28. Maya
28
MAYA
I try my best to sit up in the chair and clear my mind, but the drugs in my system keep me loopy and weak. My head is foggy, and my limbs useless. Looking around the room, I search for a way out, or maybe a weapon I can use to defend myself. Unfortunately, there is nothing here but two grown men who won’t let me leave.
“Stop crying already,” my father snaps. “You are being dramatic. All you have to do is marry Clark and be a good wife to him,” he says like it’s no big deal that he is dictating my whole life.
More tears run down my cheek as my chest aches for Tucker. I didn’t even realize how much he means to me until now. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way I fell for him…I fell for my bully, and now it’s too late. I probably won’t ever have a chance to tell him how I feel.
“Here it is,” Clark shoves a piece of paper onto the table in front of me.
I look down, barely able to read the header of the Marriage Certificate through my blurry vision.
“Sign,” Clark orders, handing me a silver pen.
His hand hovers inches from my chest. I glare at it but don’t make a move to take it.
“Come on,” my father huffs before coming around to stand next to me.
He takes the pen from Clark and grabs my hand. He wraps my fingers around the pen and covers my hand with his before guiding the tip of the pen to the paper. He forces me to write my name, and I watch in horror as my signature appears on the dotted line.
This can’t be legally binding. There is no way.
“There you go,” my father says. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He drops my hand, and my arm falls down beside me.
Clark takes the pen back and signs his name next to mine. “That’s it. We are legally married,” he cheers, and my heart sinks.
“Congratulations to you two!” My father has the audacity to sound happy. “I’m sure it will be an adjustment, but I know you will get used to this, especially once you have children… your mother did.”
I can’t even wrap my mind around my father’s words, so much is packed in his one statement. Does he really believe I’ll get used to this? Is he so deranged that he thinks I’m going to accept my fate? Then the comment about my mother. What does that mean? Was she forced to marry my father?
All these questions are running through my mind at a million miles per hour. I can’t process any of it right now. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“What now?” I manage to croak out. My throat is so dry, and my tongue is heavy.
“Well, my dear, I’m going to leave you two lovebirds,” my father answers. “Clark is going to take care of you from now on.”
“You don’t even have to go to school anymore. I’ll be happy with a stay-at-home wife,” Clark announces. “Everything you could ever need is right here. You won’t even have to leave the house.” He gives me a leery smile and bile rises in my throat.
He doesn’t want a wife. He wants a prisoner and sex slave. And my father just sold me to him. Fuck this. I’m leaving the first chance I get.
“All right, I’ll leave you to it,” my father says, buttoning up his jacket.
I look into his cold eyes, giving him one more pleading gaze. I remember the time when I thought my father loved me, when I loved him. Was that all a lie, or was there ever a part of him that cared for me?
Right now, I’m hoping for the latter. I’m praying that there is a little shred of decency left in him, a tiny spark of the dad he once was to me.
“Dad, please don’t leave.” My voice cracks at the end, the same way my heart cracks in two when I look at him.
He stares at me blankly, his lips pressed in a thin line as he shakes his head slowly. “You’ll get used to this arrangement eventually,” he says, and I’m not sure if he is talking to me or to himself.
Without another word, he turns around and walks toward the door. I watch him leave the room, grieving for the man I used to call dad. I don’t know if I can ever bring myself to call him that again. I feel like that person is dead now. I didn’t even know I was still holding on to a piece of him, but now that the piece has shattered, I feel the absence.
“You are so beautiful like this.” Clark’s deep voice drags me out of my thoughts. “I kind of like it when you cry,” he admits shamelessly.
His seedy tone sends shivers down my spine. But nothing compares to the feeling of disgust when he lifts his hand and runs a finger down my face. I turn my head away from him, and he chuckles.
“I don’t care if you like it or not. You are my wife now, and it’s time to consummate this union.” His words hang heavy in the air as he reaches for the back of my chair and pulls it away from the table. The legs scrape loudly over the floor. I’m so startled, I almost fall out of the damn chair.
“Are you going to walk?” Clark asks gruffly, and I almost laugh.
“I can barely sit up. How the fuck am I going to walk?” I spit at him.
“Such a dirty mouth on you. We’ll have to put that to better use upstairs,” he warns, sending another wave of nausea to my stomach.
Before I can react, he grabs me and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His shoulder digs into my stomach painfully as he carries me through the house and up the stairs. Each step makes it harder and harder not to throw up.
We make it to what I assume is his bedroom, where I’m thrown onto the bed hard enough to make my head bounce off the mattress twice. My mind spins, and I feel disoriented being moved like this while I’m still on these drugs.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to brace myself for what is about to happen. He is going to rape me. He won’t take no for an answer, and he is making his point very clear when he starts to undress me. His meaty finger tugging on my clothes, ripping my shirt open at the collar when I start fighting him a little.
