Chapter 2
Two
Two weeks ago…
Briana
“This is going to be epic,” Taylor shouts.
I giggle, nearly skipping alongside her to keep up because the universe skimped on me when handing out inches. I’m five foot—if I stand really tall and straighten my spine and elongate my neck to its fullest.
Desiree loops her arm with mine. She’s not very tall either.
Ronie is walking backward in front of us down the sidewalk. “Our first official college party.” She rubs her hands together. “Do you think we’ll meet any cute guys?”
“We have to,” Desiree squeals. “Isn’t that the reason we’re going to college in the first place?”
I chuckle again. I won the roommate lottery with these ladies. We’re all renting rooms in a house together. It was a crap shoot. I could have ended up with people I didn’t like at all. Instead, as soon as we moved in yesterday, we started talking over one another.
Relief floods me, and I can’t stop grinning as we continue down the street. It’s not very far to the party. Just a few blocks. We found out about it when one of the guys who lives at the party house stopped by to introduce himself and invite us.
He probably saw four wide-eyed freshmen and thought we were fresh meat. And he may be right, but we intend to get fully indoctrinated in college life, starting tonight.
“So we all agree,” Ronie reminds us, “No drinking anything anyone hands us. We arrive as a group and leave as a group. No wandering off to some guy’s room to make out without telling at least one of us.”
“Agreed,” Desiree says as Taylor and I nod.
I’m kind of grateful these gals have some sense of safety.
Buddy system. We need to look out for each other.
Weird shit happens at these parties. The last thing we want is for one of us to get roofied and end up a statistic. School hasn’t even started yet.
We can hear the party before we even turn the corner. And we stop in our tracks as soon as we see the chaos unfolding.
Holy shit. So many people. It’s loud even from the sidewalk. Seems like half the attendees are already drunk.
The truth is, I’ve never even tasted alcohol. Lord knows I’ve smelled it often enough. It’s nasty. I can’t imagine I’ll ever get roofied since I would probably spit that shit out if I tasted it. Maybe I’m wrong.
I’m suddenly nervous as we finish our approach. My heart is racing, and my palms are sweaty.
Deep breaths. This is going to be fun. I’m at college. I’ve waited eighteen years for the freedom to go to parties and live without rules.
That doesn’t mean I intend to do anything I’m going to regret. I worked my ass off to get into Darkwell University. I have grants that are covering my tuition, room, and board. The kind of money that’s available to incredibly poor kids who work hard and get good grades in high school.
You can’t get any poorer than me. I’ve been in the system. Not a dime to my name. No parents or relatives to help out or send care packages.
What I do have, however, is an older brother.
Seven years older. I didn’t even know about him until four years ago, when he found me in foster care.
He also goes to this university. He’s working on his master’s in electrical engineering.
I applied to Darkwell University so we could be near each other.
Or rather, he insisted because we’re family.
The only family either of us has. I know he wants to keep tabs on me.
And I appreciate that. No one has ever cared enough to keep tabs on me.
“So we’re doing this,” Taylor mutters as we reach the foot of the porch.
“Definitely,” Desiree agrees.
Inhaling deeply, I mentally pull up my big-girl panties and climb the steps.
An hour later, I’m starting to develop a headache. The noise is overwhelming. The bass is shaking the entire house. Every song seems to have the same annoying beat to it. People are shouting, singing, crying, moaning. Every sound imaginable.
I’ve lost all three roommates, though I know they’re here somewhere. It’s not hard to get separated. I’m in the kitchen, where I planted myself a while ago, hoping I would eventually find one of my friends when they came in to refill their drinks.
The smell is atrocious. Beer and some kind of nasty alcohol. I keep holding my breath and trying to avoid getting it spilled on me. It’s a lost cause. Four people have already lost the top few inches of their beer as they passed me, most of it splashing on my light-pink blouse.
The beer is better than the alternative, though.
The other main beverage in this kitchen is a giant trash can of something red.
People keep dipping their cups into it, scooping it out, and guzzling it.
I watched two guys refill the giant black receptacle a few minutes ago.
They dumped in gallons of fruit punch and then several giant glass bottles of some kind of clear alcohol. I nearly vomited just from watching.
It’s blatantly obvious that I’m not like other people my age.
I don’t see the appeal of this party so far.
