Different Roads (3 page)

I pulled one of my hands free from his
grasp and pressed my palm against his bare chest, "Wait a minute, would
you?" I huffed.

"What? Why? I'm ready now," he
growled and rubbed against me.

"No, dammit. Stop," I tried to
push him off of me, but my arms felt like they weighed three-hundred pounds
each. I had no strength and he seemed less than interested in hearing what I
had to say. He continued to trail kisses along my neck while he dry-humped
against me, growing harder by the second. "Please. I don't want to do
this."

"Come on Jaq, my dick's so hard I'm
going to explode."

"No, Rick. I really don't want
to," I bit my lower lip and tears pricked at the back of my eyes.

He rolled off of me and stood abruptly,
dropping his boxers to the floor. I felt paralyzed, unable stop him. I felt my
body shake uncontrollably as the tears slid down my cheeks. He roughly yanked
my jeans down and tossed them aside before crawling back on top of me. He
fumbled with a condom and swore. He finally managed to roll it down over his
erection. He kissed my mouth roughly and I didn't respond. "Just lay still
Jaq, it will be over in a few minutes. The first time's never any good for the
woman anyway," he grunted.

I couldn't do anything to stop him. What
the fuck was happening? I cried and pleaded, "No, please. Don't," I
choked out.

He stroked my hair, "Shh, shh.
It'll be okay," he said and with one quick jab he thrust into me. My body
went stiff with pain and cried out, which he mistook as my consent and maybe
even an admission of pleasure. He pounded against me relentlessly for an
undetermined amount of time before his body went rigid. With a sickening groan,
he collapsed against me, where he stayed unmoving until I felt him go soft and
slide out of me.

He reached between our legs grasping the
used condom, and then he rolled off me and went to flush it down the toilet.
"Next time will be better, babe."

I just stared at the ceiling, I couldn't
bring myself to even look at him. "There is never going to be a next
time," I measured each word carefully. "We're through Rick."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.
"I got what I wanted." Then he was gone.

I didn't move for the longest time. I
couldn't. I was in shock and felt numb. I just lay there -- naked -- as my body
trembled. I didn't want to cry, but the tears kept coming. I had no idea how
much time had passed when I was finally able to curl myself up. I slowly felt
the weight of my arms lighten. Eventually, I gathered my things and locked
myself in the bathroom. I looked at myself in the streaked mirror and hardly
recognized the bloodshot eyes staring back at me. I stepped into the scalding
hot shower and finally broke down. I fisted my hands against the slippery tile
and wailed, "Fuuuuuuck!"

After
what happened with Rick, I drifted in and out of relationships going from one
guy to the next in the amount of time it takes most people to smoke a cigarette.
Truthfully, they were more like one-night stands than real relationships. I didn't
want to hurt anymore so I blocked out all of my feelings, staying numb and
distrustful seemed easier than taking a chance on becoming vulnerable all over
again.

It was a hard time in my life, I kept a
lot of painful, raw emotions stuffed down inside after my parents' divorce and then
being raped by the one guy who I thought really cared about me. It wasn't long
before I began to seek other things to take away the pain I carried around with
me like a third arm. Instead of getting to the bottom of why I felt so
vulnerable, I began to to self-medicate. It was sort of like putting a Band-Aid
on a deep puncture wound; it is neither recommended nor advised.

By the time I turned seventeen I had
discovered ecstasy. It was the perfect drug for me. Where drugs were concerned,
you name it, I probably tried it, but nothing held a candle to the way ecstasy
made me feel. It gave me a euphoric feeling and lured me into a false sense of
being loved and needed. Before long, I found myself running with a very rough
crowd and I had spiraled down to an all-time low.

Partying one night three years later I caught
the reflection of a stranger in a mirror. I was that stranger. I couldn't
believe what I had done to myself. Staring back at me from the mirror was the
fucking hollow-eyed druggie I'd become.

After that night I began soul searching,
trying to figure out why the hell I had done this to myself and it dawned on me
just how much my parents' divorce had totally fucked with my head and what a spineless,
self-gratifying bastard Rick had been. Brick by solitary brick, I'd built a
wall around my heart, vowing to never let anyone inside again.

Strangely, I didn't regret doing all of
the drugs I did. In a funny, warped sort of way, it helped me understand myself
and come to terms with a lot of the core issues I hadn't even realized I'd never
truly dealt with.

It's been said if we look back over our
life we can determine pivotal turning points, when something seemingly
insignificant and tiny turns us in a completely different direction. Meeting
Seth, being raped by Rick, and catching a glimpse of myself in that mirror on
my nineteenth birthday had been major catalysts for change in my life, though
not always for the better.

Not
long after I had vowed to clean up my act and get off drugs, I started getting my
fix by working on cars. Literally getting into cars and getting down and dirty
with the guys.  No, not in the back seat. Under the hood.

            I
started classes at the local technical college and some of my best friends were
male. They took me under their wings and thought of me as one of the guys. They
were a protective bunch of country boys and always looked out for me. They felt
it was their duty to make sure no assholes messed with me. Any guy who wanted
to go out with me had to be cleared through them first.

            After
class one afternoon I stood at the end of the hall trying to gauge the distance
from the double doors at the front of the school out to where my car sat,
barely visible in the downpour.  My friend Brad came up behind me and nudged me
with his broad shoulder, "Thirsty Thursday Jaq, you going to Pete's?"

            "Not
tonight Romeo," I told him. Pete's is a nearby dive we all liked to go hang
out at after school to shoot pool and blow off steam. "I've got to get
some more packing done."

