Authors: Olivia Lynde
Finally, just when I think that his
wrist is about to snap, Josh croaks, "I'm sorry", and Seth releases him.
Josh swivels around immediately and takes
a menacing step toward my savior, hatred written all across his white face. What
is he, stupid? Judging from Seth's expression, he's just waiting for the
slightest provocation of which to take advantage and tear Josh to shreds. His
whole body is vibrating with fury and barely-leashed power. No adversary of his
would stand a chance.
Josh seems to arrive to the same
conclusion. He throws one last ugly glare in my direction and takes off. In the
doorway, he shoves against Carter and Jacob, who were just about to enter the
room.
"What's his problem?" grumbles
Carter.
Seth is standing so close to me that I
can feel the heat of his body touching me, sinking into me, warming all my cold
inner places. His hand touches gently upon my cheek, tipping up my head so that
I meet his eyes, and there's no trace there of that terrible rage he showed
earlier. There's only worry and tenderness—for me.
He leans intimately closer. "You're
okay? Was I here in time, or did he manage to hurt you?"
He's so near that all I can see is him.
Those pesky butterflies that his mere presence always manages to rouse in my
stomach these days have, by this point, gone way beyond acting rowdy and started
dancing the samba, it seems like.
"You arrived in time, Seth. Thank
you. Feels a bit like déjà-vu, though, doesn't it?" At my quip, his lips
curl into a slight smile.
Holy smoke, that's too hot! My heart
misses a beat and I'm struck by the thought that, were he to ever gift me with
a full-fledged, no-holds-barred smile again, I'd probably go into cardiac
arrest on the spot.
The intense moment comes to an end when
Mr. Abbot finally appears and asks us to take our seats. Seth's jaw tightens, but
his hand lowers from my cheek, leaving behind a warm imprint. He gives me one
last, conflicted look, then he whirls around and heads to his seat.
I glance around me and see that all the
other students are gawking at me. Carter seems disbelieving, and Jacob looks as
if he's trying to solve a difficult puzzle. Just before he turns to face the
teacher, he gives me a wide grin. What's up with that?
* * *
After class, I don't want to head back
to the Andersons' house just yet, and there is nowhere else I can go, so I stay
in school.
And then, for some insane reason, I end
up watching the football team's practice.
Earlier during my Economics class, some
girls were gossiping and giggling about that breathlessly awaited event, spring
football practice, when the school's girl population could finally—finally!—drool
again over the Rockford Rams (the football team) doing what they did best
(which, apparently, was to look scrumptious in pads and cleats). And for the
sole purpose (naturally) of raising the girls' fluttering pulses to red levels,
Coach Bohlen had even invited the Senior players to take part in this week's practices—which
(apparently) upgraded those practices, in the girls' vocal opinion, from "glimpse
of yummy" to "certifiable drool fest".
I'm not one to drool, of course. Not
over football player
s
. (Not in the plural, anyway. My fear that
one
very specific football player could do me in all by his lonesome is to be
willfully ignored at this point.) But really, it's not like the opportunity of
almost two hours of uninterrupted
Seth
-watching is too much temptation
for me to resist. Truly, it's not! I just want to watch, err... a bunch of cute
football player
s
(plural! definitely plural this time!) getting all hot
and sweaty
during training
. Yep, that's all
there is to it (and there will be no drooling whatsoever involved).
Once I reach the bleachers, I notice
that the cheerleaders and some other girls I've seen at the popular table are
here as well. Darn, I even see Jessica! She throws me a hateful look, and she's
not the only one. Some of the other girls with her are staring at me just as
nastily. I pick a spot to sit down as far away from their group as I can.
All of a sudden I'm suffused with warmth,
which is how I know that Seth has become aware of my presence and is looking at
me. More distantly, I notice that Josh has seen me too, unfortunately. I try
not to let this bother me.
For the next two hours, I watch the
football practice, almost forgetting my bone-deep exhaustion. Fine, I admit it:
I'm actually staring at Seth most of the time. I try to be subtle about it, but
honestly, it's hard to look away from him.
He's poetry in motion, powerful and fast
and always sure of each of his plays. He can catch any ball with perfect
agility and is incredibly precise when throwing his passes. He's the most
beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I don't mean that just in the sense that
holy-smoke-he-looks-hot-in-his-football-gear!
—though
there is definitely that as well.
I know next to nothing about football,
I've never been to a single game in my life, but even so I have no trouble
recognizing Seth's skill on the field. He's exceptionally good, and I'm not the
least surprised at all the football scholarships he's purportedly been offered.
Much too soon, practice ends and the
boys get off the field, heading for their locker room. The bleachers quickly empty
out as well. I need to get going too; it's getting late, and it'll take me a
good long while to reach the Andersons' house on foot.
Still, I drag my feet as I walk back to
the main building. I really don't want to return to the house; it almost feels
like willingly heading into hell. This actually worries me. It's only been two
weeks and I already feel this way—then how the heck will I last until the end
of the school year?
I really want to stay at Rockford High until
Seth graduates. After that, I'll go back to not caring about what happens; most
likely I'll be leaving town as well. I never last in any place too long, and by
mid-June I'll probably be due for my next move.
Having reached the main building, I head
for my locker to gather some of my stuff before leaving. My footsteps echo
ominously in the empty hallways, making me uneasy. I walk faster.
Just as I reach my locker, a hand grabs
me by the hair and violently drags me backward. "Now I finally have you,
you bitch!" Josh snarls. His face is contorted with rage and malice,
scaring me stiff.
Oh God, he wants to hurt me. He wants to
hurt me bad.
I open my mouth to scream, but I barely
manage a squeak before his hand covers my mouth. He's released his grip on my
hair, so I try to get away from him, but before I manage to take a single step,
his other arm comes around me from behind, wrapping around my ribcage and
immobilizing my arms against my upper body.
