Chapter 8 Presley
Presley
On Page Rape, Mentions of Sexual Assault and Rape as a Minor and Suicidal Ideation.
It’s been a few days since I’ve seen any of the guys.
I’ve also been left alone by the Radleys which gave me time to heal a bit from Caspian’s knife.
When I got back down in the tunnels, I told Jacob I was in the bathroom and that whatever happened made me puke and I needed to clean up after I woke up.
So far, I think he believed the lie. I haven’t received any punishments.
If anything, I was granted time to draw at school while Jacob Lee is at practice.
Sitting in the art room, I wish that Axel was here, painting me like he always did.
It hurts my soul knowing he’s in the institution because of me.
I need to find a way to see him to let him know I’m okay and how much I miss my Fallen Angel.
If I’m honest with myself, I miss them all.
I wish I could get away for one night and sit on the couch with pizza and popcorn, watching scary movies with my five favorite men.
Laughing and arguing over mediocre bullshit as long as we are together is what would make me happy.
That’s what I yearn for. Spending my days away from them has sent me back into my head.
Hiding from the woman I want to be. Surviving is what it's called. But day in and day out, keeping the memories of them at the forefront of my brain is my survival. Even if Maverick never chased me into the bathroom, or if Caspian didn’t put Iso through the tunnels just to spend some time with me, I still would want them.
They all have a place in my heart that no one, and I mean no one, has ever touched before. I just need them.
Tears pour down my face as I lift the pencil and begin outlining five figures—my five Cyprus boys. I let the tears fall as my soul shatters the more I draw.
I’ll never be happy again. I’ll always be stuck in this life with men who want me for nothing else but what’s between my legs.
How did my mother get out? Was it because she was caught with Jake and they sent her away?
Why didn’t she run? Why didn’t she live a happy life?
I can’t remember a time where my mother wasn’t high or drunk.
I can’t remember if she smiled. The bad memories always overcome the good.
I’m not even sure how I survived my childhood.
Stan was the first man that ever touched me.
My mother married him when I was ten. At first, he took better care of me than she did.
He always made sure I had everything I needed.
He even taught me how to play cards. One night, when I was thirteen, my mother was so fucking high she was basically incoherent and I had just gotten my period for the first time.
It was Stan who told me what I needed to do, and that night he took me to a poker game in which we won big.
He said I was his lucky charm. I loved him like a father.
I looked forward to him coming home after work–at that time he had a good job and wasn’t into drugs.
He drank but it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t until eighth grade when I started growing boobs and my body was changing that he would look at me differently.
He would touch me innocently at first, but then, as time passed and the more mature my body got, the more handsy he became.
I remember vividly after coming home from the best summer I’ve ever had at Cheer camp.
Having made new friends from different squads, we even snuck to the boys side where the football teams were.
I was living on a high and couldn't wait for school to start, but the moment I walked through the door, everything changed. My mother was using needles to get high and Stan was right there with her. That's the summer he lost his job and the abuse started. He was gambling all my mother’s money away. So arriving home and seeing the house a mess with no food in the pantry and both of my parents high out of their minds made me want to run. But instead, I cleaned the house and used the money I had in savings to put food in the house. That still wasn’t good enough. Nothing ever is.
The night before going back to school was the first time Stan came into my room.
He locked the door and touched me in places only Maverick ever did.
When I screamed for help, no one came. When I fought back, I was left with bruises.
When I told my mother, she just laughed in my face and called me a whore.
So after that night, I never told a soul—I just kept it all inside taking his abuse night after night.
This life—being treated the way I am—is nothing new.
It’s normal for me. A girl with no voice, with no say in the matter.
I sob as I continue to draw the men I love wishing and praying for this to be over so I can be with them. But there’s truly only one way out and that is by dragging a blade over my vein and letting the sorrow spill out–letting the blood drain and fall into the abyss where happiness awaits.
Suddenly, the door opens, and I jump, wiping the tears away, praying it’s not Jacob Lee. I really don’t want to get hit because my face is probably a mess from all the crying. Footsteps approach and I brace myself for impact.
