Becca
Chapter 7
Becca
October 31 st , 2014 – Halloween – 40 Days till Death
It’s now or never.
My pulse pounds against my skin in a frantic drum beat that scatters all coherent thoughts as I act on pure instinct. As soon as Nate’s attention is diverted, I make a break for it and slip through the crowd of costumed partygoers grinding on each other. Just a few more feet to go, then I’ll be hidden away behind a door and a lock.
I know it’s not enough to stop Nate if he wants to get to me, but I’m hoping his reputation will be more important to him than causing a scene that’ll have too many people asking questions. He’s already belligerent and I just got here. It’s bad enough on one of his ‘good nights’ when he’s at least got some sense to show some restraint. I don’t want to find out what it’ll be like with him out of control. All of them out of control . Hiding in here is the best chance of protecting myself.
Planting my palms on the bathroom counter that’s miraculously clean for a fraternity, I suck in uneven breaths. The cool stone grounds me and gives me something stable to lean on, while I try my best not to unravel in public.
With my breathing under control, I chance a look at my reflection and resist the urge to flinch away from what I see there. Almost every inch of my body is on display in the tiny outfit—more like lingerie—Nate insisted I wear.
His satisfied words stick with me like eager maggots burrowed into my skin. There’s my princess.
I’m not sure what the worst part is… the obnoxious crown pinned to the top of my head, or the sad excuse for a dress. The pink ruffle-y skirt skims the very top of my thighs, barely covering my panties—the full-coverage pair I picked out, not the G-string it came with—and the white bodice is so thin that it’s virtually see-through. The entire ensemble, or lack thereof, is only held up by skinny straps that would tear with one hard yank. Will I walk out of here in anything tonight? My threadbare ego hopes so.
The glass bottle I’ve carried in here tinks sharply as I twist it to reveal the alcohol content. The high percentage makes my insides squirm. I’m the definition of a lightweight, but it’s my only hope. My saving grace. Or it’s supposed to be. If I drink this, at least there’s a better chance I won’t remember all the ways they defile my body. At least there’s some chance I can hold my sanity together a little longer until I figure out how to get myself out of this situation for good.
While I’m distracted having a standoff with the bottle, the lock starts to move from vertical to horizontal. Lunging forward at the last second, I grip the handle and take the twisting mechanism between my clammy fingers. But they’re no match for whatever tool they’re using on the other side.
As the door swings open, I flatten myself against the wall behind it, hoping beyond all reason that I can go undetected. It’s a silly attempt, but desperate times call for desperate measures. A gust of cool air brushes across my front as they shove the door closed. Squeezing my eyes closed tightly, I brace myself for aggressive unwanted hands and sloppy lips.
“There you are,” a faintly familiar voice coos. “You’re trembling, Angel. Are you that excited to see me?” The words drip in honey, but they’re sprinkled with spice, a combination that reaches right into the pit of my gut.
Taking a steadying breath, I force my lashes to part. Two luminous brown eyes stare intently at me through a rim of intense black eyeliner and a face covered in blood spatter. But my gaze is drawn to the name ‘Chucky’ written over a heart on her breast. I don’t get the chance to assess the rest of her costume that’s concealed from me as she presses our hips together. Once again, my feet are glued to the floor as I slip into her trance.
“Did you miss me?” She pushes for a reaction, her lips curving wickedly. Maybe she’ll go away on her own if I don’t give her the attention she’s looking for.
“Do I know you?” I stumble over the absurd words. Of course, there’s no mistaking her. Despite how hard I’ve tried to forget her, the spiced scent of her perfume, and the taste of mint on her tongue, she’s plagued my nightmares on and off for months now.
Her cocky laugh punctuates what she and I both know… I couldn’t forget her if I tried. Her body. Her lips. Her words. Her very essence is deeply ingrained in my mind—both conscious and unconscious—the reminder of her sneaking around the edges of my awareness whenever I let my guard down. I can’t let her know that, though. Nobody can know that .