Even if some of the guys stumbling around me were attractive sober, they aren’t after several drinks.
Their breath stinks, their hair is a mess, their eyes are bloodshot, and their clothes are rumpled.
As I back up yet again, I suddenly bump into something or someone. Hopefully, the wall.
But no such luck. An arm comes around me, and I find myself pulled against a hard chest. Before I can twist around to see who’s touching me so intimately, I’m lifted a few inches off the floor and hauled backward.
It all happens so fast that I’m too stunned to react. Before I can manage to tell myself to scream, I’m in a dark room. I catch a glimpse of shelves of food just before the door is kicked shut by my assailant, enclosing me in total darkness with him.
A rough hand lands over my mouth, and his lips come to my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, pretty girl.”
My eyes are wide, but I can’t see a thing. Fear sends adrenaline pumping rapidly through my body. How can this be happening to me on my first real night as an official adult?
I’m still not touching the floor. He’s holding me up with one arm under my breasts as if I weigh nothing, and to him, apparently, I do. He’s big. Broad and tall.
“Shh, shh, shh… I promise you’re safe.”
He can’t convince me of that. Why would he drag me into a pantry if he doesn’t intend to hurt me or worse? I finally manage to scream, but my voice is muffled by his palm.
His hand smells clean, like he just washed it. I also don’t detect alcohol on his breath.
With his nose, he brushes my hair away from my neck before inhaling deeply along my collarbone. “You smell good. Vanilla?”
My head is spinning. I don’t answer him. How could I? I want to kick out at him. All I can do is reach up and grab his arm with both hands. His forearm is bare, and I dig my nails into him, all ten of them.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“Such a naughty girl.” He lowers his hand from my mouth to my thigh and swats me hard. Instantly, my thigh burns. The sting rattles me. I don’t know how he has the leverage to do so. He’s incredibly strong.
Why did I wear a skirt?
His voice is eerily calm as he says, “Unless you want me to pull your skirt up, yank your panties down, and spank your pretty ass until you’re crying so hard that snot is running out of your button nose, I suggest you let go of my arm, princess.”
Panting, I ease my grip. I don’t think I even had the strength to draw blood. I’m shaking too hard. If I live through this, I’ll sign up for the self-defense classes I saw at orientation this morning.
“Good girl,” he mutters against my neck. His voice is a deep rumble. It vibrates through me.
A finger lands on my cheek. “Do I need to cover your mouth again, princess? Or can you be a good girl for me? It won’t do you any good to scream anyway. Not with the number of people at this party.” He strokes his finger down my chin, my neck, and finally between my breasts.
I struggle futilely. Sexual assault was not on my bingo card for tonight. I should struggle harder or call out for help, but I’m too scared to antagonize him. And he’s probably right. Who would hear me? I do manage to whimper, though.
“Shhh,” he whispers again. “I meant what I said. I won’t hurt you, princess.”
What does that even mean? He’s already hurting me. I’m damaged for life. If he let me go right now, I’d be emotionally scarred and need counseling.
“You don’t fit in at this party, do you, princess?”
I hold very still, not responding. I’m not even sure what the right answer is.
“I bet you’re a freshman. Your eyes have been bulging out of their sockets all night.
Such a stunning shade of green, too. I don’t know why all the boys haven’t tried to hit on you yet.
Probably because most of the kids here are barely adults, stupid, and drunk.
They can’t see what a gem is in their midst.”
It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying, but I force myself to. He might say something that will be helpful if he keeps rambling. For instance, I now know he’s older than most of the people I’ve met tonight.
His fingers come to my hair. He twirls one around a lock.
“Fuck, I love this hair. I’m salivating to fist my hand in the long honey waves and give a strong yank.
I bet you’d like that.” He chuckles sardonically.
“I’ve shocked you. You’re so vanilla you’ve probably never had a man pull your hair, have you, princess? ”
I don’t know what he means. Vanilla? Before, he mentioned my shampoo being vanilla, and he’s right. But that’s not the context he’s using now. I’m trembling from the idea of him pulling my hair. Why does the idea excite me?
His hand moves to my thigh, his fingers trailing along the edge of my skirt. “Were you hoping to get fucked tonight, princess?” He says fucked like it’s the dirtiest word on the planet. Or maybe not the word but the implied action.
I gasp and shake my head.