Page 121 of Hidden in Memories
A deep, intimate kiss as a sign of their new bond.
Sean ignores her objections. He shoves her toward the bed, and when the backs of her knees meet the edge she ends up underneath him. Somehow he has bunched up her blouse so that now one breast is protruding from her bra.
Monica feels a rising panic.
She doesn’t want this. She can’t do this.
She is a virgin, she has hardly even kissed a boy.
“You’re so fantastic,” he groans in her ear. “Your body is amazing!”
“No,” Monica whispers. “Stop.”
He doesn’t even notice; he simply bends down and takes her breast in his mouth. While he is fumbling with his belt and lowering his pants, he sucks so hard that it brings tears to her eyes.
It hurts. She is frightened, but dare not protest. In the end the words slip out anyway.
“I don’t want to do this. Stop!”
Finally Sean reacts. He props himself up on his elbows, stares at her in total confusion. Their faces are only inches apart.
His gaze is different now; his eyes are hard and cold.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to do this. Not like this.”
Then he slaps her. Right across the face. The blow is so hard that she can taste blood in her mouth.
“You little slut,” he practically spits at her. “Do you think you can treat me like a fool? You’ve been throwing yourself at me all week—it’s too late to change your mind now!”
Monica is so terrified that she begins to shake. Not a sound comes from her mouth, even though she wants to explain that she wasn’t flirting with him, that she isn’t teasing him now.
She thought he loved her. That they were going to be together for the rest of their lives.
His face is bright red. The handsome features are totally distorted.
“Sean,” she whimpers without thinking.
“My name isn’t fucking Sean, it’s Curt.”
Monica dare not move, she freezes, she is incapable of crying out or resisting. She simply lies mute and motionless on her back as he thrusts into her.
The pain is the worst thing she has ever known. It feels as if she is being split in two, all the way up into her belly.
It goes on and on.
Somehow she tunes out. Fixes her gaze on a point on the pale-green wall, imagines that she is far, far away, not here.
Someone else is lying on the bed, offering no resistance.
Eventually he is done, and slides out of her.
She sees that there is blood on his penis when he stands and zips his pants.
“Get dressed and get the hell out of here,” he snaps on his way to the bathroom. “My wife will be back from the slopes soon—you can’t be around then.”
Her lip is split, and the area between her legs is throbbing. But it is the contempt in his eyes that hurts Monica the most.