“I’d be happy to jog your memory, if necessary.” Those vixen eyes flash with challenge as she looks down at me.
Instead of answering, I attempt to feign disinterest by inspecting her necklace, but she smoothly intercepts me, wrapping her fingers around my wrist and pinning it to the wall above my head. My other hand freezes uselessly on her chest as her cinnamon and rose scent infiltrates my space. “What, what are you doing?” I manage to stammer around the saliva flooding my mouth.
“What I should have done the last time I had the chance.” She leans in and I tilt my head back in an attempt to evade the kiss I was anticipating, but I play right into her hands as I open my body to her, and she seizes the opportunity to drag her dominating tongue over my nipple. The dampness immediately soaks through the nearly sheer fabric of my party-store bodice.
In the mirror, I’m watching the nightmare that’s been tormenting me come to fruition. It’s torturously pleasurable.
My wrist flexes against her chest, failing to put space between us. The cold metal of her dermal piercings is distinctly intimate against my palm; I fight the urge to dig my nails in as she pushes defiantly against me. “And what’s that?” I ask, the words forcefully sucked out of me in a rasping shudder as she latches her lips around the tip sending crackling pleasure traveling through my body. It’s like experiencing my first buzz all over again—head light, body heavy, everything moving slowly. I’ve never been much of a drinker, but it’s easy to see why people chase the feeling now.
“Making sure you’ll crave me to the point of madness…until you can’t help but seek me out. Until you’re pleading for just a drop of me on your tongue to quench the unending thirst that is your need for me,” she finally answers far too easily as she pulls her mouth off of my breast. “Tell me, do you think of me every time you close your eyes?” Her confident laugh skates across my skin sultry and tempting. “Are you ready to admit that I’m your dream girl?” The taunt nudges at something hidden within my subconscious. Before I can follow that train of thought, she repeats the same intoxicating movements on my neck followed by nips at my collarbone. My natural response to the threat of teeth on skin is to shrink away, but I lean into it. Instead of protesting, only a squeak escapes me when the sharp ridge of her front teeth meets my collarbone right over the bruising I’ve kept carefully hidden all night with my long hair and layers of makeup.
Shame blossoms across my skin, and I begin to squirm as she simply hovers there, mouth open, breath pulsing and wetness gathering from her saliva like she might be able to taste my humiliation. A dozen explanations cross my mind, but I don’t have a good one that wouldn’t make my already precarious situation worse. The last thing I need is someone like her involved in my personal life, so I channel that defensiveness. “What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking about how satisfying it will be when you beg me to mark you someday.”
“That’s not going to happen.” The confidence with which I say that wavers—the words without substance, crumbling—as her nose skims along my jaw.
“What is this to you then?” Her tongue flicks out, toying with the hoop that dangles from my ear, and I fight a shiver as the pleasant heat of her mouth teases the sensitive flesh.
“A distraction.” I take a breath buying time to focus my thoughts. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” she purrs into my ear. “Trust me, there will come a day when you proudly proclaim yourself as mine.”
“I’m not flustered,” I insist. “And I’m not yours.”
“Not yet. But I’ll remember you said that.” Her teeth graze the delicate skin along my neck. “Don’t worry I won’t hold it against you.” She leans back to look at me, her hand coming up and latching around my throat. “Well, not too much.” Her bubbly laugh raises the hair on the back of my neck. “I mean, I might make you beg a little.” The pressure increases a fraction and my body tenses as I remember the possessive grip that’s usually used to hold me still. I catch my wide eyes in the mirror. My skin has blanched with reflexive fear that’s become my most natural reaction to any touch. This isn’t feeling like so much of an escape anymore.
Her eyes track the movement in my shoulders and the tightening of my throat. “What’s wrong, Babygirl?” Her thick brows dip with genuine concern. “Do you want me to stop?” The words are uncertain. Coming from her it’s sobering. She takes a step back so she can see all of me and I can see all of her. “Use your words. Becca. If you want me to stop, tell me.” Playing with the bar through her tongue, she fidgets while she waits for my answer.
