He chuckles, looking over his shoulder, and, with dread, I spin my head around, meeting Colt’s steely gaze. “No romance, Baby? I’m hurt. I thought I gave you all the romance you needed.”
With no little sarcasm, I say, opening my car door and nudging a laughing Hayden out of my way, “Romance, Colt? Yeah, I think that’s right up there with I love you. Feeling the heat yet? Run away like the cowardly little ass you are, hm?”
I’m seething, so when Colt’s brows lower over his eyes in a matching response, all I feel is triumph. Fuck you, Colt. And fuck you, Hayden.
I’ve calmed down by the time I get home, and I refuse to acknowledge the excitement I feel that Colt was back on campus today.
*****
Melissa and I go to the beach on Saturday, bringing a few drinks and a blanket to while away the day. It's still cold, so we’re not swimming, but it’s nice to sit by the waves and chat.
She’s surprisingly deep, and I enjoy our time when no one else is around to inspire her prickly exterior. Although we’ve only touched on the subject of her home life, much like everyone else, there’s plenty of dysfunction to choose from, which makes you wonder if anyone has a normal life.
When she was deep down into the alcohol at the last party, she let slip that her mom is dying from cancer. I’ve been afraid to bring it up since because she shut down as soon as she said it, but my heart aches for the pain she must be experiencing. The death of a parent changes you forever. I should know. I still felt the ache in my soul when the remembrance caught up with me.
“So, have you thought about what I owe you?” I ask, slurping on a whiskey and coke, heavy on the whiskey. I swear this bitch is intent on getting me drunk whenever I’m around her.
She glances my way, lowering her glasses and glowering at me. Once upon a time, that look would’ve made me shit my pants, now I just smile at her sweetly.
“Not really. You got a lot of money or something?”
“Seriously?” I guffaw, “Everyone’s been calling me rich bitch for months. What do you think?”
“Humph, just because that’s what people say doesn't mean it's true,” she grumbles.
“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But yes, I have some money. Most is tied up in a trust until I turn eighteen anyway. But I meant what I said. Whatever you want, it's yours,” I say firmly.
She nods slowly and looks away before looking back with a hesitant expression, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I quip, although I’m already dreading what’s next based on her look. She’s not usually reticent about saying what’s on her mind, so it must be bad.
“I heard, um, about your dad. You were there? When it happened?”
“Hm,” I say, turning away to hide my sour expression.
This is not where I thought this conversation was going. Frankly, I’d take her trying to kick my ass again over this, but Melissa’s been nothing but honest with me. I owe it to her to be the same.
“Well, yes. I was.”
“Will you tell me? What happened?”
With a blank stare, I process her request. Can I do this? Do I want to?
After a protracted silence, she shifts uncomfortably, and I cut her off when she opens her mouth with an apology in her eyes.
“Okay,” I whisper, catching my breath at the pain pulsing in my chest.
“It was a bad day. Just, you know, one of those days that’s off. I don't know. I came home, and the house was so quiet, so empty. I couldn't find my mom anywhere. Finally, I gave up and went to my room, assuming she went to the store or something. It wasn't until hours later when I heard screaming startup, that I realized they were both home. While I sat in my room and scrolled through social media, gossiping with my friends via text, he had her tied to their bed. He - he raped her. Over and over.”
Clearing my throat, I run my hand over my sternum, where the familiar ache from that day forms every time I recall the events. “I can still hear her screams. They came out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me. He had released her from the bed, and when she tried to run, he pushed her down the stairs. Once at the bottom, he started pounding on her again.”
Taking a deep breath, I continue, “I came down the stairs slowly, scared, you know. When I got to the bottom, I found...I saw...she was lying on the floor surrounded by blood. And he was sitting on top of her pounding on her over and over.”
Sadly, I look into Melissa’s horrified gaze and grimace, “I must’ve made a sound. I don't know because they both looked up at the same time. She said something I couldn't make out, and he sprang from her, coming toward me. I tried to run, to get away, but he grabbed my leg from the bottom of the stairs and pulled me down.”
Shuddering, I take a breath of air, my lungs constricting under the weight of the fear I felt when he towered over me.
“He raged at me about her, always about her before shoving me against the wall and telling me not to move. And I didn’t. I was frozen. I couldn't move. I didn’t move. Not when he punched her a few more times. Not when he left her on the floor, covered in her own blood, her face, her pretty face mashed in. Not even when he brought back the biggest knife I’ve ever seen and stabbed her, over and over and over.”
I trail off after that, wiping away the tear that escapes my eye. I’ll never forget how she stared at me, begging me
