Page 88 of Stalker

Tyson’s actions caused the group to become rowdy, as he started unbuttoning my shirt, and amidst the commotion, another voice called out.“It means she wants it! She didn’t even need a full dose to get easy for dick.”

My heart pounded in my chest, escalating with each passing second, and I watched in horror as Tyson slowly undressed me, followed by himself. With his friends cheering obscene things, he pushed my skirt up and climbed on top of me.

“Choke her.”

“Open her legs wider, I can’t see!”

“Bend her over so you can fuck her harder!”

And they just got worse the longer I watched. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t close my eyes to stop the images from burning a permanent scar into my brain as Tyson raped me for his friend’s enjoyment.

Similar to that night, I felt frozen and powerless to stop the torment. That night, as Tyson used me, I was trapped, and I could barely lift my arms to stop the assault.

Watching the video, I felt a surge of adrenaline. Memories of that terrifying night came rushing back, and I watched as I instinctively swung my arms at Tyson, but my attempts were feeble and powerless. Because even in my drugged state, I knew my boyfriend wasn’t safe. I knew it wasn’t okay.

Apparently, I was the only one in the room that did, though. The longer I watched, the more apprehensive I became about what else I might see if I kept on.

Just as my stress reached its peak, the volume of the party suddenly increased, providing a momentary respite. Then, a voice pierced through the commotion, announcing the arrival of the police. We were all of age, but noise disturbances were still illegal, apparently.

I cried out silently as the torment stopped.

In a hurried motion, Ty pulled my clothes back over my body, slung me over his shoulder, and grumbled about the unexpected interruption, all before the video abruptly cut off.

Did the arrival of the cops prevent me from being assaulted by everyone in that room that night?

I guess I’d never know, because there was nothing else after that video. Just a still frame of me looking up from Tyson’s shoulder as everyone complained about missing out on their chance to rape me.

It felt like my brain was short-circuited, and I acted without thinking.

Grabbing a glass paperweight that sat on the desk, I slammed it into the large center screen, shattering it.

Shattering the image of me on it.

The glass broke in my hand and cut my palm, but I hardly felt it.

Blood slowly dripped from my fingers onto the desk, as I reached a state of numbness and my eyes blinked in disbelief at the multitude of images flashing on the screen.

I begged him not to watch it. I begged him to spare me the shame of knowing he saw what happened to me that night. But he just couldn’t let my fragile heart heal from it. He had to know just how broken I really was.

Leaving the mess in my wake, I turned and walked out of the office, with blood roaring in my ears. I couldn’t think as I walked through the house, trailing a crimson track behind me all the way to my guest house.

There was no doubt in my mind that I had to go.

I had to leave.

I had to scoop up the pieces I thought were all picked back up already and leave while I still could.

Before Lincoln returned.

Dane.

Before Dane returned.

I packed my clothes up in the two suitcases I brought for my stay and loaded them in my car. As I gathered the items Dane had fetched from my apartment, the familiar scent wafted up to my nose, reminding me of home, before I tossed them into my trunk. As if I could lock them and my memories away and never think of them again.

When I realized that my entire life could fit into the small confines of my car, an overwhelming sadness washed over me. I couldn’t name the feeling exactly, but I guessed it felt a lot like grief.

Shame.

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