Promiscuous (2 page)

“You should be grateful anyone still wants you after the way you acted with that escort. Then you go around dressed like that?” He laughed and threw something white in my direction. “You wanted this, and you know it. You’re the biggest slut in this business.” He winked at me and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, he abruptly turned back. “I don’t need to tell you to keep this between us, do I? Nobody is going to believe you—not with my word against yours. And don’t get any ideas about firing me, honey. I’ll sue you into the fucking gutter for breaking our contract.” He laughed. “The gutter. Right where I found you, huh?”

I let my head fall to the floor and began to cry as he walked out the door. I spotted the small bag of white powder and reached out for it.

Coke. He
had
been on something.

I’d seen the signs before, over and over, with every piece-of-shit boyfriend my sister had let into our home. I racked my brain, trying to piece the night back together, trying to figure out what I could have done to prevent this. Was it my fault?
Had
I led him on? It played over and over in my head, like a scene stuck on repeat, a nightmare I couldn’t break free from.

Wiping my eyes, I struggled to my feet, ignoring the burning pain and wetness between my legs. I clutched my right shoulder, which was aching from landing on it when he’d pushed me, and staggered to the bathroom.

The steam enveloped me as I climbed into the scalding-hot shower. Leaning against the wet tiles, I wrapped my arms around my stomach as loud sobs escaped from me. Why had I let him drive me home? I’d never felt comfortable around him. Letting him into my house was a stupid, stupid idea.

Fuck, Beth, what the hell were you thinking?

But that was the point: I’d been so focused on being annoyed at Coop that I hadn’t been thinking.
I couldn’t tell the police, or anyone else for that matter, because he was right—it was his word against mine, and nobody was going to believe me.

 “Leave me alone,” I shrieked, scrubbing furiously at my skin. Blood, mixed with the warm water, began to pool on the shower floor. I examined my arms. I’d scrubbed so hard the skin had begun to break. And it still wasn’t enough. I could still feel him. I could still smell him.

I could feel him everywhere. He was on me, he was inside of me . . . he was
everywhere
.

I doubled over and gagged, the bitter taste of bile and alcohol burning my throat. How could this have happened to me? As a teenager there had been many close calls, but never . . . nobody had ever gotten this far.

My knees gave way underneath me and I fell to the floor. Why? Why me? The loud sobs escaping from my mouth sounded so foreign, as if they were coming from someone else. But they weren’t. It was all me. This had happened to
me
.

My body was the only thing I’d ever had control over. I’d never been a prude, but whom I slept with and when had
always
been my decision. Through all the uncertainty I’d experienced over the years, my right over my own body had been the only constant.

Now I didn’t even have that.

***

I finally moved from the floor of the shower to my bed, but not before the water ran cold. Shivering, I fumbling for my phone, my hands trembling as I called Coop. No answer. I tried again and again; each time, the call rang out. I slammed it down onto the bed next to me, frustrated that he wasn’t around when I needed him.

Every time I closed my eyes, the image of Ivan hovering over me would fill my head. So I lay there, alone, the faint light spilling from the lamp beside my bed my only source of comfort, until I eventually fell asleep.

***

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur. I was either asleep, or crying, or running over what had happened in my mind. As soon as I’d fall asleep, I would wake up, screaming, reliving the whole nightmare. Every time I closed my eyes, he was there, on top of me.

I couldn’t get away from him, and what I hated the most was how easy it was to let Ivan’s words creep inside my head. Maybe I had asked for it? And he was right—nobody would believe he’d raped me. I laughed bitterly. The press would love a story like this.
Bethany Masters Cries ‘Rape
.
’

He knew I wouldn’t tell anyone—he knew that before he raped me. My decision not to report him would have shocked some people, maybe even angered them, but from my perspective there was no point. I was convinced that this was somehow my fault, and I had nobody on my side to tell me otherwise.

My phone beeped, scaring the hell out of me. Panting heavily, I collected it from the bed next to me and read the message. It was from Coop.

