When the four of us officially run out of things to talk about, Elija and I go to my room. He puts on some music and does another tour of my room, this time opening a few drawers. When he comes to the one with all my nail polishes, he stops- Then looks at me shily.
‘Would you maybe- I mean, do you like painting nails?’ he asks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this flustered. It’s adorable.
‘Do you want me to paint yours?’ I ask, getting off my bed to walk over.
‘I don’t know. Would you think it’s weird?’ he asks.
‘No, of course not. Which color do you want?’ I ask, sitting down.
‘Black?’ he asks, beaming slightly.
So I paint my boy’s fingernails black. He studies me closely as I do it and it’s enough to make my hands shake. Still, I force myself to do it well.
When I’m done, he quickly swoops me up in a kiss, careful to keep his hands away from me since I told him to.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers against my cheek, making me shiver. Oh, I wish I were home alone.
Since I’m not, Eli and I behave, doing nothing more than making out a bit.
‘I should get going. But first, I got you something,’ he says, pulling something from his pocket. It’s a little box and I study it for a moment before opening it hesitantly. I’m not really used to receiving gifts.
When I see the necklace with its little guitar pendant, a hand flies up to cover my gaping mouth.
‘You didn’t need to do that,’ I tell him even as a smile spreads over my features.
‘I wanted to. I hope you like it. I would’ve given you a flower one but you already have one so I thought a guitar might be a bit more personal, you know?’
‘I love it,’ I tell him. He helps me put it on, letting his hands linger on my neck before he pulls me around and kisses me again. I sigh into his mouth. I’ll never get sick of this.
‘Okay, now I really gotta go. But tonight went okay, right?’ he asks.
‘You did perfectly, I’m sure my mom likes you.’
‘And your dad?’
‘Well, he’s just a tough cookie to break but don’t worry about it,’ I tell him. Still, the memory of my father’s furious eyes haunts me.
‘I’ll just keep trying,’ he says, making my heart warm. At the same time, I hate that my father’s giving him such a hard time when Elija’s family went above and beyond to make me feel welcome.
‘I’ll walk you out, come on.’ At the door, only my mother has the decency to tell our guest goodbye. Who knows where my father is right now but at least my mother is being very polite.
‘Don’t let us wait for too long until we get to see you again,’ she even tells him as she closes the door behind him. To my great surprise, her smile doesn’t fall as soon as we’re alone.
‘Good night, honey. I’m tired enough to sleep through the end of the world right now,’ she says before walking off with a content smile.
I’m feeling mostly happy as well as I head back to my room. Like always, I shut the door behind me but when I’m about to slump on my bed, a silhouette in the corner makes me stop dead in my tracks. My heart stops and my lungs seize as my eyes meet my father’s bloodshot ones. He’s drunk again.
‘Dad?’ I ask slowly.
‘You let him touch you,’ my father says, his voice empty.
‘What? I- No.’ I shake my head, backing away. This feels wrong. So, so, so wrong. I’m not supposed to be scared of my own father. This isn’t him.
‘Don’t lie!’ the man snaps, coming closer so I can’t get to my door. ‘Your mother told me what she found in your trash that night. I’m so disappointed in you.’ Here he’s back, the sad, broken man from last Wednesday. The bruises he left me that night are only just fading and I’m not ready for more. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know what I can do.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him desperately.
‘You should be. You’ve been together for a week which means you were so desperate to give him your body before he was even your boyfriend. And still, you are desperate for more. I heard you on the phone the other night and I could hear you tonight,’ he goes on, stepping closer to the point where he’s invading my space by a lot.
I want to protest. Tell him I lied earlier because I mixed the dates up or that nothing happened tonight but my father slaps me before I can. It hurts like the last time. The only difference is I’m not as caught off guard. The realization makes everything hurt more.
‘Do you enjoy it when he touches you? Taints you? Do you enjoy torturing me?’ he roars while I’m praying my mother will hear. Please, please let her hear this time.
Suddenly, two big, rough hands are on my waist, squeezing me painfully and making me freeze in place. His hands are on me and I’m too shocked to react, my mind too frantic to think of a way out.
When his hands start roaming my body, squeezing my ass and boobs hard enough for me to start shrieking, my instincts kick in.
I try to push my father’s hands away. When it doesn’t work, I throw my weight against his torso, anything to get him off. It only gives him the opportunity to slide one strong arm around my waist as he squeezes my face painfully with his free hand.
When his eyes drop to my neck, more precisely the necklace adorning it, fresh rage seems to fill them. He grips it and rips it off with one hard tug. Then he takes the pendant and walks off, leaving me crying and shaking as I relive the moment again and again.
Finally, my knees buckle beneath me and I don’t even feel my impact. The world simply goes black even before I hit the ground and I gladly let it.
