Page 1 of Needing to Fall
The door creaked, and then not so silent footfalls hit the hardwood floor. I closed my eyes tightly, praying he would go away and not hurt me. Unfortunately, I didn’t believe in who I was praying to, because He had never helped me before, so why would He start now? Why would He care about a kid like me, who no one wants, no one cares about, no one gives a damn about. A Nothing. Except for Drew, the boy in the next room who had always cared. However, I didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want him to know.
Drew was all I had in this world. I couldn’t survive without him. I only had two more years before I could get out of here without anyone looking for me. Two more years to be legal, two more years and I was O-U-T: out. Two years, and Drew and I could get on with our lives, far away from here.
The footsteps came closer, and before I could breathe, he was above me. I didn’t see him, but I could feel his slimy heat. I hoped he would think I was sleeping. I hoped he would go away.
Hope was something a girl like me should never have, because it never came.
His hand trailed up my leg, my flesh rising with bumps of resistance from his touch. It was the Eww factor times a thousand. I wanted him nowhere near me, not even breathing the same air as me. Regardless, I had no choice. I never did.
“Reign.” His voice sang with humor, and if I wasn’t mistaken, slurred from too much drink.
Mr. Peterson had a problem with that, but I had never said a word, not wanting to stir any pots. I had been in enough foster homes to know it was always best to keep my mouth shut and mind alert.
“Reign,” he said again, but I feigned sleep while clocking his movements next to me.
When his hand glided up the inside leg of my shorts, my body went ramrod straight. I tried to stop myself from the movement yet couldn’t. In turn, I gave myself away.
Mr. Peterson pushed my shoulder hard, laying me flat on my back, and my eyes sprang open.
“I knew you were awake.” His face was sunken in, eyes droopy, and hair slicked back. What really caught my eye, though, was the smile on his face: devious, cunning.
On instinct, I gripped his wrist, trying to stop him.
I had been fighting for everything I had since I was six years old. Fighting was in my bones from top to toe, even though I told myself not to. Although I told myself to keep quiet, I couldn’t help myself. Some things were so engrained they never went away.
He full-out laughed, thinking my trying was a joke. “You think you’re gonna stop me? No, you’re gonna take those little tease of shorts off and fuck me.”
My stomach rolled and bile rose in my throat. This wasn’t the first time Mr. Peterson had come to visit, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I hated it, but he always ended up playing the one card he knew he had on me.
“Please don’t,” I begged him, knowing he would do whatever he wanted and my words meant nothing to him, but I always felt the urge to try. He didn’t care about me or Drew. We were paychecks to him and his wife, and I was a toy to him.
He ripped his hand out of my grasp and began to pull my shorts down my legs. “You little slut, you know you want it.”
I fought, my instincts not letting me stop.
His hand came down hard across my face, and pain speared through it before red hot fire followed. My eyes burned with tears from the force as he tore the shirt from my body.
“You fucking little bitch. You want it hard? I’ll give it to you hard,” he said as I began to kick and use my long arms to hit and nails to scratch. “You want me to go next door and do this to Drew?”
My movements seized like my mind had finally caught up to my body in that exact moment. Cold ice seared my veins like a physical pain.
Mr. Peterson always threatened to hurt Drew; that was the only way he could get me. The only way I would stop fighting him, the only card he could play to get what he wanted. And the entire time Mr. Peterson did what he wanted to me, I thought of Drew and how I was protecting him, because he was the only one who mattered.
The door to my room flew open with a hard crash, hitting the walls and shaking them. Somehow, I got enough strength from the panic to get out from under Mr. Peterson and jump from the bed, my heart pounding.
“What the fuck!” Drew screamed loud enough to wake the entire house.
I scrambled, trying to find something to cover my nude body as tears spilled over my eyes and down my cheeks. I never wanted anyone to see me like this. No one … but especially not Drew. Never, ever Drew. I never wanted him to see me as Mr. Peterson did: a slut, a whore.
The pain on his face sliced through me like a razorblade. I felt more than exposed. I was turned inside out. Drew’s face twisted then, his upper lip curled, eyes narrowed and hooded, and his brows came together. He was disgusted at the sight … of me.
I felt worthless, ashamed, and completely shattered. I could have died in that moment and disappeared from the face of the earth from his one look at me. I was utterly gutted.
“You fucking piece of shit!” Mr. Peterson growled, standing up and pulling his pants up.
Drew went after him, clenched fist in the air, ready to make contact with Mr. Peterson.
“No!” I screamed as Mr. Peterson punched Drew so hard in the stomach I could envision each molecule of air pushed from his body in a gush. Then Mr. Peterson kicked him in the legs, pushing them out from under him and making him fall to the ground with a hard thud.