            "Packing?
What? Going on a trip without your best pal Brad?" he asked, giving me a boyish
gap-toothed grin. Brad had lost one of his front teeth in a bar fight somewhere
across the river and never bothered to get it fixed. He maintained that it made
him look tough and I didn't have the heart to tell him it made him look like a
hillbilly.

            I
rolled my eyes and folded my arms in front of my chest, "God Brad. Shelley
and I rented that place closer to the school. We're moving this weekend. You're
taking the day off, right?"

            He
cocked his head to the side the way a dog does when it thinks you're crazy,
"Did you tell me you and Shell got a place?" he asked,
straight-faced. When my eyes drew into a frown, he chuckled. "Just messing
with ya, Jaq. No appointments Saturday. I'm all yours. What time do I gotta be
there to help you move?"

            "You
are such an ass," I hissed and balled up my fist to punch him playfully in
the shoulder, "Eight."

            "Eight?
In the
morning
?"  he asked, his voice rising into a girly whine.
"You are seriously going to owe me. This body is a temple, Jaq. If I don't
get at least six hours of beauty sleep it goes on strike."

            "Right.
They make little blue pills for that you know," I teased.

            The
tops of his ears turned crimson, "On that note. I got a cold Bud waiting
for me at Pete's. Catch ya later."

            "Yeah,
later," I smiled knowing I could always count on Brad. For him to clear
his Saturday appointment book at the tattoo shop was huge. Saturday was his
busiest day and Brad's skill with the tattoo gun was second to none.

            The
wind had picked up and the rain was coming down harder and from every direction
possible. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up, tucked my hair inside, and
pushed the doors open. As soon as I stepped out, I heard an extremely agitated
female voice unleash a string of swear words that made even me blush. I braced
myself, figuring the tirade was aimed at me from a jealous girlfriend of one of
my buddy's.

            I
chanced a peek in the direction of the voice, seconds before hearing, "You
are a fuck, you know that?" I was positive I heard her growl. Next, her
cell phone whizzed by me, mere inches from my head.

            "Hey,
we're just friends. It's not what you think," I held up my hands in hopes
of placating her with my standard I didn't fuck your boyfriend response.

            "Do
I know you?" she asked as she bent over to retrieve the pieces of her
phone.

            "I
don't think so. But after you called me a fuck and pitched your phone at my
head I thought maybe you knew me?" I ducked back under the canopy in front
of the school doors.

            "What?
Oh hell. I'm sorry," she said, "I was on the phone with my worthless
piece of shit brother. He was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago. My
car won't start again."

            Relief
flooded through me. I wasn't going to have to defend myself against some psycho
girlfriend's misplaced jealous rage again today. I extended my hand, "I'm Jaq
Carter. You are? What's wrong with your car?"

            "Depends
who you ask."

            "Okay?"
I quirked an eyebrow at her, unsure if she was answering the question about
what her name was or what the problem was with her car.

            "If
you ask me, I think it hates the rain. Or me." A nervous giggle slipped
out and she tucked a wet chunk of short black hair behind her ears. "If you
ask my brother, he'll tell you what's wrong is the fact that it doesn't have a
Dodge, Chevy, or Ford emblem on the hood. That's his standard response
anyway." I laughed. The argument about which make was best was one I'd
heard too many times to count.  "Sorry, I'm Danielle Blackwell."

            "What
kind of car is it?" I asked.

            "Mazda
Miata convertible," she pointed across the parking lot to a small, rain
obscured thing with four wheels parked beneath the security lights. "The
eggplant colored one over there."

           
Eggplant
?
My snarky side rolled her eyes. Hard to believe this timid girl standing beside
me, describing the color of her car as
eggplant
was the same one I'd
heard spout a line of obscenities into her now-shattered cell phone a few
minutes ago. "I'll stick around and wait with you; this isn't exactly a
Sunday afternoon stroll kind of neighborhood."

            The
rain finally eased to a drizzle while we waited. I was just about ready to ask
where she lived and offer her a ride when she said, "Finally. Dumb
sonofa--"

            "Excuse
me?"

            "Hear
that?"

            The
only thing I heard was the unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle. Harley, from
the way it sounded. I nodded, "Yeah. What freaking idiot rides a bike in
weather like this?" I asked, my eyes zoning in on the single headlight as
it bounced across the lot in our direction. We had to scramble out of his way because
he pulled right up under the awning where we stood.

            Danielle
flung her purse at his head and my mouth dropped open, convinced she must have
a death wish or something. "You are the biggest, dumbest bastard I know.
What the hell took you so long? And just what in God's name were you thinking,
bringing
that
thing to pick me up with? You know I hate motorcycles!
Just how many brain cells do you have left? Three?"

            He
killed the engine, and to my surprise, actually waited quietly until she finished
calling him every unflattering name in the book and beat on him with her
handbag, "Calm the fuck down Dani," he muttered. "The tranny's
out on the Ram; this is all the wheels I've got at the moment. I was trying to
borrow something else to come get you.
That's
what took me so
long."

            He
peeled the leather gloves from his hands and unfastened the strap under his
chin to remove his helmet. I admired the fact that he was infinitely more
patient than most guys would have been around a hysterical woman beating on them
with a bag the size of New Hampshire. He glanced at me, narrowing his steel gray
wolf-like eyes. He swung a leather chap covered leg over the bike and sized me
up in much the same way I'd covertly been doing with him.

            He
faced me and blatantly checked me out from head to toe and back again. He was
tall, about six-four with wavy, black as midnight hair. The thought that his
soul was probably just as black popped into my thoughts unbidden. That gut
instinct, along with his gaze, caused me to shiver involuntarily. I thought it was
the late fall night air on my still damp skin, but quickly realized it was
coming from within.