Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Everyone had thought my injury was a freak accident. After all, I was a klutz. I closed my eyes. “They chased me.”
“Let’s see how fast you run now, you little shit.”
“Said they’d skin me alive when they got to me. It took them twenty minutes to catch me.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Turns out I really was the fastest. But then my teammates were everywhere. Snaking between trees, lurking behind bushes. Queen Bitch was the one who ended up snatching the hem of my hoodie. ‘Well, well. If it isn’t Franco’s little hussy girlfriend. You know he only dates you because you’re a Russian whore, right?’ She dragged me by my feet toward the river. I kicked and screamed, clawing at the wet ground. Two of my fingernails snapped out of my skin. I begged for help.”
“Aw, she’s a feisty one. Franco said your tics go crazy when you go down on him. Is that true?”
It was. And I had been nauseous with humiliation because he’d shared the most intimate, shameful part of me with my enemy.
“You know he told me he put pictures of you naked on porn sites? Your face is all over the internet with you cupping your tits. What kinda freshman whore even sends a senior naked pictures? Jesus.”
The revelation had poured hot, renewed rage into me. I’d managed to kick her in the face. She had stumbled back, bracketing her nose, blood gushing between her fingers.
“Catch her, Becky!” Queen Bitch had called out to Rebecca Stanton, who’d stood limply on a tree trunk, watching with horror.
“She’s so fast, though!” Rebecca had whined.
“Just do it!”
Disoriented, Rebecca had pounced on me. She’d grabbed my foot and tugged it sideways sharply. The cracking sound it had made bounced with an echo over the treetops. A shriek had pierced the air. The pain had been so sharp, I couldn’t breathe.
I sometimes wondered why I was so afraid of men when girls were the ones to physically abuse me. I once touched that subject with a therapist, though, and she said something that resonated with me. After the abuse, it was women who picked me up and saved me. It was Dylan. It was Mom. It was the therapist herself. They were my safe haven.
“Everybody freaked out.” I blinked furiously, my eyes matching the drum of my heart. “Queen Bitch said they should mercy-kill me, because my legs were my best asset, and now that I couldn’t open them to seniors or run, I was truly useless.”
“We could get away with it. No one will be looking for her for hours.”
“Queen Bitch decided burying me alive was the ultimate solution to her problems. At first, everyone was so shocked they just went along with it. The power of herd mentality, I guess. They flung dirt on my face and body as I cried and screeched and begged her to rethink it. They knew I wouldn’t snitch on them. Knew I would never go against the powerful teammate who led this thing against me. Clout in small schools is everything.” My entire body rocked back and forth as I came face-to-face with the memory. “They were screaming and arguing by the time I couldn’t breathe. I had so much mud on me. I could barely hear them, their voices muffled. I don’t know who convinced them to stop or how, but they did. Queen Bitch wanted to kill me for real, but…the others were too scared, I guess. Two girls dug me out of the shallow grave and yanked me up. They ran away before I could ask for water, for help.” I tried to swallow the bitter lump in my throat. Failed. “I had to crawl my way back to town with a broken ankle.”
I let the vodka bottle slip from between my fingers. The liquid sloshed on the sand. The silence around us was a big, loud wall. I wanted to scream to penetrate it.
“The worst part”—I heard my voice floating between us, and I knew that my lips were moving but wasn’t sure what was going to come out of my mouth—“is that when I finally reached the edge of the woods, where the forest kissed the residential street, the thought crossed my mind to make a U-turn and die. I didn’t want to face my life post this incident. Post the attack. Post Franco.”
I had already made up my mind not to tell my parents what happened. It would have crushed them. I’d just had to keep on lying. Spinning the untruths like cotton candy over a stick. Fluffy, sugary, and inviting.
Franco hadn’t lied. He had put my pictures on some small porn sites. Probably to appease Queen Bitch and show her that I had meant nothing to him. I’d go on these sites years after the fact to punish myself for trusting. For believing a guy like Franco could love a girl like me. I felt violated. Ripped to shreds and robbed of my consent.