Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“Come on, Emmie.” Blake stroked back her hair. “We can make this work. No one has to get hurt. We can all stay friends.”

The word friends gave her tears permission to fall. What he was offering was actually a solution. They would keep it in the clique. Ricky’s anger would burn out easily against Blake’s logical explanation. Nardo would make a joke about dodging a bullet. Clay would slink off to his new, exciting life far away from all of them. And Emily would be married to a boy she didn’t love. A boy who saw her as nothing but a means to an end.

“Emily.” Blake moved closer. His breath was in her ear. “Come on, would it be so bad?”

Emily closed her eyes. Tears seeped out. She saw the next year, the next few years, open up like a flower. She could go back to being the good girl everyone admired. Blake would get his college and his career and access to a political future. It would be just as Ricky had predicted—the Vaughn family money buying Emily’s way out of a bad spot.

Easy.

“Emmie.” Blake’s lips brushed her ears. He took her hand and placed it on his thing.

Emily was paralyzed. She could feel the hard shape of him.

“That’s good.” He moved her hand. His tongue was in her ear.

“Blake!” She screamed his name as she pulled away. “What are you doing?”

“Jesus.” He sat back on the couch. His legs were wide. The front of his pants stuck up like a tent. “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “What were you doing?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what I was doing.” He found his cigarettes in his pocket. “Come on, it’s not like you can get pregnant twice.”

She put her hand to her throat. She could feel her heart pounding.

He flicked his lighter open. “Let me be clear about this, my girl. I’ll buy the cow, but I expect to get more than my fair share of milk.”

Emily watched him light the end of his cigarette. She had given him the Zippo lighter for his sixteenth birthday. She had paid extra to have his initials etched into the side so that Ricky wouldn’t steal it.

She said, “You’re a monster.”

“What I am is your second-best option.” He saw her confused expression and coughed out a laugh. “Don’t be obtuse, Emily. Your best option is to flush it down the toilet.”