Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Jennifer
Heavy. So fucking heavy.
My mind. My body. All of it.
The sweet allure of sleep tempts me to simply drift off again instead of coasting the edge of consciousness. I know things are happening to my body—vile, detestable, rough things—but I’m not attached to it. I’m far away, close to the dark, and eventually, I let it pull me back under.
Incessant ringing in my ears greets me when I come to, and it takes a second for me to register the throbbing in my cheek echoing through my skull. As soon as I’m aware of it, confusion mixed with uncertainty brings a wave of panic as I try to recall what happened and where I am.
While trying to make sense of things as I tread along that line of darkness, I’m suddenly aware of a presence, like my mind is only now catching up with my surroundings.
There’s a weight on me. A pressure on my mouth.
And then . . . I remember.
Fear jumps to the surface, and my eyes pop open. I try to scream, to lift my arms and shove him away, but my body doesn’t respond properly, and that only has me freaking out more.
Internally, I’m thrashing and screaming, but on the outside, nothing is happening.
Am I even awake? Is this real?
Finally, I’m able to force a sound from my throat, and he lifts off me, his blurry face slowly coming into view, though things are still spinning.
“Get away from me!” I feel like I scream it, but my voice sounds muffled to my own ears. “Stop touching me!”
The sting and ache in my lower half tells me it’s already too late and the realization brings on a wave of nausea, a crack forming in my soul.
How could he be so cruel?
Light from somewhere close—a flashlight or a phone—shines on him, and I manage to focus long enough to catch Jacob’s bright blue eyes staring back at me.
I didn’t truly believe it was him at first, but here he is in the flesh.
For some reason, seeing him makes it more real, scarier. And he’s far too fucking close.
My pulse spikes with the need to get away, and I attempt to throw my hands up in an effort to push him back.
My movements are sloppy, but I manage to fling them up, which means I have partial control of my limbs again.
Unfortunately, whatever I was trying to accomplish with that move failed miserably because within a second, he has my arms pinned against my body. Again.
“Jennifer, stop. I’m trying to help you.”
“No!” I struggle against him, terror wreaking havoc on my body. “You fu—you fuckin’ raped me.”
His face blurs again, but when it comes back into focus, I know my mind is playing tricks on me because his face looks stricken. It’s a lie.
I see his mouth moving, but I’m trying too hard to get away from his filthy hands to let any words sink in.
In a moment of hesitation, I feel his grip on me loosen, so I take the opportunity to try to free one of my hands and make a swipe toward him. My nail makes contact, and the second he releases me and reaches for his face, I quickly drag myself away on shaky strength.
Run. Run! He’s a monster.
If I knew I could stand, I’d get up and run. But just accomplishing that small distance was hard enough.
Jacob looks from me to his blood-tipped fingers, and the air rushes from my lungs. Oh no. No, no, no. What if he retaliates and hits me again? Hurts me again.
The bruise on my cheek throbs as if to remind me of what happened earlier. I brush my fingers lightly over the ache as I frantically look around the area for something, anything I could use as protection, or maybe an easy escape.
“It wasn’t me, Jennifer.”
My head keeps swimming like it’s underwater, everything around me moving and shifting. Jacob’s face twists and turns, looking sad one minute and evil the next.
Stinging on my inner thigh draws my hand, and I feel the raised skin as if it were scratched. My stomach sours at the thought of his hands down there, making me want to hurl again.
The looming monster starts closing in on me, and I find myself shrinking back, holding my shaky hands out in front of me in a poor attempt to keep him away. “No. Stay away. Please.” A sob chokes through my throat. “Stay away.”
Please.
I keep searching for anything, anything, anything.
Help!
My teeth are a constant clatter between breaths, my body shivering uncontrollably. I’m not sure if I’m even cold right now or if it’s shock blasting through me. Probably both.
“Jennifer, listen, it wasn’t me.”
Lies. I don’t want to listen to his lies.
Why would he actually admit to his actions? He’s already tried holding me down again.
Sirens in the distance grab my attention, and I jerk my head in that direction, a spark of relief making its way through my muddled mind. Are they coming here? Will they save me?