A flare of panic rolls down my spine as my muscles spasm with the urge to close the distance between us. My throat’s as dry as Death Valley, making it nearly impossible to vocalize my answer. The hesitation has nothing to do with the warring thoughts of curiosity and survival. Between my fingers, I swirl two pieces of the ruffled skirt together trying to find some sense in the repetitive motion.
Making out with her is thrilling, even if it’s nothing more than a kiss. Which it’s not. Tons of women hook up with each other when they’re drunk, it’s no big deal. Some would even say it’s an essential part of the college experience. Since I’m getting ready to graduate soon, isn’t it kind of a rite of passage that I partake? I swallow roughly and my gaze slides to the bottle of vodka that sits on the bathroom counter.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm” the blond shakes her head. “I’m not letting you off that easy.” She wags a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Yes, or no?” She kneels before me.
For several seconds all I can do is shake my head back and forth in panic as I realize what she intends. “No.” I jerk forward and press my thighs together. “We can’t. I’m, umm, I’m on my period.”
That tantalizing tongue strokes her lips as she stares up at me. I shake my head again, insistent. “Okay.” She stands. “But for the record, I don’t mind.” When I make a face of disgust she just laughs. “So, is that a yes?” She unzips her purse and holds up something small and pink. “Or no?” It slips on her finger. “Let me make it easy for you. Do you want to feel good, or do you want to go back out there and have some incompetent jackass use you?”
Despite all of the alarms sounding in the back of my head, I nod. Holding my gaze for several seconds, she waits for what she deems long enough for an objection, then her lips crash into mine. Claiming. Certain. Ravenous. The way she treats me like I belong to her emboldens me to open up willingly.
I hold on tight, grabbing at her exposed hips. She’s soft and supple beneath my hands, nothing like the hard muscle I’m used to being crushed under. Her weight presses into me, pinning me to the wall, but it’s reassuring instead of suffocating. I grip her, needing her closer. There’s no resistance; our bodies move together in synchronicity, her leg slipping between mine as she lifts my left leg up and around her hip. To hold myself steady, I plant the front of my shoe against the counter, which tilts my hips just so. A gasp leaves me when she rubs a finger over my center, driving me upward onto my toes.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” The teasing words tickle against my tongue. She doesn’t wait for me to answer, a light vibration coming to life between my legs as she slides her finger back and forth. My responding moan falls from my mouth into hers and she swallows it with a groan. “That’s right, Angel. I told you I’m going to make you feel good.” Further proving her point, she moves the toy in circles over my clit and my body jolts forward at the unfamiliar sensation. “Oh baby, nobody’s ever worked your clit like this, have they?” She lets out a mischievous chuckle that would make me self-conscious if she wasn’t distracting me with increasing pressure and little movements that are too perfectly mapped to my body. “That’s just cruel. But more fun for me. I’m going to show you a whole new fucking world when you let me. I’m going to blow that pretty little mind every chance I get.” With a click, the vibrations intensify. “For my first trick, I’m going to make you come.”
“I don’t even know your name,” I manage to string the sentence together between chattering teeth and a liquid mind.
“So prim and proper, aren’t you, my girl.” She laughs at me again. “When I tell you, I want it to be somewhere I can hear you properly scream it.” She brushes the fingers of her free hand across my cheek. “I suppose baby could suffice in the meantime?”
I scoff. “I’m not calling you that.”
“How about, my god?”
I don’t get a chance to object because the air is sucked out of my lungs when she switches the device onto what I can only hope is the most powerful vibration. My feet ache with impending cramps as I flex and writhe under her attention.
“Say it.” She tugs at my tampon string, yanking it out of me as her finger dips inside me at the same time. Ignoring my yelp of disapproval, she adds more pressure to my clit. “Shh, shh, shh. Don’t worry about that. Just think about how good it feels.” She proves her point, my embarrassment fading to the back of my mind as her fingers pump inside me. “Doesn’t that feel nice? Come on, say it, Angel,” she coos. “Tell everyone at this party that I’m your god. Thank me for the gift I’m about to bestow on you.”