My attempts to fight are laughable at best, my arms are so fucking heavy, everything I do feels like I’m fighting against a thousand pounds. Clark easily holds me down with one firm hand on my chest. His hold is so tight, he is making it hard to breathe.
Panic floods my system as less and less oxygen gets to my lungs. I’m so focused on sucking enough air in, I barely register how Clark has pulled my shirt and bra up so he can fondle my tits. His hand kneads them painfully, sending more tears down my face.
When he is done, his hand travels down to my pants, where he undoes the button and the zipper. Then he finally shifts his weight off my chest. I suck in a deep shuddering breath, and my whole body relaxes with the sudden intake of air.
Clark uses both of his hands to pull my jeans off my legs, and my shoes off my feet. I’m too scared to fight him. He can so easily hold me down, as he’s just showed. He could seriously hurt me if he wanted. Fighting will only make this worse for me.
“What the fuck is that?” Clark exclaims, disgust lacing his voice.
My eyes flutter open, and I look up to follow his gaze onto my thighs.
“Who the fuck did that to you?” he asks, pointing at my scarred legs.
“No one…” The words come out in a low whisper.
“What do you mean, no one? Where did these come from? I didn’t pay for damaged goods.”
I wince at his statement. He thinks I’m damaged goods. I guess, in a way, he is right.
“Tell me what these are?” he demands.
“I did it to myself,” I admit with a shaky voice.
“To yourself?” Clark asks, like he can’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth. “You cut yourself?”
All I can muster up is a nod.
“Dammit. I just spent a fortune on you,” he says disappointingly. “I want a wife, not a freak.” With each word, he seems to become more agitated. An aura of anger vibrates from his body.
A shiver runs down my spine as I come to terms with the amount of danger I’m in. This guy is a monster, and I’m at his mercy.
“I don’t even know if I can fuck you, knowing your thighs are like that. It’s disgusting,” Clark spits, digging the knife in deeper. “I guess your mouth will do.”
His words don’t have time to sink in as he grabs me by my hair and pulls me from the bed. My limbs are weak, and I can barely hold myself up as he forces me on my knees next to the bed.
My scalp burns where he holds me tightly with his right hand while unbuckling his pants with his left. He unzips himself and tugs down his boxers, freeing his semi hard cock.
“Open your mouth and watch your teeth. If you even think about biting me, I’ll knock all your teeth out so you can never bite again,” he threatens.
I’m only in my panties, and my shirt is over my shoulders, but my body shivering is not from the cold. It’s fear that has my bones rattling, and my teeth shuddering together.
I try my best to relax my jaw and keep my mouth open as he forces himself between my lips. He thrusts forward with a groan, the tip of his hard cock bumping against my throat, making me gag.
“You better not puke on me. I’ll be pissed,” Clark warns while fucking my throat mercilessly.
His breathing quickens, while mine becomes erratic. Tears stream down my face, saliva drips down my chin, and all I can do is close my eyes and pretend this is not happening to me. I pretend I’m somewhere else, somewhere safe… with Tucker. Because he makes me feel safe. I imagine being in his arms right now, and we’re talking about something stupid, like how bad the cafeteria food is for such a fancy school.
A sharp slap on the side of my face forces me back to reality.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” Clark orders, and I blink my eyes open.
My willingness to obey doesn’t save me from another slap to the cheek, this time harder than before. I forcefully keep my eyes open and look at his face, distorted by pleasure.
“That’s right, look at me while I fuck your face,” he sneers. “I knew you weren’t some innocent girl. You probably like being my fuckdoll.”
His thrusts become faster and more violent. His hands in my hair tighten further, and I’m sure he is about to rip some of it out. My scalp burns, my jaw aches, and my throat feels bruised.
I look up at him through teary vision when he suddenly pulls out of my mouth and lets go of my hair. I slump backward against the side of the bed, coughing while trying to catch my breath.
“Bend over the bed, I want to fuck you and that way I don’t have to look at your thighs.”
I try to make my body move, to push myself up from the floor, but even when I put all my effort into it, I can’t move fast enough for him. He reaches down and grabs me by the throat, squeezing it until black dots dance around my vision.
My hands fly up to his wrists, my attempts to pull him away futile against his strength. Panic surges through me as I can’t suck in a needed breath.
Just when I’m about to pass out, a loud crashing sound keeps me on the edge of awakeness. The next moment, Clark’s hand disappears, and I slump forward on my hands and knees. I’m immediately thrown into a coughing fit while gasping for air.
“You’re dead!” A familiar voice full of fury and hatred booms through the room. I’m so out of it, I take a moment to place it. “I’ll kill you!” Tucker growls.
