Chapter Eleven.
A soft knock on the door wakes me up from my deep sleep. My heavy eyelids slowly lift, my vision distorted while I try to remember where I am. A blurry picture of my mom appears in my room before flashes of last night rush back to me.
Ben!
I fling the covers off and look around in panic. He’s going to get in so much trouble if he slept over, even if it was me who asked him to. But he’s not here. It’s just me and my mother in the room.
“It’s noon so I wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay. You never sleep in this la—" she stops mid-sentence. “Charlotte, your eyes are so swollen. Were you crying? What happened? Are you okay?”
The pity in her voice angers me, but I can’t explain why.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was only crying because I was sad school’s over,” I say dismissively, running over to the window. His motorcycle’s gone. I didn’t even hear him leave.
An ache of loneliness cuts into me without him here. A lonely ache my mother’s presence won’t help.
“Charlotte, talk to me.” Concern softens her eyes, her mouth down turning into a frown.
“I’m fine.” I sigh in frustration. “I’m just going through a lot of emotions right now with school ending and all the changes going on. I even made some new girlfriends last night. They invited me to an all-girls sleepover next weekend.” I plaster a fake grin on to console her.
All I want is for her to leave the room so I can call Ben. I refuse to tell her what happened. Matter of fact, I don’t want to tell anyone what happened. I want to forget the whole thing.
I raise my arms to stretch and notice bruises where Jared had grabbed and held me. Fresh images of him trying to force my pants off and holding me by my wrists return to haunt me.
My stomach churns like I just got punched in the gut and the room starts to sway. I inconspicuously try to hide my arms under my comforter as to not draw her attention to the bruises, although she likely already saw them. Leaning on my computer desk, she watches me, analyzing my every move.
I hate this. What will it take for her to go away.
What almost happened to me last night makes me unable to be in her presence out of shame.
It’s hard to explain but it’s like I’m not her special daughter anymore.
The more I debate telling her what happened, the more I can’t find the words… Or courage.
“You know you can tell me anything, sweetheart. Right? I’m here for you.”
Claustrophobia suffocates me as she moves closer.
“Yes. I’m fine. Can you just leave so I can get showered and dressed please?” I ask sternly.
A flash of hurt crosses her face, but she smiles, nonetheless. Great, now I feel even shittier.
I miss the old relationship with my parents. Will things ever be the same again or will it only be a memory?
She steps through the doorway and whispers without looking back, “I love you.”
My eyes well up with tears. Will the crying ever fucking stop?
I examine myself more closely in the mirror after she shuts the door.
My body appears okay except for the markings in the discernable shape of fingers—purple and blue bruises around my arms and wrists.
A soreness is present as I rotate my wrists and watch how the coloring changes under my skin.
I stare at the bruises, willing them to go away.
My phone’s alarm sounds from somewhere in my room, pulling my attention away from my body.
Where the heck is it? I scour between my blankets, sheets, pillow, and dresser, until finally I drop on my knees and find it under the bed.
Why’s my alarm going off at twelve-thirty in the afternoon on a Sunday?
I never set my alarm for this late in the day.
I pull it out from under my bed and see a note written for the alarm.
Aw, how cute of him to do this. I smile and swipe open my phone to text him, but it opens directly to my notes app, revealing a letter he wrote me when he must’ve set my alarm.
Another flash of Jared’s contorted face as he tried to unbutton my pants crosses my mind. I wipe the tears away and continue reading.
Heat trickles through my cheeks at his last sentence, but my chest also tightens.
Grabbing my chest and rubbing the muscles to soothe it, I lean back on my bed and close my eyes.
He didn’t sleep because he wanted to make sure I didn’t have bad dreams?
I’ve always known Ben and I’s friendship is something special but for him to act like this?
To act this protective to this degree? He hasn’t always been this way with me.
This is new. I like it and I’m grateful for it, but I’m not sure what he wants or if I can deliver what he wants.
After last night, I’m not sure how I feel about being touched by a boy again for a while. Will he ask that of me? Does he even want something with me or am I overthinking this? Maybe I’m too tainted now.
My chest tightness worsens, a heaviness settling into it. I let out a deep sigh, keeping my tears in check.
Breathe. I need to Breathe.