When I turn back to Jacob, he’s even closer than before.
No, no, no.
“Here, take this. You’re cold.”
It’s a trap to get closer to me. The second I’m within reach, he’ll attack.
But surely, he wouldn’t try anything with the sirens approaching, would he?
I watch Jacob step even closer, holding out a sweater, and the fact he’s not stopping tells me otherwise.
The need to protect myself pulses through me, and I clench my fist, testing the strength and finding it a little easier to move. I have to do something. Move. Fight. Anything.
When he’s within reaching distance, I make a move, lunging for him. If I can throw him off balance for a few seconds, it might give me the time I need to get away.
Unfortunately, I’m not as stable as I thought, and my already wobbly legs catch on a tuft of grass. I fall forward, taking a fistful of Jacob’s shirt as I tumble, hearing the fabric tear before landing with a thud.
He reaches for me, and the absolute panic at feeling so vulnerable on the ground has me flailing my arms, trying to keep him away.
“Hey,” Jacob grunts while trying to grab me. “Hey, calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I don’t stop swinging, summoning all my strength, forcing him to jump back out of reach.
Jacob looks down at me with what looks like pity in his eyes, probably thinking I’m a pathetic mess who should be able to handle what he just did to me.
Reality makes its way through the muddy mess of my mind and emotions flood me, the trauma of what’s happened making my grow breaths faster and tears flow. Even if I stop him now, it’s already too late, and I cry harder at the thought.
Suddenly, somebody else is speaking and Jacob’s attention is no longer on me. I flinch as another person puts a hand on my shoulder, but they quickly remove it when I swing my wild gaze to them.
“It’s okay,” a feminine voice says, softly, sweetly. “It’s okay, we’re here.”
I break down again at registering they’re here to help me while a blanket is tucked around my shoulders, immediately surrounding me with warmth.
Too much talking is happening, and questions are being thrown around by different people. My head still doesn’t feel right, and though the blanket warms me, my body still shakes violently.
But at least I know I’m safe now.
I finally lift my eyes to Jacob again while answering something about alcohol to one of the ladies sitting with me. I can’t see the expression on his face, but those eyes . . . they stare directly at me.
“I think he drugged me as well,” I tell no one in particular, tugging the blanket tighter like it can protect me.
But that horrible thought from earlier crosses my mind and the tears fall once more.
It’s already too late.
*~*~*~*
Hour after exhausting hour of prodding, poking, swabbing—as well as a hundred questions—pass at the clinic in Plainfield where I was brought.
“What do you remember?” has been the most commonly asked question.
And the truth is, I remember more than I told them.
But I couldn’t repeat all the horrible things that kept flashing through my mind on a carousel: being held down, my body being used, the thrusting and pain, the sounds, and not being able to do a thing about it.
There are parts I don’t remember, though, and I’m grateful that I was unconscious for at least a portion of it.
They told me I must have gotten a hold of Jacob’s phone at one point and dialed nine-one-one before dropping it into the grass, or maybe he snatched it away.
I hadn’t even questioned their arrival at first, but it makes sense if I was able to get my hands on a phone. Between other muffled words, the dispatcher heard me accuse Jacob of raping me and telling him to stay away.
God, all I want to do is slip into a scalding hot shower and wash his disgusting residue off me. My skin is crawling.
My father arrived within minutes, bringing with him a mood I’ve never experienced from him before. Pure, calm rage.
It took my mother longer to arrive from where she lives in Chicago, but she also walked in here like a volcano ready to explode.
Neither of them offered hugs—not that I would have welcomed one at this moment. I haven’t been able to look them in the eye, either. I haven’t been able to look anyone in the eye. Not since whatever was in my system started clearing away.
Having all these people know every disgusting detail that was done to me has me feeling raw and exposed, like I’m lying here naked in front of them to examine. So fucking dirty. The violation and humiliation haven’t stopped with Jacob using and abusing my body.
I shift, squeezing my knees tighter against me. I guess I should be happy they said he used a condom. It’s the tiniest consolation.
