Chapter 31 #2
A few minutes blur past, then the gin arrives. I sip it slower than the others, but somehow my limbs feel heavier, and my thoughts feel… slippery.
A few minutes later the tabs are paid and I say a weak ‘thank you’ to the bartender, his eyes lingering on me for half a second longer than usual. Then Marc’s hand is at my lower back, guiding me toward the door.
Outside, the night air hits my face, and everything shifts.
I must have stood up too quickly because the sidewalk tilts. Not metaphorically, but physically. The world lurches sideways and I stumble straight into Marc’s chest.
He catches me instantly, strong and steady. “Whoa… how much did I drink?” I murmur as I try to calculate. Five? Six? That shouldn’t…
“You okay there, papi?” he asks, looping one arm around my waist, pulling me closer. Too close, and I try to straighten. But my legs won't cooperate.
“I think I stood up too fast,” I choke out, but my voice sounds far away, like it’s echoing from across the city.
The streetlights smear into streaks of gold and headlights morph into comet trails.
Any defined edge of a building or pavement seems to shimmer like heatwaves in a desert. What the fuck is going on?
My heart starts to race, this can’t be the alcohol, can it? I mean I haven’t had a drink in a week, maybe my tolerance is fucked? That mixed with an empty stomach? Yeah, that must be it.
The ground doesn’t feel solid anymore, it feels like I’m on a boat, or the strangest turbulence I’ve ever flown through. I try to blink hard, but it doesn’t fix anything. I feel Marc’s grip tighten on me subtly. It probably looks supportive on the surface, but it kinda feels possessive.
“Easy,” he murmurs near my ear. “I’ve got you. Do you still live a few blocks that way?”
I can’t tell what direction he’s implying, but I mumble, “Yes.”
It feels like seconds later that I’m being guided through a door, and somewhere in the distance I hear someone singing. It’s muted, but echoing. Riley. Riley’s singing in the bathroom. I’m at home.
Instead of relief, I feel a slow alarm begin to rise in me from beneath the haze.
My mind swirls as I land hard on my bed, and I’m finally able to open my eyes.
I feel like I’m underwater, and my limbs are miles away.
I try to push myself up but nothing happens, then I see him.
Marc’s silhouette moves in and out of focus as he moves away from the door he’s just closed behind him and locked.
“What are you? No,” I say. At least I think I say it. He stands over me and undoes his belt slowly, and deliberately drops his jeans just enough. He’s standing over me, and panic detonates inside me, and I hear myself whimper.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. His voice is so different now, low with no trace of softness. “Just relax.”
I try to push up again, but my arms tremble and collapse. My heart is slamming violently against my ribs. This definitely isn’t alcohol. This is wrong. Something is very wrong.
Marc leans down, bracing one hand beside my head as he studies me, stroking himself hard with the other. His expression has changed. There’s no more charm, all that’s left is hunger, and something frigid.
“You could’ve avoided all of this,” he says quietly.
His fingers hook into the fabric of my shirt.
“If you’d just agreed to more.”
My brain screams. More?
“More than friends,” he continues. “More than just fuck buddies.”
Oh my god.
I finally manage the smallest shift upward and to the side, trying to escape. But he presses me back with little effort. My muscles won’t cooperate. I open my mouth to scream, but my tongue feels thick and useless.
“Remember back in San Francisco?” he hisses, voice turning husky with memory. “After your little boyfriend hit me?”
The word boyfriend drips with contempt and hatred.
“I told you you’d regret that.”
He leans closer. I can feel his breath against my ear.
“And I always get what I want.”
Terror floods me fully now, clear and sharp despite the fog in my limbs.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out as he rolls me to my stomach and pulls down my shorts.
I hear him spit into his hand, and I realize I’m sprawled across Drew’s side of the bed.
The side that hasn’t been touched since he died.
It was ruined, all ruined. The smell of Marc would replace Drew, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I try to scream for help, but all I manage is a weak “Ah,” as he lines himself up and pushes into me hard.
Inhale. Breathe.
With each rough thrust of his dick, pain shoots through me. I’m helpless.
My face is angled toward the picture of Drew and I at Versailles.
At least I don’t have to look at Marc. Drew looks back at me, his smile filling my heart.
The ring he gave me, full of love and promise, rests at the base of the frame.
I feel hot tears roll down my nose, and I’m struggling to breathe under Marc’s weight.
Then I think of Gregg. I think of all the love he showed me, and I feel a power begin to rise in me.
Higher and higher until I manage a scream.
“Ri—Riley—Help me! Please help!”
I don’t know how loud it was, but it was loud enough to warrant Marc to shove my face into the covers to try and keep me quiet.
Worlds away, I hear a rattling doorknob, a fist pounding on the door, then the unmistakable scrape of a bobby pin in the lock.
Stay awake. My lungs burn, the duvet is twisted up near my face. It’s blocking my airway, suffocating me.
Stay awake. Fight!
My body feels like it belongs to someone else, but I force every ounce of will I have into one thing, sound. “Help!” I strangle out. It’s a muffled yelp that is barely there. But it’s enough.
I hear the door clatter open hard against the wall, and someone lets out a horrendously primal scream. It’s not startled or confused. Marc pulls out of me so violently that I’m rolled onto my side, gasping, dragging air into my lungs.
Through the blur I see her. Riley. White-hot fury swimming in her eyes as she firmly presses a curling iron into Marc’s neck and face, smoke rises off the barrel as it sizzles against skin.
He howls scrambling backward as he falls to the floor, tripping over his jeans that are still wrapped around his legs, his body crashes against my dresser.
Riley doesn’t hesitate and she rushes forward, slamming the iron against the other side of his face. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” she screams down at him, her voice breaking with rage as he screams out in pain.
“You fucking bitch!” he shouts back, clawing at his face. “We’re just having some fun!”
“Fun implies consent, you monster!” she spits as she drives her foot down and forward into what I can only assume is his crotch. “It’s not fun when someone is half-conscious!”
Marc folds forward with a guttural gasp, wheezing, trying to crawl backward toward the door, and she hits him hard over the top of his head with the curling iron, garnering a deafening crack.
“Get out!” she commands, advancing toward him.
“Riley…” Marc gasps and pants, his eyes wild and stripped of all charm and control as he tries to catch his breath. “I… I swear—”
“I said get out!” Riley shrieks, raising her weapon again. “Get out before I shove this curling iron up your ass and call the police you fucking pussy!”
There’s no hesitation in her voice. Absolutely zero bluff.
Marc scrambles upright, clutching his face, humiliation and pain replacing arrogance. He stumbles into the hallway, nearly tripping again as he hauls up his jeans.
The front door crashes shut, and the only sound is our ragged breathing.
Riley carefully drops the curling iron on the dresser with shaking hands and rushes to me.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, cupping my face. “Cam? Cam, babe. Look at me.”
I blink up at her slowly and whimper, adrenaline pushes away some of the fog, but my vision is still cloudy.
I look at my dearest friend as she strokes my face.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”