toy guns are still rattling nonstop.
"What the hell is this? You skated out of school, you little smartasses, and now what? You’ve been running around for an hour, snot hanging down past your chins!"
Storm pops up with a frown.
He’s really tall for a ten-and-a-half-year-old. I’m five foot eleven, and he’s maybe an inch shorter than me, which isn’t unusual considering he’s a purple alpha.
"What’s your problem, Bay? Leave us alone. It’s like an extra day off, nothing happens at school in the first week anyway!"
"For fuck’s sake, you idiots. And lying to Dad?"
"We didn’t lie!" Skye pouts. "My throat does hurt!"
"Oh really? Funny, ‘cause I just heard you yelling, ‘NFHs gonna get you, filthy alien!’ at the top of your lungs! Maybe I misheard?"
Skye puffs out his cheeks even more. "You don’t get it, stiff-ass! We’re playing an alien invasion. Storm’s the alien who attacked our house. Nothing worse could happen than an alien invasion, right? I’ve got to defend our home from invaders from space!"
I see red. "There are worse things in this world than a fucking alien invasion," I growl, and yank the toy gun out of his hands.
"Hey!" Skye yells, but I shove him hard, and he falls on the floor.
"You two either get back in bed right now, or I’m calling Dad, and he’s hauling your asses back to school before lunch!"