Chapter 27
There’s pounding at the door.
I wake up in the dark, and immediately, my heart’s in my throat. I break out in a cold sweat when somebody pounds against the bedroom door again. They fight with the knob, turning it—or trying to. All it does is jiggle a little, but there’s no opening the door while it’s locked.
“What the fuck is this?” Again, more pounding, more jiggling of the knob. “Motherfucker! Is this a fucking joke?”
I clutch the blankets close to me, my fear exploding and threatening to pull a scream from my throat when I realize it’s James. He’s trying to get in.
He goes silent for a moment, and I think he’s given up—until the pounding turns into a solid thud. Then another, another. I bite down on my fist to quiet a scream I can’t hold back. He’s trying to break the door down. He’s going to break the damn door down!
“Motherfucker…” Thud! “Think you can…” Thud! “Keep away from me?” Thud!
But it’s no use. The lock won’t give, and the door’s too strong. At least now I know how impossible it is to break the thing down, but only now that it’s locked against him.
He doesn’t have a key. Nix’s words come back to me, and now I understand what he was saying. James doesn’t have the key to the door. Why not? Why do they have it?
He’s not giving up, and eventually, something will break, and he’ll get in.
I look around in a panic, my eyes combing the darkness for something, anything I can use to fight him off.
I can’t let him hurt me. I can’t, I won’t.
A bookend on one of the shelves catches my eye, and I tumble out of bed, running forward and clutching it to me.
Prepared to use it, and use it again, and keep using it until he’s dead.
I would rather kill him than let him touch me.
The silence is even more terrifying, maybe because of how suddenly it comes on.
All at once, he seems to give up the fight.
I don’t even hear him walk away. Naturally, that means it’s impossible for me to relax.
I tiptoe to the door, holding my breath, listening hard.
Is he out there, still? Trying to come up with a plan, maybe?
There has to be another key around here somewhere.
Or maybe he’ll attack the hinges next. My heart pounds wildly at the thought, and a cold, sickening certainty settles into my bones.
He’s not going to stop. He’s never going to stop until he gets what he wants.
I don’t know how much time passes, but it isn’t enough to keep me from gasping when the lock clicks. No, this is it. He found a key. Oh, my god, what am I going to do? I have to protect myself. I have to, no matter what it means.
Yet instead of James appearing, it’s Nix. He slips into the room and closes the door quietly, then inserts what looks like nothing more than a small metal pick into a tiny hole on the knob. He tests it, trying to turn it, but it’s locked again. Son of a bitch. How did he do that?
Then he turns to me, looks me up and down, and seems to understand the situation all at once. “It’s all right. Everything is fine now. Go to bed.”
As if my life could get any more absurd. He stands there as if he is the hero, saving me from the bad guy. It’s so comical, I almost laugh. Then I realize something even more ludicrous is the fact that I am relieved Nix is here. But that's only because Nix is still the lesser evil.
“With you here?” All he does is stare at me. I can’t see him very well in the dark, but I get the feeling he doesn’t appreciate the question. And now I’m afraid of what will happen if I challenge him. Just because he’s not his father doesn’t mean I’m with a friend right now.
I set the bookend down on my desk, then go back to bed like he said.
I don’t even know whether I should thank him since I don’t know if what’s happening now is any better than what would have happened had James broken the door down.
It’s not like Nix has ever held himself back from doing whatever he feels like doing to me.
And when he climbs into bed, I let out a moan of pure despair that even pressing my face to the pillow can’t muffle. “Relax,” he whispers. He settles in with a good foot or two of space between us, his body on top of the blanket I’m lying underneath.
I wait, my back to him, fear freezing my muscles. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move an inch, either. Is this all he wants? To lie here next to me?
He’s not trying to protect me, is he?
I push that thought away all at once because it’s dangerous, not to mention pathetic. He’s done absolutely nothing to protect me through all of this. He’s never even raised the slightest objection to his father’s demands. He’s getting just as much out of this as James is.
Though he did try to comfort me when he told me his father didn’t have a key. Or was he only giving me the facts? I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m too tired, too beaten down, and confused.
Somehow, while I know the danger isn’t over for good, I feel a little safer knowing he’s beside me. It’s enough that I’m able to close my eyes and drift back to sleep.
It’s still dark. I’m alone again.
The instant I register Nix’s absence, I jump out of bed and run for the door to test the knob.
Relief loosens me, and I slump against the door when I find it locked.
I never thought I’d be this relieved to know I can’t get out of the room.
But now I know there’s a danger out there much worse than either Nix or Colt, or even both of them put together.
It’s barely five o’clock. The sun won’t rise for at least another hour. I should try to go back to sleep, but something tells me it would be a waste of time. Too much adrenaline is pumping through my veins.
