Page 51 of Oliver

“Nothing, I, um, I don’t think we should do this,” I whisper, glancing at the door once more. End this and go. Just go, my brain is screaming.

“Don’t worry, little girl. We’re in the clear." His deep voice sends a shiver through me, and when he raises his hands, I flinch away, images of those same fingers wrapped around my neck while he fucked me.

He was neither kind nor gentle and there's something almost predatory about the way he seduced and subsequently used me.

“I don’t want to do this anymore," I say, and he cocks his head. Mustering a wan smile, I search for anything to push this fucker away before saying, “I’m just, you know. In love with J-Jensen.”

Lies but he didn’t need to know that. As it was, I could only blame temporary insanity. What the fuck was I thinking?

“I see. Well,” he says, running the tip of his finger down my bare arm, “If you get tired of my son, you know where I am.”

What did he just say? The world tips around me, but I manage to leave without embarrassing myself. Unfortunately, I walk right into Oliver’s arms where he proceeds to say, “Did you fuck my father, little one? What a dirty little whore.”

Rolling over, I clutch my stomach and vomit into the toilet, again. It’s all I can do since Oliver brutalized me in front of a bunch of strangers.

I’ve always wondered how he knew. Did he overhear Mr. G’s silky words, or did he pursue me knowing about my tragic mistake?

Was he punishing me for fucking his dad? In my heart of hearts, I know I deserve it. I committed the ultimate sin. I guess, in my stupidity, I thought Mr. G—Kenny truly liked me. I thought it was all real until I got out of the bed after and felt both dirty and ashamed.

I knew right then that I was never going to be anything more than a fun time for him.

It never occurred to me when Dixie admitted she was dating an older married man that it might be Mr. G. What were the odds? Pretty good as it turned out.

Why? She knew my pain. I confessed it one night after getting drunk on Mom’s apple wine.

Up until then, Dixie and everyone else assumed I fled school because I experimented with Tasha Moore at a party one night. At the time, I guess I was hoping for an escape from the reality of my misdeeds. Although I don’t regret it, I also found it wasn't for me.

Of course, Sabrina used that as her opportunity to oust me as Queen Bitch. Fool.

The night I lost any sense of right and wrong, I left that shithole where Mr. G took me to fuck me with a burn between my thighs and the realization that I was nothing but a toy. And after Oliver seduced me into the same damn situation, calling me a whore afterward, I didn’t know what else to do. I fled school not because I was so embarrassed by Sabrina’s silver tongue but for my own damn sanity.

Shit. Sabrina’s lucky I’ve stayed away this long because what’s brewing inside of me is enough to level her and her fucking reputation in one fell swoop.

It’s not like I had a name for what I encountered but it was clear Mr. G was into shit I wanted no part of. He was rough and scary in a way that both confused and frightened me.

So why did Dixie do it? It’s been circling my brain since I found her damn pink notes with swirly letters and stupid hearts.

I may never know her motivation, only that I told her things that ultimately got her killed. I wish she had listened. I wish she had done what I did and walked the fuck away.

Now, it’s up to me to end this because I know to my fucking bones, I will not let her death be in vain. My conscience won’t allow it.

My assumption or delusional hope that it was Mr. G and a lover’s quarrel gone wrong died a fiery death when he said he didn’t do it.

Perhaps I conjured that shit because if I could prove his evil intentions, it somehow atoned for my own part in this shitty play. I never imagined he would turn out to be the damn Lucky Charm killer though which only make me sicker to my stomach.

What if something had gone wrong that night? Thankfully, I got away unscathed, but my damn sister did not. Why?

Jesus, thinking back now, I’m revolted by the way Mr. G treated me and yet up until we actually had sex, I ate that shit up. He fucked me in an abandoned house on the edge of town, which was achingly similar to the one Dixie died in.

I let the fucker tell me lies, convince me that I was special but an anonymous fuck in a shithole isn’t love. The irony isn’t lost on me though because I jumped from one asshole to another and neither cared about me. I guess it’s the cherry on top that they were father and son.

Ha.

Shaking my head, I pull up from the toilet and wipe my mouth. To say I regret meeting the fucker would be an understatement but ever since that fateful day I went back for my bag, tucked away in the music room, it’s haunted me.

How stupid am I? Mr. G came around the corner, spouting pretty words and it was the beginning of the end.

The following Friday, after avoiding the weirdo all week, I went to a party and got tipsy on red wine.

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