Page 39 of Hawke

I slapped his hand away from my nipple. “I don’t want any cream. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

There was obviously something, and I had a feeling it had to do with me. I had failed to reach any part of him. More tears sprang to my eyes, but I wiped them away.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he told me before reaching for me again.

“Liar!” I spat out. “Even after fucking me the way you did, Hawke, you still look annoyed. Why?”

He expelled a deep breath. “The only thing annoying me is your unwillingness to let me provide aftercare to you.”

“Forget aftercare.” He sounded even more detached than before. “What the hell’s your deal? And don’t bullshit me, either.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, but obviously, there is with you.” Hawke was furious at this point, the tick in his jaw all the confirmation I needed to know I hit a nerve. “If you have something to ask, just fucking do it.”

I glared at him. I had no idea how to phrase what I wanted to know other than to just throw it out there. Despite not really wanting the answer, I asked anyway. “D-did you enjoy sex with me at all?”

“No.”

The room started spinning and I blinked a few times to try to center myself. A sob formed deep in my chest, then it was torn from my throat.

“No?” I asked in disbelief.

Sadness filled his dark eyes, and I knew he was being truthful. He must’ve sensed the shift within me because he tried to crawl across the bed to me, but I kept backing up until I hit the headboard. I started swinging my arms, doing everything I could to push him away.

I’d failed, and the reality was too harsh to deal with. Hawke actually seemed sympathetic to the plight, but his presence made the pain that much worse. “G-go away.”

“I’m sor—” he started to apologize, which only made things worse.

Cutting him off mid-sentence, I screamed, “Get out!” When he didn’t immediately move, I yelled again, “Go!”

Hawke finally threw his arms up in surrender before backing away. I watched as he grabbed his shirt off the chair and put it on before heading to the door. When his hand was on the knob, he turned back around.

“I never meant to hurt you like this, Charlotte.”

He seemed to lie about everything where I was concerned except the one time I needed him to. The pain was too great. His words were hollow, much like his eyes had been when I’d looked into them earlier.

“Please, just go.”

“If I do, you’ll stay in here and rest?” he asked.

I gave him a nod, then watched him disappear through the door. He was gone and the one thing I hoped to be able to dangle in front of him was useless. If he’d ever wanted me before, he certainly didn’t now.

No!His word repeated over and over in my head as I rolled over onto my side. I clutched at the extra pillow, burying my face against it. The agony of defeat consumed me, and some time between the sobs, I finally drifted off to sleep.

26 – HAWKE

It’d been another humid Northern Virginia evening, and just like the previous one, there was no real relief in sight from the sweltering temperatures. There never seemed to be this time of the year. As I had so many other nights before, I was lying outside with nothing but a thin sheet between my naked body and the still warm, wooden porch slats. I was stuck there, rendered immobile due to a combination of pills and alcohol that had been forced down my throat. I’d tried to fight against the numbness many times, but I normally suffered mightily for each and every attempt I made.

It was hell. Fuck, it’d always been hell.

It was supposed to be the age of innocence, but not for me. I was twelve years old, and I was no match for the chemicals that slowly worked their way through my system, or the physical strength of the buyers, many of whom were two to three times larger than I was. It was my life, and something I’d learned to accept. There was no use praying, or anything else. I had stopped looking for a savior back when I’d realized the one person who was supposed to protect me was the same person thrusting me into this hell to begin with.

“It’s okay, buddy,”my mother had told me that first night. I’d been scared until she knelt down beside me. She was going to help me. Or so I had thought. She didn’t stop the drugs from taking over my body, or the two men standing nearby.

I hadn’t understood what was about to happen until she’d grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight as the first of those men stepped onto the porch. The pain was unbearable, unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. My screams only resulted in getting my mouth covered with duct tape.

Barely able to breathe, and with my limbs chemically paralyzed, I could do nothing more than stare off into the night sky as my mind desperately tried to shield me from the abuse my body had to endure. Often time, I would black out, feeling the sweet peace of what I’d hoped would be death.

Months later, I was still there, lying in the same damned spot. The night’s festivities hadn’t yet started, but I knew it was close. The sound of loud country music and raucous laughter floated toward me. To some in the trailer park, it might’ve just looked like a typical summer night party because they weren’t privy to what was going on behind the trailer. My mother’s place, one she shared with George, the abusive boyfriend, backed up to woods. It was the farthest one and the most remote, so no one could see past the raggedy carport held up by its last leg.

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