Shit, Beth, I’m sorry about yesterday. Everything is all good now, I promise. Come over for dinner tonight, okay? I really want you and Mia to be friends.

I snorted angrily. Everything was okay. Well, thank fucking God he thought everything was fine. He hadn’t just been raped. His whole world wasn’t collapsing around him. Tears stained my cheeks as I tapped back a response.

Sure, whatever. See you tonight.

Switching my phone off, I rolled over, snuggling down into the familiarity of my blankets. My body ached more today, and my head was pounding—probably from all the crying. Large blue and purple bruises had begun to surface on my thighs and my arms. I was a freaking mess, and in no condition to go out anywhere. All I wanted was someone to comfort me, someone to tell me things were going to be okay.

I needed
him
. I needed him, alone with me, but that wasn’t an option.

And right now, there was only one thing worse than the thought of spending the night with Coop and Mia.

And that was spending the night alone.

***

 I banged repeatedly on the huge wooden door until it swung open. My face broke into a grin.

“Coop,” I yelled, collapsing into his arms. If he hadn’t opened the door at that very moment, I probably would’ve collapsed into it. I was so sleepy. I glanced around the hallway of Coop’s place as the room began to spin out of control.

Oh, shit. This isn’t good.

 “Beth? Are you feeling okay?” Coop asked, carrying me inside. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

I giggled and gazed up at him.
God, look at those eyes
.

“I’m okay, Coop. Just loosening up,” I muttered, and struggled out of his arms. His strong, sexy arms… I unbuttoned my jacket.

 “Coop, where shall I put this—”

Jake stopped midsentence, his jaw dropping to the floor. He stood there, a bottle of wine in his hand, gaping at me as I tossed the jacket onto the sofa. I glanced down and giggled.
Oopsie.
I’d forgotten to get dressed.

“Jake,” Coop said urgently. He grabbed my jacket and threw it around me. “Do not let either of them in here. I’m taking Beth home.”

Jake, still frozen to the spot, didn’t respond.

“Jake!”

He snapped back to reality, and nodded. “Okay, go.” He threw his keys to Coop. “Take my car. I’m just out front.” Coop led me out to the car. I sighed, happy that he was there for me. I felt so much better when he was around me.
Protected
.

 “Beth? Can you tell me what you’ve taken?” he asked, shaking me gently.

Opening one eye, I looked at him, embarrassed. My face heated up as I slowly remembered what had happened. All I wanted to do was sleep and never wake up.

 “Just some coke. No big deal . . .” I mumbled, slipping into darkness.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She told me she took some cocaine.”

“Come with me. The more you can help me, the better your friend will be.”

“Now, what’s your friend’s name?”

“Bethany Masters.”

***

My eyes fluttered open, the glaring light from above almost blinding me. Coop sat next to the bed. I swallowed and looked away; I couldn’t stand to see the pity in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Coop.”

“What the hell, Beth? Since when do you do drugs?” His voice came out harsh, laced with anger and frustration.

I cringed, not in the mood to explain. I didn’t care. I shrugged weakly. “It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to blow me off. You’ve been acting weird since yesterday. Are you angry at me for last night?” He leaned over, running a finger softly over one of my bruises. “Who did this to you, Beth?”

I shook my head as warm tears splashed my cheeks. “Just leave it, Coop. Please.” I rolled over so he wouldn’t see me crying. “Please go. And don’t contact me anymore, okay?”

“What?” he said incredulously, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“Go,” I yelled. “Get out!” I held my breath and waited until I could hear his footsteps fading away.

Chapter One

Beth

Two months later…

The pretty blonde smiled at me as she leaned against the wall, her fingers lingering on my hip. Her deep green eyes caught mine as her hand wandered up the curve of my almost-bare back before wrapping around my neck and pulling me in. Her lips, so soft and feminine, crushed me as her manicured nails dug into the base of my head. I kissed her back, the faint scent of cherry lip-gloss hitting my nose as my tongue curled around hers.