That’s a shame, too, since sleep is pretty much the only time I get a reprieve from this.
It’s funny how I immediately look at my laptop when I wonder what I’m supposed to do with my time. It’s not like I can get online.
No, but I can still do something. I don’t know what puts the idea in my head or why my brain latches onto it so suddenly, but I find myself opening the machine and sitting down at my desk. I pull up a blank document, and the cursor blinks at me.
It all started at a party shortly after I moved in, I type.
The words come slowly like even my fingers dread the idea of going back through everything that happened.
I didn’t want to go to the party, but I didn’t have a choice.
While there, Nix and Colt forced me into performing oral sex on Nix while Colt touched me.
They recorded it. The video is saved on Colt’s computer.
I typed it, and I’m still alive. The shame didn’t kill me. It didn’t consume me. I’m still here.
The night of my mother’s wedding rehearsal dinner, I continue, I took a painkiller before making the mistake of drinking champagne.
I could kick myself for being so stupid.
Nix and Colt brought me home. While I was under the influence of these two substances mixed together, Colt had sex with me.
He made an audio recording of the encounter and played it for me the following day when I confronted him. The audio was stored in his phone.
It gets easier the more I type. Even describing what’s going on with James isn’t so difficult anymore. Tears occasionally blur my vision, but I wipe them away, more irritated by the distraction than anything else. I have work to do here.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with it or if I’ll do anything at all.
I only know somehow I feel better for having typed it all out.
Safer, too. As far as I know, nobody has access to my machine yet—and I hope none of them will.
Colt wants to keep a file on his machine? I can keep files on mine, too.
By the time I finish detailing everything that went on last night, including when James tried to break into my room, the sun has risen.
My fingers are stiff from all the typing—more than I’ve ever done all at once before, but I feel good.
Like, somehow, telling the story puts me back in control, at least a little.
That good feeling evaporates at the click of the lock. I turn in my chair, holding my breath. What is it this time? Who is it?
“Hey.” Colt’s carrying a plate in one hand and a bottle of juice tucked under his arm. “I thought you’d be hungry. Figured you wouldn’t want to come down if you didn’t have to.”
“Yeah. Good call.” How can he act like anything between us is even remotely normal? What has to be wrong with a person that they’re able to do that? He and Nix, both.
I don’t have it in me to ask, and I’m too hungry to waste time with questions, anyway.
The toasted bagel sits next to three dollops on the plate: butter, jelly, and cream cheese.
A banana and a cup of yogurt round out the meal.
I immediately slather the cream cheese and jelly on the bagel and take a big bite.
It never occurred to me to wonder if they put anything in the food.
Right now, I’m not even sure I care anymore.
Whatever they do to me while I’m unconscious, they’re going to do to me while I’m conscious, too.
It’s an illusion to think I have any control over any aspect of it.
I would probably do better to get rid of that illusion now.
“You know,” I mumble, my mouth full, “I have to ask myself what’s in this for you. Why are you going out of your way?”
“Is making sure you don’t starve to death going out of my way? It’s not like I cooked you a big meal or anything.” He snickers before giving me a wry smirk. “Believe me. You don’t want me to try to cook for you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I peel the banana and take a big bite before the memory of having Colt’s dick in my mouth threatens to sour the entire meal. No. I’m not going to let that happen. I deserve to eat.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I mean, at least physically?”
“Are you actually asking me that question? Or did your father tell you to ask me?”
“You know what, we don’t have to do this.” He starts to stand, but I make a noise that stops him. I don’t even know why I want to stop him. Am I this desperate for human contact? I guess I must be.
“Physically, I’m fine.”
“It’s easier just to give him what he wants.”
“Easier for who? For me, or for you?”
“I said what I said.” He looks at the floor, one knee jiggling up and down a little. “Do you have any tutoring today?”
“No, actually. My schedule was already clear.”
“Okay. I guess just, you know, let me know if you have another session. Don’t want a bunch of kids failing out of middle school because they couldn’t get a math lesson from you.” He glances up for an instant, and our eyes meet. I find myself wanting to grin, and I can’t understand why.
For the first time, I get the feeling that maybe we’re in this together, somehow.
Like this isn’t exactly his idea, either, and he would rather not go through this.
Maybe it’s better if I don’t think too much about it.
Thinking only leads to more questions, which inevitably leads to more anger and outrage.
Outrage over this whole thing happening to begin with.
When I’m finished, he takes the plate. “I can bring you lunch later if you want?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.” He nods, quickly turning away and disappearing from the room so suddenly it’s almost like he was never here at all.
I wish I could understand him. I wish I could understand any of this.
But what good has wishing ever done me?