Beautifully Broken

A fist the size of a softball hits my cheek, silencing me. The world turns black for a moment then comes into focus again in spotty circles. I stretch my jaw. Pain radiates up my cheek and down my neck but I can still move it. I don’t think isn’t broken. I wipe the blood from my lip. Gerald takes hold of that hand first, then the other, holding them above my head. He wraps something around my wrists, tying me to the bed frame. I wiggle. Tug. Pull. Nothing.

Shit just took a turn for the worst and I’m officially scared. Tears flow from me like a faucet that’s wide open. “Please don’t do this. Think about Bane. He’ll hate us both.”

Gerald laughs, apparently uninterested in what his son thinks of him. He fists the neck of my tank top and in one swift motion my shirt’s ripped open. A calloused hand cups my breast, squeezing so hard it feels like he’s about to rip it off. His other hand slips beneath the band of my shorts, his fingers touching me where no man has been before. Nails scrape at my insides.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

I whimper, too scared to move lest it makes the pain worse. Tampons suck, but this feels like a million razor blades making tiny cuts between my legs.

Another finger.

Mascara from earlier in the night stains my cheek. I turn my head, biting my lip to keep from screaming. I can’t imagine what sex feels like. I don’t want to find out.

I have to do something to make it stop. I open my eyes and scan my bedside table, a glimmer of blue and silver catching my attention.

Gerald takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him. “You will watch. You will scream. And you will remember that I own you.”

I wake up trembling, drenched in sweat, my shirt sticking to whatever I’m lying on. My breaths come in shaky bursts as I look around. Dim lights. Blue benches. Black windows. I’m still on the bus. I crashed on the bus.

When I sat down after my shift at the Red Onion it was only ten-thirty but now… I pull my phone out of my shoulder bag and look at the screen, ignoring the two dozen text messages from Cooper and his three voicemails. One AM. I passed out for almost four hours. What the hell is up with me not setting my alarms? I grab my bag, stuff my phone inside, and walk down the narrow aisle to the front bench.

Sheila, the driver, smiles at me through the large mirror above the windshield. “Morning, Pumpkin.”

Before moving back in with the Harris’ this year I spent many nights on this bus. Sheila would be ready with a pillow and blanket, picking me up at the start of her shift at nine and dropping me off at school at six whenever I needed her. No questions asked. She was a godsend.

I slide into the bench nearest her. The bus is empty except for Homeless Fred who’s passed out in the middle row. “Where are we?”

“A1A. Fixing to be at my Casa Linda stop. It’s not on my route, but I can circle down to Delaware then take you home if you want. Unless you’re back at the one house again. I can take you there too, Sugar.”

Rex lives in the Venetian Village off Casa Linda. I don’t want to go home and answer Coopers questions. He means well, but right now I need a friend, not a dad. And I damn sure don’t want to go back to sleep. I think Rex said he was having a party. Then again, it would be my shit luck that everyone’s already left. Whatever, I’ll give it a shot. I shake my head. “Nah, I’ll get off at the next stop.”

We arrive at Casa Linda’s community gate a few minutes later. Sheila parks the bus but doesn’t immediately open the door. Her gaze rakes over me, a concerned look on her face. “You sure you’re alright, Pumpkin?”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and stand. “Yup, just a bad dream.”

A cloudless night smiles down on me as I walk the deserted road. Thousands of bright stars twinkle in a moonless sky. A lifetime ago I would have laid on the hood of Bane’s late nineties model Lincoln, listening to him talk about the constellations. He loved astronomy. Now, they’re just one more reminder of the life I’ve had to give up.

Dozens of overpriced imports linger along the street like a beacon to Rex’s house. Mercedes. Lexus. Ferrari. BMW. It’s a carjacker’s heaven. Just for the hell of it, I touch the handle of the one nearest me. A sleek black BMW that probably belongs to some rich bitch at school who can’t stand me. The handle lifts, the door opens. No alarm.

Idiot.

I slip inside, leaving the door ajar. The tan leather is smooth, flawless. I run my hands over the steering wheel, imagining what it would be like to have a car of my own. Not this one. I don’t need something this fancy. Just something. The only thing that’s mine is my clothes, and I don’t have much at that.

The memory of my nightmare hangs over me like a shadow. This is why I try not to sleep. Everytime I close my eyes bits and pieces of that night come back to haunt me. Most of the time I wake before anything real happens. Sometimes it’ll be flashbacks of the party, or me stumbling into my room, or the sound of the door creaking open, waking me. But tonight…I shake my head. My hands tremble. Each breath is a task of its own. I need to forget.

I sigh and let my head fall against the back of the plush seat. The silver cap of a bottle hiding in the passenger door catches my eye. Vanilla Rum. I grab it, twist the top off the half empty bottle, and bring the rim to my lips. It’s sweet. Sickeningly sweet, but for a moment Gerald’s face is gone. My trembling hands steady and I take the easiest breath I’ve taken all night. I take another swallow and get out, slamming the door shut.

I’ve avoided alcohol because of that night. I can't help but think that if I hadn’t been so fucked up, I could have woken sooner, stopped it before things went as far as they did. But if drinking makes the memories go away then fuck it. I take another sip. The overly-sweet flavor becoming more tolerable with each step, each swallow.

For the first time in a long time, I feel alright.

12

Rex

“Rex!” Piper squeals when I step onto the back patio. I went inside to piss and like a birthday wish come true, she’s here. I missed her this past week. As much as I wanted to call, I couldn’t. I promised Gretchen a distraction free week for her birthday. Too many days I spent on my phone, paying attention to people who didn’t matter, instead of giving her the time of day. I took Gretchen for granted and this past week was my happy-birthday-I'm-sorry-I-appreciate-you present. Which meant from the moment she picked me up from the airport, my phone was off.

Piper’s practically glowing under the moonless sky, free of all the troubles she normally carries around. Her head tilts, a sexy smile gracing her deep red lips. A mostly empty bottle of what looks like Rum slips from her hands and falls to the floor, forgotten. She runs over to me, throwing her arms around my neck.