“Let’s go, we have somewhere to be,” he orders, and I get up from my stool, but he shoves me, ripping the paper I was drawing on from the easel and shoving it in my face.
“What the fuck is this, Presley?” he scolds, and I shake my head, cowering away from him, but he grabs my hair, pulling it so fucking hard tears well in my eyes and I cry out.
“This needs to stop. No wife of mine is going to be drawing other men. This is fucking embarrassing,” he spits, shoving the paper roughly against my face as my head bangs off the window.
I shove against his chest, pushing him away from me, and scream, but his hand rears back and slaps me in the face.
My head whips to the side, but fuck this, I’m so sick and fucking tired of being man handled.
I shove him again and rear my own fist back and punch him in the nose.
Blood pours out of his nostrils, and he roars in anger, trying to get to me but I jump out of the way which only causes him to stumble into the stools.
“You little fucking cunt!” he yells, and I run.
I know I won’t be able to truly get away, but fuck this. I’m done just taking it from him.
Suddenly, my body is flown forward and I collide with the floor.
He lifts the back of my head and smashes it against the ground, causing stars to litter my vision.
“Get the fuck up!” he orders, but I don’t move a muscle.
“I said get up!” He commands, but he grabs a fistful of my hair, and drags me down the hallway to the nearest classroom, slamming the door behind him.
“Let me go!” I yell, thrashing in his hold, but he doesn’t listen.
He just lifts me by my hair and flings me onto the desk.
My stomach and chest slamming into the wood knocks the air from my lungs.
I try to take a breath, but I can’t as he holds me down, pulling down my pants and shoving his cock into my ass.
I scream, but it comes out empty. My eyes widen in fear because I can’t fucking breath as he continues to press me down harder into the desk, rutting into me like a mad man.
Everything hurts, from my face to my head and body.
I want to scream. But it’s no use. I have no voice.
No say. No one to save me. This is my fucking life.
“Fuck your ass is tight!” he groans, pulling all the way out of me just to slam back in.
He finally lets go of my back only to grip my hips roughly, digging his finger tips into my skin.
I heave, trying to get my breathing under control as tears spill from my eyes.
I wince with every thrust of his cock in my ass.
“You belong to me, Presley. When will you get that through your head? Those Cyprus boys—they are all dead. Mark my words. Every single one of them will die soon enough.” He moans, slapping my ass as he pulls out, growling as his cum shoots all over my ass.
I gag, wanting to throw up. I fucking hate him, and if I ever get a chance to kill him myself, I’m taking it.
The consequences be damned. He bends down and kisses my neck as the door opens.
“Yo, Radley, can I get a turn?” one of his idiot friends asks, and they both laugh at my embarrassment.
“Not today, Pogue. I’ll set something up for you, man.
I got you,” Jacob Lee responds, and I snarl.
He grips my arm, pulling me up from the desk, and gripping my face, forcing me to look at him.
“ Get in that fucking bathroom and clean yourself up! No more games. We are going to be late,” he orders, shoving me out of the door and into the hallway.
He sticks around, talking to his teammate, and I walk to the bathroom, wrapping my arms around my body, wanting to crawl into a hole, but the blade sitting in my vanity drawer whispers so loudly today, and I want nothing more than to go home and watch my veins empty. If only to never wake up again.
An hour later, we pull up to a house I’ve never been to before in the middle of the woods with perfectly manicured lawns and a wrap around porch with rocking chairs and planter boxes on the rails.
The house is breathtaking, but why do I get the feeling that just because it's gorgeous on the outside, it’s not so pretty on the inside?
I turn my head and look at Jacob Lee only to see a wicked grin spread across his face.
“What is this place?” I ask, and his eyes light up with excitement.
“This is Odette’s Finishing School. Here you will learn how to become the perfect trophy wife.
You will attend classes here twice a week until you have proven not only your loyalty and commitment to the life you are marrying into but until you’ve proven you are what we need and want,” he states, and I swallow thickly, terrified for what’s behind those walls.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse… Well, checkmate, bitch…Welcome to my new hell.