Dylan (3 page)

I’ve never experienced this before, and my
body and mind are at war with each other. I do not dream about sex,
I don’t even think about sex, and I definitely don’t enjoy the
images of me having sex—even if it was just a dream. Sex has
brought nothing but misery to my life. I’ve never wondered what it
would be like to have sex with someone by choice, and I’ve never
thought, dreamed, or envisioned having sex with someone. Sex is a
power tool
, and at least in my
case, it has never been special—or consensual.

Still, for whatever reason, dreams of a
perfectly disheveled boy with sandy hair and mischievous green eyes
have somehow infected my subconscious enough to cause this
completely out of character response. As much as I want to go with
Trisha this weekend, I now know I can’t. I can’t risk seeing him
again, especially if this is the reaction seeing him causes.

I shake my head as if I can physically shake
away the thoughts and feelings inside of me. Standing up, I
stretch, strip out of my dad’s clothes, and I throw on a pair of my
own ratty pajamas. My heart is still pounding, and my hands are
shaking. My stomach is heavy and tight. I feel like someone just
punched me in the gut, and I can’t pull oxygen into my lungs
through the tightness of my chest.

I force in a couple deep breaths before
pulling open the drawer on my hand-me-down dresser. I send a silent
thank you to whomever started the trend of holey jeans. No one
questions the rips in the fabric. They just assume I paid to have
them there, and I am more than fine letting them believe that. I
grab a pair that aren’t too far gone and a pink pullover and take
another deep breath.

I step up to the door, press my ear against
the thin wood panel, and listen for noise on the other side. It is
quiet as far as I can tell. My body slumps as I breathe a quiet
sigh of relief. I pull the door open, but my relief is short lived.
A startled yelp leaves my lips, and I jump back, cursing myself
mentally for reacting to his intimidation. He likes my fear. So,
I’ve learned to show less of it, and I usually don’t react
anymore—except when he catches me off guard. . .

He is leaning against the wall across from
my door, arms crossed over his thin chest, and a smarmy smile on
his twisted face. His dark hair is greasy and shoved back from his
face, and his darker eyes slant in amusement. I can feel my heart
rate increase and sweat bead over my skin. I try my hardest to
shove my fear to the back corner of my mind. To push it so far
inward that there is no reflection of it left in my own
expression.

“You got home awful late.” His voice drawls.
His voice is what haunts every one of my nightmares.

I don’t respond, hoping that he might let me
slide past him, but I know that hope is in vain. I really want to
go back in my room and lock the door, but I can’t show him fear.
Being afraid eradicates all hope. So instead, I try to walk past
him and toward the bathroom door across the narrow hallway for a
shower. He grasps my arm in a hold so tight I wince. I know there
will be a bruise there in a few hours, and I hate that I will be
forced to once again wear long sleeves in the heat.

“Let go of me, Steven.” I grit the words out
through my clenched teeth and flick my eyes around looking for
help. I know there won’t be any.

Steven’s sinister laugh tells me he knows it
too. Mom is probably passed out in bed, but even if she were awake,
she wouldn’t help me. She never helps me. I swallow past the bile
clogging my throat.

“What are you going to do about it, Raven?”
He uses his strength against me and pushes me against the wall.

Before I have time to fight, I am trapped
with my face pressed against plaster and his body caging me in from
behind. I can feel the hard ridge of his erection against my ass,
and my arm is shooting pain through my shoulder at the awkward
angle he has twisted my arm into. I don’t speak, not because I
don’t want to, but because I know I will vomit if I try. The pain
is blinding and is accompanied by dizziness, which only adds to my
growing nausea.

“You smell like vanilla.” Steven breathes
into my hair as if this were a consensual relationship instead of
what it really is—Rape.

I jerk my head roughly back trying to
connect with his nose, or any part of his face that might cause him
to loosen his hold, but he avoids the blow and chuckles at my
failed attempt. Then reaches his other hand up and twists it into
my hair, yanking harshly as he pulls my head back. His lips graze
along my neck, my ear. When I heave loudly, he slams my face
against the wall causing sparks of light to momentarily blur my
vision.