“Here’s the number for the counseling sessions, as well as the number for the local group meetings.” When I don’t immediately take it from her, she lays it beside me and turns to my parents.
I don’t know why they’d think I’d want to discuss the details with even more people. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t utter another word about it to anyone.
Jacob was already caught, let’s just leave it at that.
But I know my father, and I doubt he’ll let anybody rest when it comes to this. Add in the fact that my mother is a lawyer, and probably already has someone working on the case, and I doubt I’ll be allowed to stay quiet.
My head and body were still a mess when I arrived here, my pulse rocketing and eyes flying in every direction, but I’ve since withdrawn into myself and have been staring at the painting of black dahlias across the room for the past while, waiting to be allowed to leave.
I know the real flowers aren’t actually black at all, but rather a deep maroon or purple. I feel black right now, but I wonder if there is still some pretty color hidden underneath?
Regardless, black is my favorite shade, so the flowers, dark and beautiful, have held my attention while the world moves on around me. The bright pink background contrasts the dark so perfectly, and the combination draws me in.
Finally, after what feels like an uncomfortable lifetime, I’m told I can go home. There are more things said, but I’m still so far in my own head that I don’t listen, leaving it for my parents to deal with.
The drive home with my father is awkward and silent, causing the interior of his Bentley to feel stifling.
My emotions are all mixed up, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, let alone know what to say to him. I wonder if it would have been the same in my mother’s vehicle traveling behind us.
Would she have tried to talk?
No doubt it would have been worse.
Head resting against the window, I stare outside, going through all the what-ifs, the possibilities spinning around in my head like a merry-go-round.
What if I had gone inside with my friends? What if I hadn’t accepted the cup he gave me? What if I hadn’t rejected him? What if I didn’t go to the party? What if I fought harder?
Would it have changed anything? Everything?
What if I’d worn pants? My father never brought up the skirt I was wearing, but I did catch him glancing at it with distaste.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to keep my focus on one thing, but a slight fuzzy haze still lingers like a morning fog.
I try to wade through my thoughts and feelings, but the sudden memory of pain between my legs from brutal thrusting, along with the horrid sound of grunting in my ear, flashes through my mind.
My eyes pop open while my stomach twists into a sloshy mess that threatens to expel the contents.
Thankfully, we’re already pulling into the driveway of our large two-story home, and I manage to swallow down the feeling long enough to push out of the car and breathe in some fresh air.
The awful memory lingers, but I’m able to pull it together enough not to lose my stomach right then and there.
A rush of overwhelming emotions start bubbling up and spilling over as the reality of the situation catches up on me. Or maybe it’s just from finally being home.
“Why don’t you head on up—”
The rest of my father’s words are lost as I rush inside and up the stairs, almost tumbling down on my way to the bathroom to be alone.
I tear at my clothes, wanting to get the tainted material off me, but I can’t seem to get them off fast enough. My fingers aren’t working properly, and an agonized sound slips from my mouth as I struggle to undo the buttons and zipper.
Once they’re finally ripped off, I jam every last shred of fabric into the trash can in the bathroom and shove it away from me, falling backward onto the ground in the process with a heaving chest.
Air. I can’t get enough inside my lungs. The filth is suffocating me.
I scramble to stand and almost trip over my own feet trying to make a dash to the shower.
Burning heat sprays my skin, but still, I try turning it hotter. When the handle refuses to go any further, I reach for my loofah, pouring shower gel all over it. I scrub at my skin, ignoring any stinging, but the feeling still doesn’t go away.
I push the loofah deeper, scrubbing harder as a sob rips through my chest.
Scrub, scrub, scrub.
My skin screams at me to stop—raw, red, and burning—but my mind, just as raw, urges me on.
Clean. I need to get clean.
I scrub between my legs, ignoring the ache while my eyes blur with more tears.
I scrub until my whole body is singing in pain, drowning out the hurt inflicted by him.
I scrub until I collapse to the shower floor, surrounded by bubbles, my tears flowing to match the stream of cooling water hitting me.
Then, dropping the loofah, I curl into myself and cry.