“I can’t,” I whimper quietly, trying to contain my impending unraveling to just this room.
“Are you sure?” she asks while applying another bout of pressure.
“I can’t,” I repeat as my body threatens to explode from the contradicting emotions pounding through me. “This isn’t me.”
“This isn’t you shaking around my fingertips?”
I shake my head, unable to speak dishonestly when every inch of my body is quivering with desire.
“That’s too bad, my pretty little liar .” The room falls silent as she cuts off the toy’s power and steps back, dropping my leg from around her hip. I barely catch myself on my hands when my knees give out.
“What the—”
“One way or another, you’re going to worship me.” I watch with revulsion as she slips the toy into a plastic baggie and zips it without washing away the sticky redness coating it, but she speaks before I can protest. “Now that you’ve had a taste of just how good it can be, you’re going to crave me.”
It’s a challenge; it’s a curse . My ragged breaths are my only protest as I search her gaze for any sign of a bluff. Deciphering what I read there is nearly impossible with my clit pulsing as violently as my erratic heartbeat.
“Don’t look so glum, Babygirl. We both got what we wanted.” She smirks up at me in the mirror as she washes my blood from her hands with unfathomable casualness. “You got your distraction, and I proved my point.” With a wink, she shuts off the sink.
She’s halfway out the door when she turns back to me. “Maybe next time you won’t be so stubborn?” Blowing a kiss, she slips back into the party like she was never here. Like she didn’t just turn my world upside down.
Scrambling for the lock, I secure my space once again so I can panic in private. What the fuck did we just do? Despite the lack of a chaser, I take two long swigs from the bottle, letting the warm alcohol worm its way through me with a naive hope that it’ll dull my humiliation and frustration and help me pretend this never happened.
A sharp knock on the bathroom door reverberates against the back of my skull managing to shake loose whatever insanity has come over me. Fear sweeps through me, tensing every muscle and pumping adrenaline into my veins.
The rattling intensifies, forcing me to quickly check that I’m presentable—I brush my fingers through my hair, fix the part of my skirt that flipped up, and wipe the feel of her from my lips—then emerge into the hallway like nothing more than an upset stomach happened even though I feel like a town torn through by a tornado on the inside.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Nate slurs. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” I avoid the heavy gaze of Rob from over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t feeling well.” That’s exactly it. The lie I’ll sell myself, too. Nothing more than some nausea. That didn’t happen. Couldn’t have. My tender lips throb in protest.
“Whatever. Get your ass upstairs; we’ll be right up,” he growls.
Instead of answering, I do as he says. With each step I ascend, my heart races faster; the alarm bells in my mind like a severe storm siren. Danger. Danger. Danger.
I consider putting in another tampon but choose not to as a small act of rebellion. Casting a look over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching me go into Nate’s room. I pause at the threshold for several seconds. Nobody cares.
Stumbling in the dark, I find my way to the window and twist open the blinds. A group of people stand on the lawn, red cups in hand, smiles on their faces. Oblivious. Blissful. I watch them for a bit. Terrified. Resentful.
The alcohol burns my throat as it threatens to come back up when the music pours in behind me. Nobody needs to say anything; we all know what we’re here for.
Forcing my muscles to relax, I become pliable. Not for their benefit, but for the soreness.
“That’s it. Just relax,” Richard slurs at me. While he closes in at my front, Nate comes up behind me, and with a harsh tug, he tears down my straps. With practiced hands, I peel down the rest of the dress and step out of it, my gaze fixed on one of the trippy posters past Richard’s head. Bass thumps through the walls. Laughter and upbeat music are the sickening soundtrack to another piece of me dying.
“Get on the bed,” Nate orders. Mechanically, I get onto my knees, shifting my focus to the photos of his family on the wall. His dad is tall and well-kept, wearing a suit that costs more than most people’s monthly rent. His mom wears a tight smile to match her perfectly tailored dress.
I bite my lip, so I don’t gag when Nate’s thighs touch the back of mine.
