Authors: Ranae Rose
Not for them. Butterflies burst into motion, caged between her hips and heart, as Donovan tugged at her bikini strings, freeing the bottom half in a few practiced movements and tossing it onto the rock. The top half was next, and then she was naked, covered from her collarbones to toes by dark water but deliciously bare beneath the surface. Donovan ran his hands all over her body, caressing, teasing – promising – and she tipped her head back, searching the evening sky for emerging stars.
What she saw instead sent a fresh wave of coldness through her, a chill that permeated her entire being.
They weren’t alone.
“Donovan…” she breathed, gripping the rock harder than ever as she stared at the silhouette of a man near the tree line. They were at the low side of the lake, the one not circled by a cliff. Entering the water here was easy; it was level with the ground. Which meant that they were level with their observer, who was close enough to see and hear everything, to know what was going on.
Donovan buried his face in her wet hair, pressing his mouth to the side of her neck and biting lightly in response, his breath rushing hot against her chilled skin. Beneath the surface of her alarm, sparks flew.
She opened her mouth, preparing to elaborate, ignoring a bead of water that slipped in. Only she felt him against her first, the head of his cock sliding between her thighs, against her bare pussy. The pressure sent a burst of anticipation through her, causing her core to draw up tight. Ready. And then he was inside her, stretching her where she craved him even though something was wrong, even though they should stop. “Donovan!”
He flexed his hips, rocking into her, sending water gushing over the edge of the rock she held on to, slapping its surface and creating noise that didn’t quite drown out the shuffling scrape of a shoe against stone, the skitter of a few pebbles and then fading footsteps in the underbrush.
She might never have known who’d been watching them if her gaze hadn’t settled on one tiny detail – a tan leather boat shoe, unremarkable but gut-wrenchingly familiar in the fading light.
* * * * *
The day had passed slowly, awkwardly. Every time Clementine had found herself in the same room with Trevor, she’d felt his stare on her body, lingering the moment she turned her back. Just the thought made her skin prickle. Now, with the barbeque Robert was throwing in full-swing, Trevor was nowhere in sight.
That fact wasn’t as comforting as it might’ve been. Every few minutes, she thought back to the evening before, to the silhouette lurking by the quarry lake, the boat shoe that now sat with its mate on a rack by the front door. Why had Trevor followed her and Donovan … why had he watched?
She didn’t really want to know the answer, but this was the last summer she had to spend with Donovan before starting college. She had a small stack of acceptance letters now; she’d applied to a variety of schools at her mother and Robert’s behest. Columbia had wait-listed her, but who cared? She had her heart set on attending a nearby university, which would make visiting Donovan easy.
Still, she wouldn’t be able to see him as often as she did now. That fact meant that every day of summer counted – they were finite, precious. And she wasn’t about to spend the coming months constantly looking over her shoulder, holding back because she feared who might be infringing on their time together.
She’d confront Trevor – let him know that she knew what he’d done. Shaming him on her own was the logical first step; no way was she going to run tattling to her mom. The thought was mortifying for one, and Robert hated Donovan, which meant that her mother pretended not to like him, either.
Abandoning the kitchen where extra side dishes lined the counter, ready to be deployed to the patio, Clementine climbed the stairs to the second story.
“Trevor?” she called when she reached his bedroom door.
No answer.
She knocked.
Still no answer.
Maybe he was hiding – maybe he was already embarrassed.
Slowly, she opened the door.
Trevor was nowhere in sight. His bedroom had the look of a space no one had lived in for months; everything was clean and organized, except for the slightly wrinkled comforter on the bed and the box of jumbled belongings that sat next to it, brought home from his dorm room. He’d be spending the summer at home before leaving the state again for his junior year of college – unfortunately.
Sure that he wasn’t there, she turned … directly into the small desk by the door.
“Damn it!” she hissed, clapping a hand to her hip and applying pressure in an effort to soothe the throbbing pain. The desk’s corner had collided with her hip, and she could feel a bruise blossoming over the hard curve of bone. As she swore again, Trevor’s laptop flickered to life, snapped out of screensaver mode by the bump she’d given the desk.
It took her several moments to process the image on the screen. Then reality set in, along with a pervading sense of sickness.
Trevor had left a photo viewing program up – one that displayed a picture of her. Her naked. In the snapshot, she was stepping out of the shower, reaching for a towel. Judging by the angle of the photo, it’d been taken from a crack between the slightly-open bathroom door and doorframe.
Bile rose up into her throat, and a single word echoed through her mind: when?
She was still staring at the screen when Trevor walked in, gripping a beer he was still a little too young to drink legally.