“Don’t puke, bitch, or I’ll make you fucking
eat it.” He growls the words into my ear, but I can hardly
understand them through the pain in my head and the sparks dancing
in my eyes.

Fuck
, I’m going to have a concussion.
Steven keeps his hold on my arm, but releases my hair. He runs his
sick fingers over my back and grabs my ass in his palm. He fondles
me and moans as he rocks his hips against me.

“You weren’t planning on showering without
me were you?” Steven’s hand slips from my ass, gliding around until
he is gripping the waistband at the front of my sleep pants in his
fist.

I can’t speak, and my throat burns with the
scream I try to hold in. I blink quickly, trying to rid the tears
from my eyes. I won’t cry. I can’t cry.
Please don’t cry,
Raven!

A groan leaves his mouth as his fingers slip
inside my pants, under my panties, and against my bare flesh. I
can’t stop the scream now. Even after all the times he’s done this
before, I can’t
not
fight him. I buck against him, forcing
him to remove his hand so he can try to keep control of me.

“Shut up, Raven! You wake your mother, and I
swear to God it will be so much worse next time. I will make it ten
times more painful than ever before!” His demented shouting is what
will wake mama.

The second Steven’s hold slips, my survival
instincts kick in, and I am sprinting out of the apartment. I have
no shoes, I’m in ratty old pajamas, and my hair is a mess, but I
can’t bring myself to care as I rush down the crowded streets of
downtown Palms.

Chapter Three

Raven

I only make it as
far as the next block before I force myself to turn around and head
back toward the apartment. The need to escape had been too strong
not to run this time, but by running, I broke the agreement, and
that is one thing I haven’t done in almost three years.

My heart rate is soaring, and my lungs burn
with every breath I pull through my lips. I run as fast as my bare
feet will carry me, pushing back the pain as asphalt and gravel
cuts into my skin. I don’t have time to focus on the pain pulsing
from my feet to my calves in my rush back to the apartment.

As I round the corner, I spot Steven
standing on the porch, wearing just a pair of black shorts, and
holding Harper tightly in one arm. Her chubby fingers squeeze at
his arms and black hair pours from a ponytail at the back of her
head as she rests against him. She is still wearing the ladybug
one-piece pajama set she had on when I dropped her off at the
sitters last night.

The sadistic smirk on Steven’s face when he
spots me has me swallowing back the acidic lump in my throat for
the umpteenth time in one morning. He knows he has me completely in
his control, and he gets off on that fact alone. I watch as the
sitter climbs back into her Honda completely unaware that she just
left Harper with a monster. I step up and reach for Harper, my
hands slipping around her waist, but Steven’s grip tightens just
enough to stop me without hurting her.

“You aren’t supposed to run, Raven. We have
an agreement.” Leaning down Steven places a gentle kiss against
Harpers sleeping head.

“Give her to me, now. I’m back. That’s what
matters.” My body is rigid and filled with heated desperation.
Harper is my only reason for living, and I will never let Steven
hurt her.

Steven’s grin fills with twisted victory as
he gently hands Harper over to me. I pull her tiny body tightly to
my chest while breathing in the soft scent of lotion and powder on
her skin. It is hard to believe she will be three next month. I
have done my best to protect her for this long, and I will continue
to do so until I can get both of us away from here safely. I won’t
risk Harper.

I walk back inside and toward Harpers
playpen in my room. It sits against the wall nestled into the tight
space between my dresser and bed. It’s not an ideal place, with the
pealing white paint I constantly have to make sure Harper doesn’t
get ahold of, but it’s the best I can do.

I have laid blankets in the bottom and
placed a pillow inside to make it a little more like a crib. I’m
very careful not to wake her as I lay her inside and cover her with
a thin blanket decorated with stars and crescent moons. Harper
rolls to her side, and I wait anxiously for her to settle before I
step out of the room closing the door gently behind me.

As soon as I am clear of the door, Steven is
on me again. One hand griping my hip tightly and the other wrapping
around my throat as he ushers me forward into the tiny bathroom
across the hall. I do what I always do in these moments. I shut
down. I don’t allow myself to think or feel as his grubby hands
touch and rub along my body. It’s the only way I know to survive
the Hell my mother won’t save me from. I have perfected the art of
mentally checking out. I’ve had to.

