“
You will,” he says as he wipes the mix of my blood and his own off his face. He pushes me forward and I fall on the edge of the bed before sliding to the floor.
“
Fuck, do I have to lift your ass up?” he groans. He puts both arms underneath my armpits and I feebly slap at him. He hoists me onto the bed and I can’t help but lie there, face down and helpless, bleeding all over the quilt my grandma made for me when I was sixteen. I feel myself starting to slip into unconsciousness, but I fight to stay awake.
“
Take your fucking pants off!” Nick shouts, his voice sounding almost robotic. When I can’t manage to move, Nick leans in and tugs at the button of my jeans. I focus all my effort on staying alert and wait for him to get low enough to reach. I hold my breath and then I strike, kicking him as hard as I can in the balls.
“
Oof!” his breath comes out in a groan and he falls backward into a heap. “You fucking bitch!” he gasps as he cups his balls. I scramble to my feet and try to get out the door. Why won’t someone help me? I know they can hear this, so I scream for help.
“
Shut the fuck up!” He shouts, scrambling to his feet in a hunched over position. He swings the belt and the buckle hits me across the back. I feel my skin burn and the flow of blood trickles down my spine.
His hands wrap in my hair again and he yanks me back on the bed with a thud. Blood pools in my right eye and everything is red and blurry. It's almost like wearing those 3D glasses at the movies and it makes my nausea worsen.
Nick stands and hobbles to the bed, his hands still on his aching balls.
“
You stupid cunt,” he says, spitting blood on the floor.
“
Nick,” I manage. “Please don’t do this.” I hate the begging in my voice, the pleading and the fear.
He smacks me hard across the face again and I kick at him, but miss. I scream again and he clamps his hand over my mouth. A small silver knife glints in the corner of my good eye.
“
Scream again and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” he growls.
Nick jerks the button up shirt I’m wearing open at the front in one swift movement. His looks me over hungrily and stares at my breasts. I’m wearing a fancy lacy bra, one I bought for Jack.
“
What’s he done to you? Has he made you forget who you are?” he sneers, letting the hand not holding the knife to my throat grab my breast. I start to cry and he squeezes until it hurts. “You were my whore before you were his.”
I sob again as he puts his mouth to my neck and licks me, his hot tongue stopping at my collar bone. My chest heaves as he brings his mouth over my breast and bites at my nipple through the bra. I feel a lurch in my stomach and my body starts to shake out of revulsion. He pulls the knife away from my neck and traces it down my stomach, the sharp point digging in along my skin.
“
Unbutton your pants,” he mutters.
My stiff fingers don’t want to cooperate, but I manage to undo the button and zipper. I cry so hard my whole body shakes, but Nick just stares at me with his crazed eyes.
“
Nick, please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this to me.” I cry instead of breathe.
“
Shut up,” he says, grabbing the side of my jeans and yanking it down my hip. He jerks the other side down, back and forth, and then pulls the jeans off. He wipes at his nose and the blood that still runs from it with my pants.
The hand holding the knife comes forward and in my half-conscious mind, I know he’s going to stab me. He slips the blade under the plain white cotton of my panties and cuts, pulling them away from my body.
I start to pull my legs up, to hide myself from him, but Nick waves the knife again.
“
I’m gonna tell you one more time.
Don’t fucking move
.”
My legs fall back on the bed and I cry that much harder.
Please help me, Jack! Please!
Every tear that pours down my face is a prayer that he’ll get here in time to stop Nick if I can’t find a way to do it myself.
Nick unzips his pants and I can feel the Chinese food coming back up. I turn my head and vomit on the bed, each lurch of my abdomen causing a fresh wave of pain in my head.
“
Aw, fuck!” Nick scowls. He backs away from my vomit. “Come here,” he barks, grabbing me by the hair to pull me off the bed and back onto the floor. My knees dig into the carpet and the sting of the burn clears my head a little. I try to angle myself to be able to kick him again if he drops his guard.
“
Nick, you need to stop,” I attempt. “You know you don’t wanna do this.”
“
Yeah, I do,” he grins. He puts his hot hands on my knees and starts to pull them apart. I fight him, clamping my legs closed as tightly as I can. Nick jerks them open and sharp pain shoots from my hips.
"Get the fuck off me!" I scream.
"Do I need to cut you? Carve up that pretty face? I'm sure Loverboy would drop you like a bad habit then," Nick chuckles. He turns the knife back and forth, reminding me that he's got the power. The door crashes open and I look up.
"Don't be so sure about that," Jack says, shoving Nick off me. I scream and scramble into the corner behind the door.
Jack's boot makes contact with Nick's chest as he kicks him and the knife flies out of Nick's hand to land underneath my vanity. Jack's face is almost monstrous, filled with rage. I watch as Nick curls up in a ball, trying to catch his breath. Jack straddles him and grabs his shirt collar.
He punches him then, the force of it knocking Nick's head to the side like a balloon. Jack hits him over and over, blood and spit flying from Nick's mouth. I sit in the corner and cry, the tears coming out of my swollen eye and landing on my chest. I watch it all like a movie; Jack's fists hit with dull thuds instead of the Hollywood
bam
sound. Everything goes in slow motion and I watch Nick's eyes close as he passes out.
