Chapter 3 #2
Gathering up my textbooks and stuffing them into my tote bag, I realize I’m running short on time. Luckily, Cameron’s apartment is within walking distance, because driving and finding parking would probably take far longer.
If I leave now, I might even have time to stop by and grab a coffee from The Mug Life. It’s a small hole in the wall coffee shop just off campus, that all the students go to.
Going to an Ivy League college was the plan my parents had for me, but when Charles picked some smaller college, they allowed me to follow him.
Anything to keep us together. It’s not like I would have a use for a degree once we got married.
It was just something for me to do. Another way for me to look good to their friends.
Charles didn’t want to go to an Ivy League school.
He wanted to stay in LA, and because of that, he picked some small, but still upper-class college.
Most of our friends followed suit too. They wouldn’t risk going to another school and losing their connection to the Davenports.
The Davenports are the kind of family you want to stay close to.
Old money holds more weight than gold these days.
Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised when all our friends took Charles’ side. They were so quick to turn on me. Not that I was really close with any of them, but they treated me well enough since I was dating Charles.
I missed almost two weeks of classes after what happened. Partly because I was in a lot of pain, but mostly because I looked awful. Even my parents were shocked by the state of my face.
When I finally went back to school, no one talked to me. Even with the stitches still in place and the swelling noticeable, no one said a word. They all just pretended I didn’t exist. Or worse, whispered behind my back.
Charles told everyone that I made up the attack. He claimed I was so upset about his cheating, that I wanted to make his life a living hell. Said I lied about him laying a hand on me.
Even with the evidence of what he did on my body, people bought his story. He spun a story that I did it to myself and people just went along with it.
They know he is lying, but no one wants to call him out. No one cares enough about me to address it. They just go along with whatever he says, because of how powerful his family is.
Which is exactly why I didn’t press charges. That, and my parents told me not to.
I’m pathetic. So desperate not to rock the boat that I don’t even get justice for what he did to me. Not that my parents would’ve let me anyways. They were happy to just cover it all up. It is better that we don’t acknowledge what happened.
I’m not surprised that was their take on it, but it still hurts. They didn’t want to ruin their friendship with his family, even if it meant covering up his abuse of their own daughter.
The sad part is I would’ve stayed with him. He cheated on me and I would’ve stayed. I just wanted him to grovel a little. Beg for forgiveness. At least pretend to feel bad about it.
Instead, he hurt me. I can’t go back to that. I won’t.
When I step into The Mug Life, I groan at the sight of only one person behind the counter and four people waiting in line.
I should just turn around and leave. I risk being late to class if I stay, but if I don’t get some caffeine in my system, I may go insane.
I barely even got buzzed last night, but the vodka messed with my head a little. Mix in the whole conversation with Ben, and I ended up barely getting any sleep.
When the line moves, I take a step forward. Class can wait. I have a full day of them and being five minutes late is better than falling asleep in my seat.
“Prue.” A voice takes me out of my head. “Hello.”
The voice is easy to place. My body is trained to place it. Before, I’d plaster a smile on my face at the sound of it. Now I try not to scream as my heart begins to pound in my chest. My whole body tenses, and my mouth goes dry. I don’t turn to look at him. I don’t plan on acknowledging him at all.
I stand there, feeling every second passing by. My mind knows the person at the counter is talking to the next customer. I can faintly hear the voices that fill the coffee shop, but it’s all background noise.
Somewhere in my mind I hear myself crying as I’m thrown around. The sound of glass crashing and the thud I made when I hit the ground makes tears fill my eyes. I taste bile as I remember the searing pain of him removing my jeans.
“Not going to say hi back? That’s a little rude, isn’t it?” The hint of amusement in his voice makes my blood boil. Charles always did like to rub salt in the wound, I just never expected to be on the receiving end of it.
“Rude?” I snap. “I think rude would be letting you come face to face with the damage you inflicted.” The words spill from my lips in a harsh whisper. My eyes are pinned on the back of the head of the person in front of me.
Causing a scene is not the smartest thing for me to do. If I want to be someone different though, someone new, I can’t just let him get away with talking to me like he didn’t do a thing.
