Chapter 34
Piper
Nineteen years old
Ilook around the room, feeling more than a little nervous.
This is the first time Quill has invited me down here. Usually, he goes out of his way to make sure I stay away from Devil Tower. But maybe he wanted to do something different for my birthday.
Well, my birthday just happens to be on Halloween, and he definitely couldn’t have picked a creepier spot.
I’m in the sub-sub basement level of the tower, clutching a badge that I received along with a printed-out invitation. All very weird and spooky, but then again, he did say he wanted to do something special tonight.
I gulp, staring at the dozens of masks staring back at me. The people in this dark lounge are disguised, masked too, and I wonder where Quill could be.
It feels like everyone’s eyes are on me. Like I’m not supposed to be here. What the hell is this place, anyway? It’s decked out for a party, and yet, there’s no music, no one is talking, no one is moving… as though they’re all just waiting.
Behind me, there’s sudden loud chattering, and I see a stream of girls walk in.
They don’t seem to be wearing costumes, and I breathe a little easier, since I didn’t get dressed up either, and I was starting to feel pretty out of place.
But unlike me, who’s wearing a prairie skirt and a knit sweater and definitely not feeling very sexy, the girls have very tight-fitting outfits on, mini skirts or barely-there dresses that hug their curves.
Their hair is fake, their teeth are fake, their smiles are fake as each waltzes up to a different guy and starts to… uhm.
I avert my eyes, clearing my throat awkwardly.
I’ve never been one to judge other women.
If anything, I envy those who are confident to dress in revealing clothes, whereas I tend to wear what one of my bullies once called ‘frumpy middle-aged outfits’.
Then my dozens of bullies morphed to just one in freshman year of high school, and Quill never seems to care what I wear.
Especially since last year. I guess it doesn’t matter what outfit you wear to the guy who’s planning on removing it asap.
I can’t help but worry about the conclusions I’m drawing about the girls who’ve just walked in. Not that I’m judging them, but I can’t shake the thought that they’re prostitutes.
There’s nothing wrong with that. But it does make me feel even more awkwardly out of place than before, as I edge back, feeling like the world’s most hideously dressed wallflower.
Where the hell are you, Quill? Why did you invite me here? What is all this?
By now, the invitation card in my hand has gotten wrinkled and moist from the sweat on my palms rubbing off on it and the way I’ve been keeping a firm hold on it. My cell phone has no service down here, and I curse at it.
I’m wondering whether I should just leave—even though I don’t want Quill to think I’m a scaredy-cat—when I hear a voice I recognize.
“Hey, Glasses!”
Liam.
I haven’t forgotten the way he always used to look on with a leering grin on his face when Quill used to bully me in high school.
But ever since I started going out with Quill, he’s kind of faded into the background.
Quill doesn’t let either of his friends around me.
In fact, he doesn’t allow anyone around me.
He’s crazily possessive, but I like it.
Still, Liam being here must mean it’s alright.
He is Quill’s friend, after all. The pasty blonde guy nods at me, and I follow him away from the main room, breathing easier as we leave the stifling, creepy atmosphere of the place, and enter a small, empty room, in which there’s one queen bed, and nothing else.
“Where’s Quill?” I ask, still feeling weirdly nervous.
“He’ll be here soon,” promises Liam. He hands me a shot and I drink it at once, wrinkling my nose because I don’t usually drink. But nerves are inexplicably twisting in my stomach, and I’m hoping the drink will settle them.
I do not want Quill to think I’m chicken.
Once I’ve downed my drink, I suddenly realize Liam is looking at me with that old gloating expression. The sadistic one that used to tell me I was about to be in big trouble at Quill’s hands.
Only now, Quill isn’t here.
“Where’s Quill?” I ask again.
In a flash, Liam’s got my wrists imprisoned, and he’s dragging me down to the bed.
“Liam!” I cry out. “What the hell—”
One of his hands slams against my mouth, while the other lifts up my frumpy skirt. Then I hear the zipper of his fly, and my mind reels from the horrific comprehension that hits me like a truck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m fucked.
__
I must have detached at some point, or maybe even passed out, because the next thing I’m aware of is opening my eyes, my vision blurry.
My whole body is sore, and I feel weird.
Like I’ve just downed a full bottle of vodka, instead of just one shot.
I barely drink, and I’m a lightweight, but still. One shot shouldn’t do that.
Did they drug me?
No. Liam. Liam was the only one here. Why am I thinking in plurals?
