Chapter 20
It’s my twenty-third birthday, and he’s forgotten. Again.
It doesn’t surprise me at this point—Luke always forgets. Not that he ever gave a shit anyway.
I sit in my run-down bedroom, the tattered curtains blowing gently in the summer breeze. It was sunny and hot today, which is rare for English weather. It could’ve been perfect for a barbecue. I could’ve cooked myself some food instead of this measly, two-pound, microwaved ready meal.
I stare at it sitting on the end of my bed and scowl. I haven’t touched it. I don’t like tomato pasta, but it was the only one we had left in the fridge.
At least I was able to heat it up before everyone got here.
I was sitting outside, soaking up probably the last bits of sunshine before October comes and the weather gets colder.
I ran upstairs into my room as soon as I heard the front door unlocking.
Luckily, the stairs face the opposite way to the door, so I missed whoever was coming in.
I’ve been sitting here for about three hours now, staring blankly at whatever show is playing on the TV.
Music thumps from downstairs, drowning out the peaceful sound of birds chirping their goodnight tunes.
My TV plays a horror film—the couple on the screen are currently getting it on in the woods after chasing each other.
A flush of arousal spreads over me as I watch it.
I tamp down on it immediately. I don’t want to be caught doing something I ‘shouldn’t be’ while Luke’s pervert friends are downstairs.
The lock on my door is weak; I don’t trust it.
But fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve had an actual orgasm. And I must be ovulating because the sex on the screen isn’t even that hot.
A glass smashes, muffled by the walls and followed by loud cheering.
Every year on my birthday he brings his druggie friends over for a party and tells me to stay up in my room. I obey him because it’s easier. I don’t want to make him angry. I’ve learnt to keep my distance from him. It seems that anything I do sets him off.
I suggested splitting up, but he threatened me, telling me that if I ever thought about leaving him, he’d kill me and then himself. I believe him, which is why I’ve stayed. He wouldn’t make it quick. The man is a psychopath. He’d drag the pain out.
But I’m starting to second-guess whether maybe dying wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Surely it’s better than this. Anything would be better than this.
I’m scared of him.
But also, every year, I await the inevitable rape.
Every. Single. Year.
My ‘birthday present’.
This is why my lock is so weak. This is why all I can think about most of the time is sex.
Having an orgasm. Having sex with someone who cares enough to give me an orgasm.
But every time I even have a thought about touching myself, vomit gathers in my stomach.
It’s wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking about having sex.
It should be the last thing on my mind. Yet, it’s always the first.
A thumping sound drifts under my cracked wooden door.
Someone is coming upstairs.
I turn down my TV and make as little noise as possible.
I don’t want anyone knowing I’m in here.
They bother me every time they’re here. No matter how many times Luke tells them to leave me alone.
They seem to be the only people that don’t take his threats seriously.
Not because he cares, but because he’s saving me for his dirty friends later and he wants his turn first.
I wish I was like them. I wish I wasn’t scared of his threats.
I rub my arm where an old bruise is fading, wincing at the pain it elicits. I can’t be sure he didn’t break my arm, but he refuses to take me to a hospital. He says I’ll sell him out.
He’s not wrong.
The staggering continues from the hallway until it hits my door. I flinch, pulling my blanket up to my eyes, and watch the door handle like a hawk. Thankfully, it doesn’t move.
The noise trails into the next room, followed by a door slamming and a woman’s moan.
Gross.
Someone’s probably having sex in his bed right now. I hope they leave a mess. Let the pig roll around in it.
Call it curiosity, but I quietly manoeuvre out of my squeaky bed and tiptoe out of my room. I glance both ways down the worn hallway, making sure no one else is coming up the stairs.
The moaning gets louder as I approach the door of his room. It’s not fully shut, so I peek inside and see a head of red hair, the owner of it sitting on top of a man. They’ve already taken all their clothes off, clearly eager to jump each other’s bones.
He flips the woman over, and I think my heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach.
Floppy ginger hair and a boat tattoo on one of his shoulder blades.
Luke.
Anger floods me, and I push open the door to his room. It slams against his dresser, creating a crack in the middle.
“What the fuck, Luke?” I screech, tears already forming in my eyes.
“Shit,” he curses as he scrambles off the redhead.
She looks like she’s seen better days.
But then again, so have I.
She pulls the quilt up, covering herself as she shoots to a sitting position, a smirk painted on her lipstick-smeared lips.
“I told you to stay in your fucking room!” he yells, covering his penis with his hand.
“Well, excuse me for being curious as to the banging on my door!” I yell back. “Why would you do this?” My voice is smaller this time, tears now streaking down my face. They shouldn’t be. Luke has hurt me enough times that I should be thankful this is giving me a way out.
But I love him.
“Clearly you’re not giving him everything he needs, darling.” The redhead chimes in from beside him, a smug grin still on her face.
My mouth scrunches as I use every effort to not let the sounds of my sobs out.
“I’m leaving you, Luke. You don’t have a say in this anymore,” I let out through gritted teeth.
The sadness is dissipating, morphing into anger. Something that’s been brewing inside me for five years.
“No the fuck you’re not,” he snarls, getting out of the bed and taking long steps towards me.
He grabs my neck hard and pushes me up against the wall. My head collides with the plasterboard, and a shooting pain explodes all over my head, stars covering my vision.
“Ow,” I sob out.
“I told you, you’re not fucking leaving me. Ever.”
The pain sears through my head, making me dizzy.
“You can’t just sleep with other people and expect me to stay,” I whimper.
He slams me into the wall again, and my vision blacks out momentarily. I’m pretty sure there’s blood trickling down my neck. I don’t know; I think I’m losing my sense of feeling. He squeezes my neck, cutting off my air.
“If you ever interrupt me again, I’ll shoot you” —he digs a finger into my chest—“right here. Then I’ll fuck your dead body into the ground.”
“It’s not like you haven’t threatened me with that before,” I force out. My head feels so, so light. His freckled face is blurring out.
“Declan,” Luke shouts, making me flinch from the sudden sound in my ear. I try to bring my arms up to his, but it’s no use. I have no energy.
Footsteps sound up the stairs.
Multiple.
I think.
“What’s up?” a male voice asks.
Luke lets go of me, and I flop to the ground on all fours, desperately trying to inhale any air that I can get.
“Take her. Do whatever. Give her her birthday gift. I don’t care,” Luke says in a nonchalant tone, and I hear his bed creaking.
“Fucking finally,” another voice says.
I hear a slap of hands, and someone lifts me up by the shoulders.
“No,” I slur out, but I’m already getting dragged backwards. My feet can barely keep up with the speed.
I’m shoved onto what I think is my not-so-comfortable bed, and a heavy weight sits on top of me.
“No,” I slur again, trying to use my arms to push the man off, but I can’t feel them. And I can’t open my eyes.
“Open wide, whore,” someone chuckles.
I purse my lips shut, but a hand pries them open. I don’t have the strength to fight it.
“That’s a good little slut,” a new voice says.
A couple of tiny, bitter specks land on my tongue. My chin is pushed upwards, and my teeth clamp shut.
“Swallow.”
I shake my head weakly.
“Swallow, bitch!”
I whimper and swallow down whatever was given to me, grimacing and almost choking at the dryness.
Probably drugs.
“She’ll be ready for us soon, lads.”
It doesn’t take long for me to black out.