Greasy black hair is all my vision lets me see. It’s what is keeping me from turning around and ripping out Charles’ throat. The nameless head in front of me is enduring my glare as I wait and hope Charles walks away.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Charles’ laugh makes the hair on my neck stand up.
Memories of him laughing as I sobbed underneath him make my knees weak, but I stand firm. I will not let him get to me. Never again will he cause me pain.
My parents are pushing hard for me to take him back. Get the plan back on track. Both our parents have practically been planning the wedding since we turned eighteen. They all think we can just move past this, as does Charles.
I think the fact I have stayed away for almost two months is a surprise to all of them. I highly doubt Charles even considered the possibility I wouldn’t go straight back to him after leaving the hospital. The day I gathered my things from his place, he was stunned. Even so, I saw it on his face.
He believed I’d be back. Everyone believes I will go back.
But I am not going back. I won’t marry Charles. I repeat the line that has been my mantra since the day he assaulted me.
“But you were always a little crazy,” he continues. “It’s okay, your amazing body can distract me from the insanity. Seems Cameron and you are more alike than anyone thought. Both a little mentally unstable.”
My body shakes with a rage I didn’t know I could possess. He wants to pretend I made it all up, fine. I don’t care if all our friends play along, but bringing my brother up is a step too far. He knows that, which is why he said it.
“I saw you come in. Jason and I were just over there enjoying our coffee.” He moves closer, stepping into my line of sight.
“It’s been a while since we last spoke. Too long.
” The sight of him makes me ill. Tears fill my eyes again and I try to keep them from spilling out.
“I have to admit, the whole turtlenecks and skirts are starting to grow on me. Maybe we can play teacher and student sometime.” He smirks.
“Whenever you decide to stop being such a filthy little liar, that is.”
“We could play that game.” I nod, glaring at him. “But then I’d have to report you to the dean, and you’d get to rot in the jail cell you belong in.”
My words must be funny to him, because he throws his head back in a laugh. Something inside me is breaking because as his laugh echoes in my ears, all I can see is my hands around his throat, squeezing until his stupid, smug face turns blue.
He hasn’t spoken to me since the day I picked up my stuff from his place. I know he has been keeping tabs on me. I’ve felt his eyes on me often, but he’s kept his distance until now. I don’t know what changed, but I don’t like it. I want him to leave me alone.
I need him to understand he crossed a line. Because of what he did, I’m not going to be his again. The mean comments I could’ve taken. I could’ve played the role of pretty, dutiful lover, until the day I died, but I draw the line at violence.
I will not stay with someone who thinks they can put their hands on me.
If I stay now, it will just keep happening.
I know that. He thinks he is untouchable, and for the most part he is.
The law probably would’ve done nothing but given him a slap on the wrist and a pat on the shoulder for taking up any of his time, but I can do more.
Show him not everyone in this fucked up world will bow to his wishes. Not everyone will obey his every command. He had that control on me before, but not anymore.
“I see you still want to stick to that story. I understand. Being cheated on must have stung. You feel the need to punish me, with this whole story about me hurting you. Don’t you think that’s going a little too far, though?”
“Story?” I scoff. “I have the fucking bruises too…”
“You are just dramatic enough to try to sell the story.” He cuts me off, shaking his head. “It’s your family’s name getting dragged through the mud, Prue, not mine. You should know the longer you keep this up, the harder it will be to come crawling back.”
“Go. To. Hell,” I whisper just loud enough for him to hear.
“Have a good day.” He smiles before leaning forward and planting a kiss on my cheek, just below the bruise under my eye.
I hear his feet walking away. Hear his voice speaking to someone else from the corner. My body shakes, too fired up from the exchange.
Turning around, I march out of the coffee shop. My sight is blurred as the tears I’ve been holding back threaten to break free. Biting the inside of my lip, I dart down the alley way nearby.
The air burns as my lungs seize up. Resting my head against the building, I slam my foot against the bottom part of the wall. If it hurts, I don’t feel it. I’m too high on anger. Too blinded by hatred.