Penny #2
“This isn’t a game, Penelope.” His voice is as hard as his expression. “This is my way of doing what the justice system didn’t do—punish you. Not just because of the harm you caused me, but how your lies might have harmed others.”
“What others?”
“The many women who actually suffer sexual assault. Do you know what my lawyer said to me? What made him confident at first my case would be an easy win?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “He said, ‘Less than ten percent of rape accusations lead to a conviction.’
“It’s so low because victims often aren’t believed.
They don’t have enough proof. Their motives are called into question.
What do you think happens when there are false accusations of sexual assault?
It reinforces suspicion when a real accusation comes along, and makes it harder for a deserved conviction to happen. ”
Fresh, overwhelming guilt floods me with discomfort. All these years, I’ve been so focused on how my actions hurt him, I never considered how it hurt others too.
What I did was so destructive, it’s hard to accept it can’t be fixed. I can’t go back in time and resist my mother’s pressure to lie for her.
A sudden spike of hate for her rises in my chest. How could she do that to me? I was just a kid. Her kid. She forced me to do something terrible for selfish reasons, and now she’s dead while I’m still alive, stuck with constant guilt and shame.
Then that spike returns to its baseline of resentment. In the end, Mom didn’t get off easy.
She did nearly a year in prison for perjury. Aunt Dee and the rest of her family stopped talking to her. Then she wound up with health issues that stole what she valued more than money—her beauty.
She paid her price.
It’s time I paid mine.
“What next?” I ask quietly.
He stares at me for a short moment before he speaks.
“Put down your shirt.”
“What’s going to happen after I—”
“Strike one.”
“OK! I’m doing it!”
I quickly toss the shirt on the table then hesitate. I’m wearing a bra but not any underwear.
Do I show him my breasts or my pussy next?
It doesn’t matter. He’s going to see both anyway.
I reach behind me and unsnap my bra clips. My humiliation climbs to new heights as the straps slip down my arms and the cups sag away from my body. I shield my breasts with one arm as I deposit my bra on top of my shirt.
“You’re torturing yourself and wasting my time,” he says.
“Sorry I’m not giddy with excitement to show off my birthday suit to my former stepfather.”
He lets out a short, mocking laugh.
“That’s not going to work.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jacob stands and takes a purposeful step around the table. My body stiffens. I preferred it when he was sitting.
“Reminding me who I am to you isn’t going to change my mind. I gave this a lot of thought and now it’s in motion. We’re going to see this through. Quit stalling and take off the rest of your clothes.”
I’m even more disturbed that he used the same words I thought before I came out here. It’s like the universe heard me and said, “Challenge accepted.”
He’s right. I’m only making this worse for myself by dragging it out.
It takes herculean effort to let my hand fall away from my breasts. As soon as I do, I bend over and tug down my leggings. My whole body is on fire knowing that Jacob got a perfect view of my breasts dangling and swaying from the action.
I can’t look at him after I straighten and slap my leggings down on the small pile of clothing. His gaze scorches me and I’m desperate to shield my intimate areas. All my flawed ones too. I don’t bother because he’ll tell me to lower my hands.
It’s obvious why Jacob wants me naked, why he wanted me on my knees last night too.
He wants to humiliate me.
Tit for tat.
He’ll probably do what my mother did before I stopped letting her see me undressed: criticize my plump arms, my soft tummy, and the fact that there aren’t any gaps between my thighs.
My favourite parts of myself are my hair, my breasts, and my ass in tight leggings. I think I have cute toes as well.
But I’m still self-conscious, too nervous to bare my body to anyone. That’s why I couldn’t send that picture to that guy and why I’m still a virgin at twenty-two.
Until today, Kevin is the one other guy who’s seen me naked when he peeped on me many years ago. It’s pretty sad and messed up that the only men who’ve seen me nude aren’t supposed to.
Jacob takes a step toward me. I immediately back away, finally meeting his gaze. My stomach quivers and my heart beats faster.
He isn’t looking at me like he’s noticing all the parts my mother would insist I need to fix. He’s looking at me with blatant hunger.
I snatch up my clothes and press them to my front. Maybe Jacob doesn’t just want to humiliate me. Maybe he wants to do something worse.
What if his punishment is twisted justice: actually commit the crime I falsely accused him of?
One quick stride and he’s right in front of me, looming over me. I back up.
“Don’t—don’t do it! You’re not that kind of man.”
He matches my step. “Don’t do what? What kind of man do you think I am?”
“A good one who wouldn’t hurt me.”
“No, I’m a rapist. It’s what you said.”
“And I admitted I lied! Several times last night too!”
“Even after the truth came out, there were still people who believed I assaulted your mother. They thought I used my influence to get away with it. Sometimes I doubted my version of that night too. I would think, ‘I had a few drinks. What if Alyssa had been telling the truth?’”
“She wasn’t. It was a setup.”
“Then why do you assume I want to hurt you?”
“I’m not assuming. I’m concerned because you’re looking at me weird.”
A faint smile tugs one corner of his mouth.
“Weird, how?”
“Like you want to—to… fuck me.” My voice wavers on the last two words, fresh heat rising to my cheeks. Then I square my shoulders and strengthen my voice. “But you can’t. It’s messed up. I was your stepdaughter.”