“I told you not to run.” Steven hisses
against my ear in a menacing growl. “Next time you do, I will hurt
her. Don’t be so selfish. Harper needs you.”

They are the last words I hear before the
pain takes over, and I allow him to do whatever he wants to do to
my body. I will never let her experience this. I will keep Harper
safe. Whatever the cost to me.

Chapter Four

Dylan

My whole body
tingles as I suck in the last puff of my afternoon joint and roll
my neck along the headrest of the cream leather chair that sits in
Troy’s living room. Since Kaci and Troy got married, Kaci has
refused to let the actual cook make dinner. So, she is waddling
around the kitchen in a pale yellow sundress that pulls tight
around her growing belly. I’m finding it beyond humorous that she
has to bend over the counter to accommodate her rounded belly. I’ve
ducked out of the way, twice, as something was launched at my head
for staring at her.

Troy is leaning against the counter watching
Kaci's every move. This is how he has been since the day he decided
he was well enough to do whatever he wanted, which wasn’t long
after the fucker was released from the hospital. He just used to
hide it better. I’ve always known how obsessed he is with her, but
this goes beyond obsession. I don’t know what you’d call this.
Love, I guess. I can’t remember the last time I saw them apart. I
always thought that being a father would be the worst thing that
could happen to any one of us, but look at him. The baby isn’t even
here yet, and Troy is right there, ready to cater at a moment’s
notice.

Just like the other times I’ve been here
when Kaci makes dinner, something smells an awful lot like it might
be burning. I watch as she moves to dump some kind of pasta in a
strainer in the sink. It’s so fucking domestic that I feel a little
taken aback by it. This is as close to normal as it will ever get
for them, and the thought of Callie showing back up and ruining
this . . . I absolutely won’t let that happen. Troy deserves this
more than any one of us.

“Ouch!” Kaci jumps back from the sink, the
pot clanging loudly as she drops it against the stainless steel. I
jump up quickly to see if she’s okay, but of course Troy is right
there, cradling her small hand in his. “That water is really hot.”
She laughs, and I shake my head on a smile. At this rate, Troy will
have a heart attack before the baby even gets here.

“God, Kaci! You’ll be the fucking death of
him.” I wink at her just in time for Troy to scowl over his
shoulder at me. It just makes Kaci laugh harder as she leans into
him.

“That’s it. We’re going out for dinner.”
Troy starts hauling Kaci from the kitchen, and she doesn’t even try
to stop him.

“Enjoy. I’m heading over to Mom’s.”

“Come on, Dylan. You have to join us.” It’s
really hard to say no to Kaci’s smiling face, but it’s been two
days already, and Mom is probably getting anxious.

“Maybe I’ll meet up with you in a bit. Where
are you heading?” I look at Troy knowing Kaci won’t care about
where they eat. She’ll eat just about anything these days. She just
wants food.

Troy glances at Kaci. “Rylan’s Pizza?” He
questions. She nods her approval before he looks back at me.
“Rylan’s pizza.” He confirms.

Smirking, I start to light a cigarette but
stop when I catch Troy’s narrowed gaze. Right, my eyes flicker to
Kaci’s stomach, and I tuck it behind my ear, the baby. “I’ll meet
you guys there in a bit.”

I walk out behind them, watching as Troy
helps Kaci down into the low seat of his ridiculously expensive
car. I drove Mom’s vintage 1968 black Camaro over here tonight.
It’s
every car fanatic’s wet dream with
black leather interior and a white racing stripe down the hood. I
love this car, but I don’t like driving. So, it usually stays
parked under a tarp in the garage behind Mom’s coastal house.
Occasionally, I take it out to make sure it’s still cranking and
well maintained, but other than that, I prefer to walk along the
beach.

Climbing inside it, I pull out of the
circular driveway behind them and follow Troy’s car only as far as
the first stop light before I turn and head toward the house I
bought for my mother when I turned eighteen. It sits along the
beach just far enough away that it doesn’t need to be raised, but
still close enough to watch the wave’s crash against the shoreline.
It’s modest with only two-bedrooms, but the view was too amazing to
pass up.