Flashes suddenly torture my mind, flashes of Dane holding me down, his hand on my mouth, as Liam drove into me…
I scrunch my eyes up, trying to get rid of the horrible visions clawing at me.
Then I hear voices rumbling in the distance.
“What the fuck, Liam? What the hell were you thinking?”
“Well, you joined in, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice. Had to figure something out.”
“And you did, so relax. Just, whatever you do, don’t accidentally drop your phone in a bowl of punch in the next hour, and we’ll be fine.”
“Fuck, Liam.”
“What I mean is, guard your fucking phone with your life, if you want to live.”
“I know what you mean. And stop laughing about it, you sick fuck. Phone or not, you’re going to fucking get us—oh. She’s awake.”
I hear a loud, hiccupy sob, and realize it’s mine a second too late, as both of them open the door and walk in.
Dane and Liam.
My body is cold as I hiss out in a broken voice, “He’ll kill you. Quill will fucking kill you.”
I see them exchange a quick glance, and then Liam snorts. “Quill told us to do this.”
I stare at them, my throat suddenly very parched. “He… what? No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“Well, he did,” shrugs Liam, grabbing my clothes, making me suddenly realize I’m stark-naked.
I feel numb. Numb and cold all over. The rational part of my brain is telling me what they’ve done to me, but the rest of me isn’t listening to it. All I can do is close my eyes.
I feel sick. Nauseous. My head hurts. I want Quill.
I must have spoken those last words out loud, because Liam sniggers.
“Quill told us to do this, you dumb slut. Don’t believe me? He’s been wanting to kill you since the moment he met you.”
I can’t fathom what’s happened to me tonight, but that I can understand. Because it’s not true. It’s a horrible lie, and I don’t believe one word of it. Quill loves me.
“He’s my… silent protector,” I whisper in a broken voice.
“Get dressed,” mutters Dane, throwing my clothes at me, averting his eyes. But Liam laughs again heartlessly.
“He’s been fighting the urge to kill you ever since fifth grade. Told us all about it, too. Why’d you think he bullied you so hard?”
Somehow, despite my foggy state, I manage to grab at my clothes and wriggle into them. There’s no blanket on this bed. I’m naked, and every ounce of energy goes into covering myself. And into not listening to the cruel words coming out of Liam’s mouth.
They’re not true. I don’t believe them. I don’t believe them.
“The only thing I can’t understand,” adds Liam, as I groan, feeling pain lancinating from the space between my legs all the way up my stomach, “is how anyone can be as fucking dumb as you are. Thinking the guy who stuck your head in the toilet, humiliated you in front of everyone, called you every fucking name under the sun—could ever possibly love you. Didn’t it ever occur to you that your so-called relationship was just one more way for him to knock you down a notch, or twenty?
He’s been planning this day for months.”
I’m shaking my head furiously, blinking away the tears that are blinding me, as I search frantically for my shoes.
“Enough,” snaps Dane as Liam opens his mouth, probably preparing to find more words to hurt me with.
But they don’t hurt me. I don’t believe a single one of them. I can’t.
“Come on, Piper,” adds Dane in a voice I could almost picture as regretful, “I’ll drive you home.”
But I shake my head again and push past them, then stumble past all the guys and girls in the main room who are currently in the midst of a full-blown orgy. I can feel their eyes on me as I click on the elevator button, aware as I do that I never did put on my shoes.
No one stops me as I reach the main entrance, and the receptionist turns the other way while I hobble out, throwing my Devil soldier plus one badge onto the floor.
I’m not even aware of the blood dripping down my thigh as I walk down the street in the middle of the night, my feet bare. I know it will take me a long time to reach his home, but nothing will stop me until I get there.
He’ll make it okay. He’ll say the words that will prove to me how much he loves me. How much he would never actually hurt me. I don’t believe he would, but I need to hear his words. I need him to hold me in his arms. As soon as he’s holding me in his arms, everything will be okay.
I’m so focused on needing his arms around me that I never even think to take my phone and give him a call. What would I even say? How could I even begin to find words to explain what’s happened to me?
He’ll see me, and he’ll understand. The way he always understands everything about me. He’ll make it okay, like he always makes everything okay.
But I can’t tell him. I don’t think I’ll ever find the words to speak of this night.
Suddenly, I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my skirt. Maybe he knows already. Maybe he understands me so well he realizes something’s off, and he’s coming to get me.
I stop at a traffic light and grab my phone, wanting to read the words that will stop this nightmare. Needing to read them.
Needing them, and him, with every cell in my body.
But instead, the letters flashing back at me spell:
You fucking worthless whore. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.