God, what had he been doing – sneaking beers and drinking them while browsing his … photo collection?
“What the hell is this?” she demanded, fueled by sudden fury.
Caught red-handed, he froze at the door. And then, seeing that it was only her, he pulled it shut and smiled – a sick, slow smile.
“You’ve been spying on me.” She felt vaguely nauseous as the words tumbled out, true and bitter.
“What are you doing in my room?” he finally asked, looking delighted to have found her there.
“This photo… Delete it, you freak!”
Though his arrival had been unnerving, she hadn’t expected him to shove her, nearly knocking the wind out of her and forcing her against the wall, pinning her there with his body. That was exactly what he did, though.
“What, that?” He tipped his head toward the computer, simultaneously setting his beer down on the desk. “I’ll delete it if you pose for some new ones.”
The smell of his breath, stale and beer-suffused, made her want to gag. “Get off of me!”
Her anger was so absolute that panic didn’t grip her in earnest until the moment he slipped a hand beneath her white eyelet lace tank top – the one she’d bought the week before, thinking Donovan would like it.
Apparently, Trevor liked it too.
“Don’t be a baby,” he said when she slammed her fists against his chest, calling him a fucking pervert and trying to shove him away. “You’re about to go off to college – it’s gonna happen to you anyway. You’ll go to a few parties, have a few drinks and…” He squeezed one of her breasts with his disgusting, beer-dampened hand. “At least I’m someone you know.”
She nearly threw up. Humiliated, she clung to what small shreds of self-control she had left, swallowing the bile burning in her throat.
It was a natural reaction to try to drive her knee between his legs, but he predicted her move – maybe he was practiced at molesting girls during parties – and kept her legs pinned tight against the wall. So she threatened him. “Stop it or I’ll scream. I’ll scream at the top of my lungs and everyone will come running in here!”
There were dozens of guests at the barbeque, most of them milling around outside, but maybe a few inside the house, looking for a bathroom or admiring Robert’s disgustingly large McMansion. She was ready to scream, but it would be a last resort – the second to last thing she wanted was for half the town to witness her being molested by her step-brother, privy to her shame. The very last thing she wanted was to be trapped beneath Trevor for another minute.
He laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Nobody’d hear you anyway. Music’s too loud.”
He kept his hand clamped there, sealing her mouth shut and nearly blocking her nostrils, too. Afraid of suffocation, she panicked – writhed, tried to kick.
Trevor’s inebriation saved her. He stumbled, maybe out of surprise, and that moment of weakness was all she needed. Throwing herself at him, she clawed his face, dragging freshly painted nails – another touch she’d added in preparation for her date with Donovan the next day – from his hairline to his jaw.
He swore and raised both hands to fend her off.
One of his elbows struck her across the face, and the blow filled her mouth with the coppery tang of blood.
That kicked her into survival mode – she shoved him hard, sending him toppling onto the floor. Then she kicked him while he was down, driving the toe of her sandal into his shin with all the force she could muster.
“Bitch!” he said. “Hypocritical little bitch! Everyone knows you’re fucking that piece of trailer trash from Shady Side. It’s not like you have any pride to protect!”
“Fuck you, Trevor!” Stomach churning as she thought back to the evening before at the quarry, she fled the room.
* * * * *
Winged creatures circulated in Clementine’s belly as she stood at the end of the driveway, listening for the whine of Donovan’s bike. He’d gotten a new one, a real motorcycle, a few months ago, and every day he’d promised to pick her up on it, she’d looked forward to the ride with relish.
Not this time. The creatures fluttering in her middle weren’t butterflies – ravens, maybe, circling and slowly tearing her to pieces. As the waited-for noise of a motorcycle came from a distance, she breathed a hard sigh.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about mom. Don’t think about stupid fucking Robert. Definitely don’t think about… Her own advice whirled uselessly inside her head, lending her nervousness a sharper edge.
“Hey.” Donovan pulled up in the driveway and quickly dismounted his bike, coming toward her in long strides, looking perfect in jeans and a t-shirt, his sun-browned muscles taut and defined beneath the short sleeves.
Just like always. Her frayed nerves were soothed a little as he approached her, reached for her.
“Missed you.” He bowed his head, brushing his lips across hers as he pulled her close with a hand against the small of her back.
As the pressure of his mouth against hers increased, a spark of pain flared in her lower lip, a quick sting that incited a deeper ache. She pulled back instinctively, stiffening.
Donovan froze, his breath still flowing warm and minty against her face, and slowly raised his head. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes narrowed as he searched her face, and she could feel his gaze shifting to her mouth, settling there. “Why’s your lip swollen?”