The small crowd of mostly men that had gathered next to us cheered as we kissed, a few wolf whistles echoing over the pounding music. Spurred on by the attention, my hands roamed over the top of her skimpy silk tank, following the curves of her breasts as I gave the boys a show. Another round of cheers erupted as my hand moved under her top, my fingers dipping into the cup of her bra as she giggled and kissed me again.

“Take it off!” someone yelled. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a small group of women standing near the bar, whispering and pointing at us. I rolled my eyes.

Being a twenty-year-old pop star, if they weren’t talking about you, then you were old news, and people were
always
talking about me. A girl-on-girl experience is practically a rite of passage in the world of pop. If you didn’t do it at least once, you weren’t doing things right. And if you didn’t do it at all, they’d most likely make it up anyway, so why the hell not?

I wasn’t really into girls, but it felt good to wind the boys up, and apparently nothing did that better than making out with another chick. I could hear the sound of clicking cameras in the distance, and I knew this would probably end up on the front page of some magazine tomorrow.

Bethany Masters’ Lesbian Romp.

But who really gave a damn? I didn’t.

I’d tried being the good girl, and nobody had cared—least of all
him
. The gossip columns were forever making things up about me, so it wasn’t like I actually had a reputation to ruin here. And besides, being bad felt good. It dulled the pain of losing him and . . . the rape.

I shuddered, Ivan’s face flashing through my mind. Having to see him every day was hard. The way he looked at me, like he had won. All reporting him would have done is give him the satisfaction of everyone knowing what had happened, or at least what I claimed to have happened. It was hard enough to prove a rape without all my history. Sucking it up and moving on was
my
way of not letting him win.

But that didn’t stop the nightmares, or the pain I felt, or that every time I closed my eyes he was what I saw, over me . . . inside me.

This? Going out, getting drunk, and acting up?

This was how I coped. Alcohol fixed everything. It took away all those niggling little thoughts in the back of my head that reminded me of that night. Alcohol transformed me from the scared, vulnerable girl I had become into someone with no problems and no inhibitions. Without it, I don’t know how I’d have survived the last two months. Who cared what effect it was having on my life? Getting through each day was all that mattered. It stopped my every thought from going back to how Coop had deserted me when I’d needed him most.

In his defense, our relationship hadn’t exactly been normal. I’d been paying him for sex. Somehow, I’d fallen hard for him; then he’d fallen for some other woman, and I’d been left with nobody. I could’ve gotten past that, but we were supposed to have been friends. Friends don’t treat each other the way he’d treated me. The moment she felt insecure about his friendship, he’d cut me off. I’d been there for him when he’d needed help, and it hurt that he hadn’t done the same for me.

Fuck him. I didn’t need anyone. I’d handled the last five years before him on my own, so I sure as hell could handle myself now.

***

“Here we go,” I yelled to the cheering crowd as I downed another shot. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, the buzz from the alcohol filling my head, blocking everything else out.

“Come with me?” Blondie asked coyly, her hand slipping into mine.

I hesitated, and then nodded. “Sure, just give me a sec.” I waded through the crowd toward the bathroom. I needed to be alone. The panic attacks didn’t come often, and my usual way of treating them was with more alcohol. Pushing though the heavy bathroom door, I staggered up to the sinks.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I’d dyed my long auburn hair a dirty blonde after the rape. Coop had loved my hair—that’s why it had to go. Seeing it reminded me of how in love with him I still was.

Maybe I should’ve gone black. It would have suited my mood, and royally pissed Ivan off. Or better yet, I could shave it all off. I sniggered at the thought.

My green eyes stared back at me, void of emotion, almost dead. I rifled through my clutch for my mascara and brushed a thin layer over my lashes. Reaching for my phone, I saw a message from Coop. I sighed as I opened and read it.

Will you please fucking answer my messages? I’m worried about you. I’m sorry that I didn’t answer your call before, but I’m here for you now, Beth. I don’t want to lose you. Please, just let me know you’re okay. Wherever you are, I’ll come get you, and take you back home.