In….1….2…3…Out…1….2….3.
By breath five, the heaviness dissipates, and the tears settle back into their ducts.
I’ve got this. I’ve got this.
I stare at myself in the mirror after my shower, disappointed that the bruises are still there like I could’ve somehow washed them off.
I don’t got this.
How am I going to cover them? I don’t own any foundation to conceal it.
Thunder cracks outside providing me a glorious solution to the problem. The weather forecast on my phone confirms colder weather at fifty-five degrees, scattered thunderstorms and cloudiness. Perfect. I’ll wear a long-sleeved shirt and a sweatshirt to cover everything up. Easy peasy.
I painfully shrug on my favorite plain black, long sleeve shirt and a sweatshirt from my junior year of cross-country along with faded blue jeans and all white tennis shoes. To top off the casual look, I throw my hair up into a wadded bun. I look at myself one last time.
Atleast my eyes are less swollen now. I took the coldest shower known to man to reset my nervous system and to attempt to get the swelling in my face to go down.
Let’s see if eyeliner does the trick to help me hide the residual puffiness. I grab the only pen of black eyeliner I own and angle my wrist to apply under my bottom lashes.
“Ouch!”
Ugh, bending my wrist upwards like that hurts.
Great.
Welp. This is as good as it’s going to get. If anyone asks, I’ll say my allergies are acting up or something.
Well, that only took an hour. I have no idea what I’m going to do until four.
I mosey to my desk and open my laptop. It’s a problem Xypher is open every time I open my laptop, but then again how’d I forget my biker boy reached out to me last night?
The me who was engulfed in him seemed like eons ago, but there he was…
still posting new videos, thirst traps and new seductive dances with his bike in the background.
Heat and wetness begin in my core as I watch his videos, relieving me of a fear.
I was worried after last night I would be too broken to get turned on, totally screwing my future relationships.
Thank God I have nothing to worry about on that account.
I scroll through his videos, dissociating to the various thoughts flying across my mind.
Who is this guy?
Did he ever show up last night after Ben saved me?
What’s his life like and what he’s been through?
Why does he seem so obsessed with me and how does he know me?
Is he our age or older?
Why hasn’t he reached out since last night?
His aggressive texts did scare me last night, but I still wish I could meet him and ask him these questions.
I’m magnetically pulled to him and his page like he’s meant to be in my life, probably because of what I’ve done to myself late at night because of him…
but deeper down I know there’s something more to it.
I lean closer to the screen, searching for clues in his videos—for any hint that would give him away and tell me a little more about him. His bike, his muscles, his clothes, his body, the background… but nothing’s striking a chord in me. I waste another half an hour on his page and then give up.
Screw it, I’m going to Ben’s early. I have nothing else to do, and I’m not about to sit downstairs and endure an awkward, forced conversation with my parents.
I sneak down the stairs, grab my keys and get in my car. Flashbacks of driving home last night creep up as soon as I shut my car door. My damn brain’s torturing me. Why won’t it let me forget it ever happened? Cooperate with me, brain.
The tightness in my chest is unbearable.
I close my eyes and massage the muscles across my chest to ease the tension, taking a few more deep breaths to settle my now racing heart.
I need to be calm. I’m not going to let this experience haunt me.
I’m going to face this and conquer it. Jared’s actions will not hold power over me.
In…1…2…3…. Out…1….2…3.
I say my affirmations with the breathing exercises over and over again.
In…1…2…3…. Out…1….2…3.
I’m not going to let this experience haunt me. I’m going to face this and conquer it. Jared’s actions will not hold power over me.
Finally, the images fade along with the tightness.
God. Fuck that guy and fuck this whole situation.
I angrily shove my keys in the ignition and drive over to Ben's farm, making sure I take deep breaths along the way. I just know being on the farm will help me. The countryside with barely anyone around, fresh air, animals, nothing to focus on but work...
A hopeful and happy feeling breaks through all the sadness and anger. I hold onto that feeling the rest of the drive, focusing only on the dusty fresh smell of crops in the summer, the smell of straw in the barn in the winter, and the smell of fresh dirt and dust from working the ground.
Rain splatters my windshield right as I park by the back barn and run into it to wait for the rain to stop.