I look up and find Clark on the ground. Tucker is straddling his torso while raining fists against his head. I stare in shock and terror as Tucker punches Clark’s face over and over again, even though he is already out cold.
“Tucker,” I croak while frantically tugging my shirt down to cover up. “You are killing him!” I manage to say a little louder, but Tucker isn’t paying me any attention. He is in a haze of anger so overwhelming he can’t hear me.
A new kind of fear takes hold of me, the fear of losing Tucker. If he kills Clark over this, he is going to jail. No matter the circumstances, he is still committing a murder.
Gathering all the strength I have, I crawl over to him. He is only a few feet away, but I’m so tired it seems like miles. “Tucker!” I try to get his attention again, but he doesn’t respond. He keeps punching Clark’s bloody face and all I can hear is flesh and bones connecting.
I almost close the distance between us when someone else bursts into the room. I turn my head to find Paul Wilder entering the room, his gun drawn in front of him. He very briefly points it at me before lowering it to the ground. Then he looks over to where Tucker is beating Clark to a pulp. He quickly holsters his gun and charges further into the room.
He grabs Tucker by the shoulders and pulls him backward. “Stop, he is gone. You can calm the fuck down.” Paul’s words seem to help a little, but it isn’t until he mentions me that Tucker snaps out of it. “Maya needs you.”
Tucker gets on his feet and staggers backward, looking around the room until his eyes find mine. I’m still on my hands and knees, half naked and looking like hell. He immediately rushes to my side. He kneels next to me, wrapping his arms around my torso to pull me up and into his embrace. I bury my face in his chest and start sobbing.
My whole body shakes with each sob, and Tucker holds me tighter.
“It’s okay, it’s over,” he whispers into my hair. “He is gone. He won’t ever touch you again.” But that’s not what I’m crying about anymore, I’m scared for Tucker now.
“You killed him,” I say breathlessly. “You are going to go to prison for this. You’ll leave me…”
“I’m not going anywhere, and I’m definitely not leaving you,” Tucker tries to assure me, but I’m too scared. I shake my head and cry into his shirt some more.
“Maya, look at me,” Tucker urges while shoving gently at my shoulder.
I lift my head away from his chest and look up at him. His green eyes seem darker today, but his gaze still has the same calming effect on me. “I swear I won’t leave you.” I want to believe him so badly.
“Maya, Tucker is right, he won’t be charged with anything. I’ll handle the clean up,” Mr. Wilder says in a firm tone. “You guys should leave so I can handle things here.
“Just leave?” I ask, shocked. They can’t be serious.
“Yes, let’s get you out of this shithole and back home.” Tucker gets up from the floor, pulling me to my feet with him. He keeps one arm wrapped around me while walking me to the bed, where he sits me down on the corner of the mattress.
“Let’s get these back on you,” Tucker says in a surprisingly calm tone as he picks up my pants from the floor and helps get me dressed.
I slip my shoes on, looking anywhere besides the dead body on the floor. Paul ushers us out of the room. Tucker never lets go of me and carries most of my weight as we make it down the stairs and through the broken down front door.
“Maya,” Mr. Kingsley surprises me outside. I don’t know why I’m so shaken to see him here, too. “Are you all right?” he asks with the concern of a father.
I manage to nod, although I don’t feel fine.
Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep myself upright.
“Let’s get you in the car before you pass out,” Tucker announces, pulling me toward his parked car. He opens the passenger door for me and helps me inside. I slump back into the leather seat and let Tucker buckle me up.
He shuts the door behind me and jogs around the front of the hood. I can see him, but I still miss his presence until he opens the driver’s door and slides in behind the wheel.
Sensing that I need a minute, he doesn’t turn on the engine right away. He angles his body toward me, giving me his full attention.
“You’re going to be okay.” It’s a mixture of a statement and a question. One I don’t know how to answer. So instead, I change the subject.
“You came for me,” I whisper, my voice full of emotions I can’t process yet.
“Of course, I came as fast as I could. I’m sorry I was so late. I should have been here sooner. Before he ever laid a finger on you.”
I shake my head. “You came, and that’s all that matters.” And then it all starts to sink in. He came. Clark is dead. It’s over. He will never touch me or anyone else ever again. A huge wave of relief washes over me.
“I love you,” I blurt out without thinking, almost regretting it immediately. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said?—”
“I love you too, Maya,” Tucker replies without a beat. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I think I loved you even when I hated you.” His admission both soothes and stings, reminding me of our broken past.
“What now?” I ask hesitantly.
“Now I’m going to take you home and get you cleaned up so you can wash this bastard off you.”
“I’d like that,” I say, even though I don’t think a million showers can make me feel less dirty right now.