Page 55 of Promise Me Nothing
He squats down, examines me as I scramble back, tucking my legs underneath me and away from his wandering eyes.
I might have had a few shots of Jäger in the parking lot with Sienna, enough to make my vision swim and the downside of life seem right-side up. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see the gleam in his eyes.
He leans forward and puts his knees on the ground, getting more into my space, placing a hand on my knee.
My stomach revolts, though I do my best not to throw up everything I drank earlier.
“Had a few drinks tonight, Hannah?” he asks, shaking his head and making this weird tsk-ing noise. “Such a bad girl.”
“I was just hanging out with some friends. I’m sorry.” My words are a jumble, I’m sure. I scoot away a little bit more, my back hitting the wall, and I realize I have nowhere else to go.
“Sorry isn’t enough,” he says, his own words coming out slightly slurred, and when his face gets closer to mine, I can smell the liquor on his breath.
“I won’t do it again,” I say, shrinking back as much as the wall behind me will allow.
But that doesn’t stop Rob from getting closer, his body bowing over mine, his hands reaching for the hem of my dress and beginning to push it up.
“Stop,” I whisper, trying to push his hands away.
He pauses. “Did you just say something to me?”
I choke on my own words at the look on his face now, a hint of anger appearing where there wasn’t any before.
“I… I said stop.”
“Tough shit. You wanted to be a bad girl tonight. You’re gonna see exactly how whores like you deserve to get treated.” And then he’s shoving the dress up with one hand, his other groping at my breasts.
I shout out. “No! Rob, stop it. Stop!”
I twist my body. Try to wrench myself away. To use these long ass fucking legs that always have everyone’s attention for something useful, like kneeing Rob in the balls.
But he’s practically laying on top of me and I can’t seem to do anything but shout out. Cry for help.
I know there are other people in this house. Other kids. Ones in bedrooms right around the corner. But no one comes. No one does anything.
He shoves a hand between my legs, makes me cry out in pain, holds me down and calls me a slut and a whore and a cunt. Tells me I deserve it. That I wasaskingfor it, with how short my dress is.
When he starts to unbuckle his pants, I’m able to free an arm and I smack him hard, in the face. Hard enough that his nose starts to bleed, the blood dropping quickly onto my chest and my dress.
“Fucking bitch!” he shouts out, pulling back and holding his palms to his nose.
I pull a leg back and kick him right in the stomach, and he goes down on the ground, on his back, a loudoofnoise coming out of his mouth.
Just as a pair of sneakers comes into view.
I look up and see Renee, my shoulders dropping, relief coursing through my body.
Finally. Someone’s here. Renee’s home from work.
I burst into tears, shift my clothes around to cover my breasts and pull my dress back down.
“What the hell is going on!?” Renee shouts, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. Me, sobbing and covered in a slick of blood. Rob, sprawled on his back, one hand wrapped around his stomach, the other clutching his bleeding nose.
“She came home drunk, and when I confronted her about it, she attacked me.”
“What?” I say, disbelief heavy in my voice.
“She started pulling her clothes off, begging me not to tell you,” Rob says, looking at Renee. “And when I told her no, she punched me in the face and kicked me.”
