Page 78 of Waiting Forever
He picked me up and took me to the hospital. Mom met us. Reports and pictures were taken of my bruised skin. They insisted on a rape test, even though I explained I hadn’t been raped; my clothes weren’t even torn.
The police interviewed me, lawyers were called, and questions were asked. Who were the guys? How did I know them? Why did I go to the party? Why alone? Do I have enemies? Have I pissed off anyone lately? How did I fight off two guys? Have I taken any drugs? Am I sure they were going to rape me? Did they say anything? What did they look like? Where was the house?
By the time I got home, I was exhausted and dazed by the horrific events. Mom slept with me in my bed, not wanting to leave my side. Dad spent the night at the office with Uncle Colton, doing their own investigation.
The worst part is I couldn’t bring myself to tell my parents the truth of why I was there. I told the police, but as a legal adult my parents weren’t allowed to be in the room with me during the interview that felt like an interrogation once I mentioned Prescott’s name.
He’s the son of an oil tycoon. He’s also a spoiled brat who charmed me into thinking he cared for me until I learned he’d deceived me more times than months we’d been dating. Two of the girls were my friends—my roommates.
How stupid I’d been. How naïve. But instead of getting angry, I chose revenge, knowing it would be more impactful, and I wanted to hurt Prescott for the way he’d hurt and betrayed me.
I didn’t have much of a plan other than I was going to cheat on him with one of his friends. At one of Prescott’s parties. When he caught us, I’d ask him how it feels to be cheated on and confess I knew about him sleeping with the twins, Donya and Lyla, while we were together.
It wasn’t hard to get his close friend, Grant, to hit on me. Grant had asked me out before I started dating Prescott. He took me to Prescott’s bedroom, where we made out with our clothes on—I’m not that kind of girl. I couldn’t have planned a more perfect scheme.
Prescott walked into the room in his signature fitted black suit and untucked dress shirt, a random girl from the party on his arm. He almost backed out when he saw Grant and me on the bed.
I remember the moment our eyes locked over Grant’s shoulder and the victory I felt when Prescott realizedIwas the girl on Grant’s lap.
“The fuck?” Prescott yelled and flung the girl aside like she was infested with fleas. He wrenched me from Grant’s lap. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His green eyes blazed with rage.
“I’m returning the favor,” I said calmly but with a wicked grin. “It’s only fair I get to sample one of your friends after you sampled two of mine.”
His nostrils flared like an angry bull. He glanced from Grant to me and then back to Grant. “Get the fuck out!”
Grant stood and zipped up his pants—he’d undone them, not me. “Dude. For real? You’ve fucked every girl at this party, while you were with Kensi. You don’t give a shit about her. Why act like you care now?”
Prescott’s hands balled into fists. “Because she’s mine. Mine!” He poked his chest hard. “No one touches what belongs to me! Don’t think for a second I haven’t noticed how you watch her. You’ve been desperate to get into her pants since I claimed her as mine.” He snorted. “Hope it was worth it, because you’ll never be welcomed back here. Now, get the fuck out of my house!”
Funny, “his house” was a guest house—guest mansion—at the back of his rich daddy’s property. It was his by birthright only, not from hard work. Prescott didn’t work. Not even in college. He attended because his dad wants the degree attached to his son’s name, but his work was paid for and completed by private tutors. His test scores sucked, and he rarely attended class. He was on his fourth year and still had a year before he graduated.
Nothing belonged to Prescott like he claimed. Not me, his boat, his horses, or his Bentley GT, and not his father’s oil company, which he’d inherit only if he graduated.
Grant stalked toward the bedroom door.
“Wait up!” I chased after him.
Prescott’s jaw dropped. He turned and saw there was an audience at the double doors to his master suite.
Two guys high-fived Grant. One of them said, “I’d take getting kicked out to tap that ass.”
Prescott’s face reddened with humiliation and more rage. “Dirty slut,” he yelled when I left the room.
Grant gave me a ride home that night. He was nice, and I’d felt bad for using him. It was immature, and now he’d lost a friend because of me. Not that Prescott is a great friend. He likes to be worshiped. He has a lot to offer in the form of parties, luxuries, connections to the best clubs and VIP rooms, but nothing meaningful.
I’d been blinded by Prescott’s looks, his doting, and the endless stream of fun he offered. I was a fool, because I’d never imagined he’d stoop as low as he did.
Isa had told me she overheard Prescott talking to her boyfriend—his good friend, Mase—about how to get back at me for humiliating him. Liam had been there, too. He was the guy who took my keys at the house where I’d been dragged into that bedroom and attacked.
But connecting Prescott to the attack and getting around his high-priced attorneys turned out to be harder than my dad had thought, hence his need to take vengeance into his own hands.
Every day, I wish I could go back in time and choose not to go to that house. I thought it was a random party thrown by Isa’s boyfriend. They did that sometimes. I thought she’d be there. I’d been wrong.
I blink back a tear for the upheaval that one choice has caused my family.
Instead of reading Isa’s text, I delete it and consider blocking her number. Isa’s was the only number I hadn’t blocked, after receiving multiple texts about being a liar and trying to destroy Prescott’s life by ruining his reputation.
Some people claimed I made-up the story to get back at him for cheating on me. If only I’d known how powerful his influence was on my so-called friends.