The picture next to that one is of Nate and his dad standing in an office in front of the logo for Peters Group, Attorneys at Law. The older man has a hand on his son’s shoulder, the grip authoritative, his straight mouth cold.
Nate’s hand clamps around the back of my neck like I’m squirrely prey. A chill creeps down my spine reminding me that it’s time to go.
I’m eleven again. It smells like freshly mowed grass and sunblock. The sun shines in a blue sky and the breeze is refreshing on my skin. I separate paper cups while Ana, my best friend, fills them each three-quarters of the way with our homemade pink lemonade.
The scene glitches, a pair of thighs are pressing into my face and my throat is so full it hurts.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I find the lemonade stand again. Ana’s smashing strawberries that will be poured into the cups after each person pays. Her dark blond hair tangles around her while she attempts to remain focused, having to pause every few seconds to get it out of her eyes. After the fourth time, I move behind her and gather the flyaways in my hands. On autopilot, I divide her hair into two parts, then each part into three strands, crossing the pieces over one another until they’ve been wrangled into tidy braids. The style suits her round face; it’s my favorite. But I love the smile and the pink of her cheeks more.
The squeaking mattress and the claps of skin on skin interrupt the peaceful day.
Don’t listen, don’t listen, don’t listen. I remind myself. I keep repeating it in my head until I’m with her again.
Ana pokes her finger through the plates of the braid. “Bex,” her voice is hesitant.
“Yeah?” I stop messing with the sign we have tied with twine to the front of the table.
“We’ll be friends forever, right?” She worries her lip between her teeth. Doesn’t she know they’re too pretty for that?
“Yes, forever.” I throw my arms around her shoulders. Hers wrap around my stomach, and I’ve never felt safer. “Best friends forever.”
“Becca,” Nate’s voice booms from behind me, shattering the memory. “Becca, get the hell up.”
Sitting back on my knees, I press my hands to my thighs, ignoring the wetness that transfers from my ass cheek to my calf. “S-sorry.” On autopilot, I quickly yank my underwear up, then grab my dress off the floor and pull it on over my heels. Without looking back, I exit the room and fly down the stairs, nearly twisting my ankle in the process. Going into the kitchen, I open the cabinet under the sink and snatch up the flannel I wore over to cover myself up on the way. I button the top, middle, and bottom buttons.
Flinging the front door open, I take a deep inhale. Two of the guys in the group just to the right of me look over, their eyes quickly losing interest. I don’t recognize anyone with them, so I keep moving, wiping at my face and combing my fingers through my hair hastily as I search for someone who might be able to give me a ride out of here. Now.
Thankfully, I recognize Brittany walking to her car and even though we’ve hardly spoken since my birthday, I dart after her. “I know things have been weird lately, but can you drop me off at home? Please. ” I’m not above begging.
Her eyes flare wide. “Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”
“No. Y-yes.” I need to get my shit together. “Yes. I just drank too much.”
Brittany’s brow furrows as she studies me. In our four years of friendship, she’s probably seen me drunk twice, but she doesn’t call my bluff. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Sliding into the passenger seat, I hug my arms around myself and point my knees toward the passenger door. My mind is a jittery mess, but I don’t want to raise an alarm. Brittany turns on the heater and my leg stops bouncing.
“Becca, you know I still care about you, right?” She scans my outfit. “If you’re going through something, we can talk.”
“I’m fine.” I’m not , but I’m not going to confess to her when we’ve barely said a handful of words to each other over the last few months. She was Meg’s friend first. It’s fine. I turn up the dial on her radio. The music becomes distant as I follow the lines on the road with my eyes.
That didn’t happen.
That didn’t happen.
That didn’t happen.
I shove the memories of tonight in a box of secrets and shame just like the other relics of my past that I refuse to take a harder look at. I toss it in a coffin and bury it six feet below the solid ground I need to stand on. It’s a system that hasn’t failed me yet; I just hope that nobody ever goes digging it up because once those skeletons get out, there’s no going back.