I struggle desperately, but he's so much
bigger than I, and I've been getting so little sleep these last couple of weeks
that I have no energy reserves left. I fear that I'm going to faint. I try to
kick him with my legs, but his arm around me tightens until I can't get enough
air in my lungs. Lack of oxygen and the sour smell of his sweat are making me
lightheaded. My heart battles in my chest like a wild bird trying to claw her
way free.
I stop kicking and he lets me breathe
once more.
He starts dragging me toward the nearest
bathroom, and I begin to thrash again, but he cuts off my air supply, this time
by moving the hand over my mouth a bit higher and covering my nostrils. I stop fighting.
Oh God... oh God, please help me!
I'm beyond
fear; I'm in the grip of a terror so great I start to shake uncontrollably.
"Not so high and mighty now, huh,
princess?" he pants in my ear. "Who do you think you are, turning
your nose at me? Stupid frump! I've heard all about you—you're nothing but a
whore! It's past time that I get to have my fun with you too."
He manages to get me through the girls'
bathroom door, and I renew my frantic struggles. He abruptly releases his hold
and turns me with a vicious movement, then slaps me hard, grazing my lip and
sending me tumbling to the floor.
I'm dazed from the fall, but I try to
find my voice. "Please, Josh, please don't hurt me! I didn't mean to
offend you, please don't..." But I see it in his face that he has no
intention of listening to my pleas.
"Good, princess, that's good! I
like the sound of your begging. I'm sure I'll be hearing more of it very soon."
He smirks and starts toward me.
I start screaming like a banshee and try
to rise from the floor but don't make it before he's on me. I try to knee him
in the groin, but he immobilizes my legs and covers me with his weight. I twist
beneath him, but the bastard is huge and I can't budge him off me.
He pins both my wrists with one hand
above my head and tries to kiss me. I manage to turn my head, so he starts
slobbering on my neck instead, making me nauseous.
"I could've done you real fine and
slow, you uppity bitch, but you don't like it fine and slow, do you? So I'll do
you hard!" He moves his free hand down my body, below my waist.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, please don't let
him rape me!
I'm still thrashing, but his bulk bearing down on me is crushing, and I'm still
shouting, but my voice is losing its force.
"Jessica was right—you need to be
taught a lesson. Stop screaming!"
He slaps me again, hard, bashing my head
back into the tiled floor and stunning me. He lets go off my hands for a moment
and pulls at my hoodie, trying to get it off, but he only manages to tear it at
the throat.
"Why the hell are you wearing this
tent, you stupid bitch?!" Frustrated by the hoodie, he brings his hands to
my pants fastening instead.
I lose my mind and start screaming
again, bucking and twisting and scratching at him. I'd rather die than lose my
virginity to this rapist!
But all my efforts are in vain, only a
mild annoyance to him. He's too strong.
Seeming irritated by my frantic
struggles, he punches me in the stomach, his blow hitting me like a battering
ram and knocking the breath out of me.
He manages to unfasten my pants.
Suddenly I hear the door crashing into
the wall, followed by a sound as if from a feral animal. The next instant, Josh
is yanked off of me, and the sound of flesh striking hard into flesh fills the
bathroom.
I struggle upright, feeling faint and
nauseous, and my trembling fingers fumble to refasten my pants. Through the
wobbly tunnel of my vision, I see Seth crouched over Josh's body near the door,
his fists flying into him so viciously and fast that I can barely follow their
movement. My attacker is already bleeding heavily, his face a broken mess, and
I realize I have to pull myself together; I have to stop Seth before he kills
Josh. He's too livid to stop himself, and that rapist scumbag isn't worth a
prison sentence.
I stumble toward them. "Please,
Seth, stop it! He's had enough. Please stop!"
But he doesn't seem to hear me, just
keeps striking Josh, so I touch him lightly on the back. He immediately whirls to
face me and looks at me with wild eyes. In this moment he truly is frightful to
behold, looking like a brutal warrior of old and more furious than I have ever
seen him. I feel a shiver pass through me—but not of fear, for I know that Seth
would never hurt me, but of some other emotion I don't recognize.
When he takes in my torn clothes and cut
lip, Seth's features darken even more. His voice is an ominous growl. "The
bastard tried to rape you!"
I put my other hand on his chest,
tighten the one at his waist, and whisper softly—I have to calm him down:
"But he didn't, you came in time. I couldn't escape by myself... I tried
and I wasn't strong enough, but you came and... Thank you, Seth. Thank you so
much!"
He wipes the blood from his knuckles and
slowly raises his hands to my face—the hands that have mercilessly beaten Josh
half to death. Leaning into me, he dries my tears with exquisite gentleness,
and only now do I realize that I've been sobbing all this time.
"Shh, Sunny, don't cry. I'm here,
and no one can hurt you now. No one can hurt you ever again. I won't allow it!"
His fervent tone seeps solace into my
soul. Yet my lips tremble, and new tears scald my cheeks at his impossible vow.
Of course he can't promise to
always
protect me. In just a few months
he'll go away to college, and I'll never see him again.
But that's still months away in the
future, and I don't want to think so far ahead. He is with me now, and that's
the only thing that matters. Right now, I can comfort myself with his
closeness.
"How did you know to look for me
here?" I whisper.
His corded body tenses even more. "When
I came out of the shower after practice and didn't see Josh with the others"—he
throws a fuming glare at my attacker who's lying in an unmoving heap on the
floor—"I asked how come he'd left already. Usually he takes forever to
shower and change. They told me he hadn't come in at all, just taken off in his
cleats, and it was like I suddenly knew. I knew he'd gone after you! This
fucking piece of filth deserves to die for what he's done."