Breaking the Bully
Chapter Three
Allie
Watching Moore tie my duffel bag to the back of his motorcycle, my pulse flaps like the wings of a dove in my neck. This is happening. I’m leaving home. I’m getting out and I’m never coming back. And Moore Dunnegan, my tormentor, is helping me. The fact that I’m being aided by the person who called me a future trophy wife this morning makes this moment even more surreal.
He’s had this stricken expression on his face for the last half an hour that’s stupidly making me want to apologize. For what, though? I don’t know. I don’t owe him an apology and yet, I have this pressing need to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him everything is going to be okay.
When it comes to my bully, my emotions have never been truly in sync. One second I hate him and the next, I’m whimpering his name into my pillow, my fingers sawing against the wet cotton of my panties. My feelings for him are extremely confusing…but I know asking him to back off was the right move.
Even if I’ll secretly miss his presence everywhere I turn.
In my world of unpredictability, there was something comforting about knowing he would always be there. Watching me. Hating me. Wanting me.
That last part was never in doubt.
He’s made that clear many times. That if I gave him the green light, he would “put me on my back and do me dirty” or “give me a nice long hate-fuck in the back of his trailer.” And he’d always say, “No one has to know, baby,” in that winded, guttural tone that keeps me up at night. Makes me shove my fingers down the front of my panties and struggle to breathe, sweating through my bedclothes to an orgasm.
I’m thinking about those particularly sexual taunts when he looks over at me and I don’t quite manage to hide the conflicted lust. His movements slow, a dark eyebrow arching as he peruses my mouth, my breasts. I’m a certified hot mess right now. Beaten and bloody, but there’s no denying he’s still attracted, regardless.
It’s always there in the hurried rise and fall of his chest, the shifting of his throat muscles. The tenting of his jeans.
How many times have I turned in class and—avoiding his gaze—locked eyes with the swollen ridge in his pants instead?
At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us.
We know how to fuck.
Well if I thought sympathy was an odd emotion to have toward this boy, jealousy is even more confusing. Why should I care that he’s been with other people? Obviously he must have been with countless girls to get good at sex. It’s none of my business, is it? I’m almost rid of him. And I don’t want to be jealous.
Still, when he holds out his hand to help me onto the bike, I ignore it with a raise of my chin and climb on myself. Cheating jerk, I whisper inside my head, even though it makes no sense. None at all. We’re not together, so he can’t cheat on me.
You’re almost rid of him.
Get a ride and say goodbye.
Unfortunately, I may have been a little overzealous in asking to be taken to a motel. I’ve never been to one, but I know a credit card is usually required—and I don’t have one of those. Nor do I have enough cash in my wallet for more than one night. I need to figure out an alternative plan fast.
Still looking damnably stricken, Moore places his helmet on my head and gently buckles the chinstrap. Swallowing loud enough to hear over the storm rolling in, the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Helmetless, he slings a sturdy denim leg over the front of the bike and brings the engine to life, the purring vibration so unexpectedly exhilarating, I wrap my arms around his middle on reflex.
His ribcage expands to capacity, then shudders down.
“Allie…”
He can’t see me, so I give in to the impulse to press my cheek to his leather jacket, absorbing the warmth. “Yes?”
Moore clears his throat, his voice emerging deeper. “My aunt has a cabin a few towns over. Near the lake.” He pauses. “They only use it in the summer. It’s stocked with canned goods, supplies. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”
It’s dangerous to start accepting more favors from him, but what choice do I have? My father made sure that I’m helpless. He did it with my mother and now me. Alienated us from everyone who might be a friend or good Samaritan. I’ll accept his offer, but only because here and now, I’m vowing to find a way to help myself in the future. To leave my father and the house of horrors in the past. Maybe it can’t be done entirely alone. Maybe accepting help is the only option.