Pulling the pillow he slept on to me, I inhale the fabric and try not to cry. He was so broken last night. I’m responsible for that. I wear it right over my heart like a scarlet letter, warning everyone around me of my crimes.
My phone buzzes with a text and I scramble over to my bedside table, hoping Cal threw me a bone. It makes me feel weak to want the scraps he tosses my way, but I have no choice with Cal. He owns me in ways I don’t understand.
It’s not him.
An unknown number.
My skin crawls as I read the hateful message.
Unknown Number: Everyone knows you’re a whore.
The person sends me a picture of me. I know who took that picture. Ryan Cunningham. My makeup is messy and my eyes are drooping from whatever drug I’m on at the time. What disgusts me is that I’m naked. On my knees. There are other guys in the picture. All of them with their dicks in their hands. The photographer, Ryan, has a grip on my hair, urging me to his dick.
I remember that night.
His friends could look but not touch.
They came on me. In my hair. On my back. My face.
Tears blur the image before me as I remember that night. Disgust sucks the air from my lungs and I gasp desperately for oxygen.
I’m there.
Right there with them.
Feeling them. Hearing them. Tasting Ryan.
Bile creeps up my throat. I want to run away. Or crawl under my bed, hiding forever. Disappear. I want to disappear. I need to forget.
That night I was floating.
A world away.
Lost inside my mind.
I miss that.
“No,” I rasp out.
I don’t miss that.
I fucking hated that.
My fingers shake as I write out a text to Loden.
Me: I need you to ground me.
Lo: Sounds kinky.
A sob escapes me when the unknown number sends another text. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this.
Flipping over to look at the picture, I cringe at what I see. In someone’s hot tub. Full of guys. Naked. Always naked. My eyes are closed in the picture and I’m half sitting in some random guy’s lap. His hand is on my breast. I don’t remember this one.
Fuck.
Another picture.
Not as bad as the rest because you can’t see my face, but I know it’s me. Ryan’s dick inside me. Dried cum smeared all over my stomach. Bruises all over my thighs—ones Ryan put there.
I’m going to be sick.
Another picture.
This one, my skirt is pushed up my thighs as I lie face down over the hood of a police car. My head is lying in a pool of vomit. I don’t remember this one either. I recognize the surroundings as being at Ryan’s house, and that’s most certainly his dad’s squad car.
Unknown Number: You don’t think I have hundreds of these? Keep trying to ignore me. Keep spreading fucking lies. Hard to prove you’re a good girl when I know you’re not.
My phone starts to ring, making me shriek. I toss it on the bed, trembling. Quickly, I scramble to my feet. A cold shower will numb my brain to those terrible images. I strip out of my clothes and take an icy cold shower. It does wonders to take my mind off things. All I can think about is the cold. How it hurts. It just hurts. By the time I climb out, my teeth are chattering and my lips are blue. I pull on a black pair of panties and grab the first shirt I can find. The white fabric hangs just past my ass, but it’s good enough for now. I crawl beneath the covers, seeking refuge. It’s then I work up the courage to read my texts.
Lo: Kidding.
Lo: What’s up?
Lo: Char, baby, are you okay?
Twelve missed calls from Loden.
Lo: You’re starting to freak me the fuck out. We both can’t be falling off the wagon at once. Let me know you’re okay.
With trembling hands, I reply back to him.
Me: I’ll be okay.
Lo: Thank fuck. Jesus, woman, don’t scare me like that.
Me: I’m sorry.
Lo: It’s okay, baby. I love you. I’m going to see you soon.
Me: Love you too.
I straighten my spine, harnessing whatever bravery I have left inside me to open the other texts from Ryan.
Unknown Number: You’re nothing without me.
Unknown Number: No one can love a whore.
Unknown Number: I hate you.
Unknown Number: I need to see you.
Unknown Number: I still fucking love you even though you’re a disgusting bitch.
Unknown Number: When we get back together, you’re going to stop getting naked for other guys. Only me. To think you actually thought you could be a mother.
Unknown Number: Would your daughter be a whore too?
He must have gotten pissed that I didn’t respond because he sent me at least ten more pictures, all of which I was either passed out or half out of it. Each one I was naked and in some sort of sexual situation. It takes everything in me to find the words to respond.
Me: Fuck off, Ryan. I’m not yours anymore.
The dots are moving even as I go to block him. I never see his response and I’m thankful for that.
Someone bangs on the front door and I let out a surprised yelp.
Cal.
I won’t cry in front of him. Not now. Not when his world is crashing down around him. Diving deep, I search for all the strength I possess so I can be strong for him. Ryan can go to hell. He does not rule my life anymore.
Rushing down the hall, I make it to the door and fling it open, eager to fall into his arms.
The man staring at me is not Cal.
Tall. Solid muscle. Violence shining in his amber eyes.
A bigger, crazier, meaner version of my brother-in-law.
“Are