"Jack!" I try to yell. "Stop, you're going to kill him! He's not moving!"
Jack raises his fist to pummel him again and it's covered in blood. He comes back to himself then and looks at me. He drops Nick to the floor and walks slowly to me.
"Oh god," he mutters, his face softening out of the craze he was in. He puts his hand up to my head and then gently touches my eye. "Oh god."
"Call the cops, Jack," I manage.
He pulls his phone from his coat pocket with shaking hands and dials 911. I swallow blood and wince as it goes down my throat.
"Yes, my name is Robert Webster. I'm at 441 Birch Road. My girlfriend's been attacked, I think she's been raped," he swallows hard. "I beat the guy up. He's here. It's Nick Anderson, Jeffrey Anderson's son."
I look past Jack at Nick's limp body. His face is bloody and swelling up, his thin hair is matted to his head.
"Please get an ambulance here, she's bleeding and I hurt him." Terror fills every part of Jack from his frantically moving, bloody hands to his wide, startled eyes. I hold on to his arm to tether myself to the waking world. I want to go to sleep so badly.
Jack ends the call and then takes in all the damage to my face. He jerks the blood and vomit covered quilt off the bed and then pulls the sheet underneath it free. He kneels and wraps it around my naked lower body. He slides one arm underneath my knees and the other around my back to lift me from the floor. I keep my eyes on Nick, watching for any movement. His chest rises and falls, so at least I know Jack didn't kill him.
Jack carries me into the living room and sits me on the couch. I cough and spit blood down my chest. My ribs hurt and my throat burns.
"Oh, Carly," he moans, tears slipping down his cheeks. My vision is clear but my head feels so heavy.
"Jack, he didn't rape me. You got here in time." I reach for his hand and it's so hot when he puts it in mine. My fingers feel alien, like an artificial limb.
"I'm gonna kill him," Jack says, turning toward the bedroom.
"No, Jack!" I attempt to yell. He turns from the door and I hear the sound of sirens. "You can't do that."
"Carly, what he's done to you," Jack says, wiping tears from his face. His hands leave bloody streaks down his cheeks and I shudder.
I cough again and feel it in my whole body. I pull the sheet around me. "I know, but you'll be a murderer. Don't do it. Let him rot in jail."
I can hear the heavy footfalls of the police on my stairs. Jack's key to my place still hangs in the open front door. A tall policeman rushes in with his gun drawn.
"He's in there," Jack says, pointing to my room.
The officer eyes Jack before moving past him as more men filter in my apartment. Another officer follows the first and then another comes over to me. An EMT hurries in carrying a big red duffel bag. Snow blows in through the wide open door and the cold that accompanies it cuts through the thin sheet around me.
"Ma'am, are you in any condition to tell me what happened?" the officer asks. I shake my head and the EMT pushes him out of the way and starts to assess my injuries. Another EMT runs toward my bedroom to attend to my would be rapist. Two more officers flank my door on either side, their faces washed in flashing blue and red lights.
Jack stands there like he's unsure of what to do. The officer who wanted to question me turns to him.
"Sir? Are you Robert Webster?"
Jack rubs his face again and nods. He looks so lost, so confused. Like I feel. He looks from the bedroom back to me, like he's trying to make sure I’m really out of there and away from Nick.
"Tell me what happened," the policeman says, pulling a little notebook from his pocket.
The EMT dabs at my temple and I wince as whatever is on the cotton pad he's using stings. He inspects me closely, shining a tiny pin light in my eye. The other is swollen shut. "You need to go to the hospital now," he says. He motions for someone at the door and a dark skinned EMT pushes a stretcher through the tangle of people who've accumulated in my cramped living room.
"Do you think you can stand?" the darker skinned EMT asks.
I nod, not really sure if I can or not. I grip the sheet and try to get to my feet, but my legs are like jelly and quickly give out. Jack rushes to me and catches me before I fall. The EMT with the stretcher pushes it in front of me and he and Jack lift me onto it. My entire body is shaking from exhaustion and pain. Jack takes my hand.
"Get another stretcher in here," an officer calls out from my bedroom. I strain to try and see what's happening, but my neck won't cooperate. Jack kisses my hand and I touch his busted up knuckles.
"I love you," Jack says.
I nod as the fog of unconsciousness starts to creep in and now that I'm safe, I can't fight it anymore. I close my eyes, the image of Jack's strained face is the last thing I see.
I've never been as tired as I am right now. Or as emotionally drained. The hospital room is quiet except for the beeping of Carly's heart monitor. She's been out for eighteen hours.
I rub her fingers, my own hand bandaged with heavy white gauze. Her face is swollen down the right side; her mouth is almost twice the size it should be. A big white bandage covers the eleven stitches she needed to close the wound on her head and her swollen eye.
Nick has major head trauma as well as a broken nose, but that's not enough. I wanted to kill him, to rip his head right off.
Claire peeks around the edge of the door before coming in with a big vase of sunflowers. Her eyes are red and she looks terrified.
"Hey," I say, concentrating on Carly's sleeping body.