“Of course.” He lets me in. “Arissa!” His voice booms.
I jump back and freeze.
Andrew sets a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Sometimes I forget how loud my voice really is.”
I inhale deeply and smile. “That’s okay.”
Arissa comes out of the dining room. “Hey!”
“Hey. I could use some help with my homework.”
We go up to her room and settle down on the floor. “So what do you need help with?” she asks.
“I don’t really need help, I just wanted out of the nut house. Mother was having one of her episodes. It got worse when I tried to talk to her about Jason.”
“Oh,” she says, hushed.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want me to get my mom?”
Rose is easy to talk to, showing genuine interest in me when I spend time at their house. I don’t need to think about whether or not I want to talk to her about Jason. “Sure.”
She spends half an hour talking to me and Arissa about sex and relationships. I’m lost in thought by the end of the conversation.
“Are you okay?” Rose asks.
“Yeah. It’s just a lot to think about.”
“I know it is. But you and Arissa now know more than my parents ever told me.”
The house is dark when I return home.
I head to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, grabbing the bottle of apple juice. When I turn around, Father smacks me in the face and the juice container falls, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
“What—“ I start.
He strikes me again then grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me out of the kitchen in his wake. The stinging burns hot on my cheek.
“What did I do?” I ask, stunned.
He throws me down on the living room floor instead, kicking me onto my back. The throbbing in my side takes my attention away from the bite of his initial blows. Tears roll from the outer corners of my eyes.
He straddles my hips and grabs my shirt at the collar, ripping it open to the bottom.
“No!” I try to wrap my ripped shirt around me.
He punches my stomach and pries my hands from my shirt, pinning them over my head with my right wrist crossing over my cast. The force of his punch blows all the air from me and I wheeze, searching for oxygen.
“Please! No!” I beg between gulps of air.
He ignores my pleas, pushing my shirt away and unclasping the front clasp of my bra with his free hand. I try to wiggle out from underneath him, but his full weight is on me. He pinches my nipples. “Ow! Stop!”
He punches me again and bellows, “Shut the fuck up! You wanted to know about boys, so I’m gonna teach you.”
I swallow the urge to vomit from his punches and what I know is about to happen.
He licks my breasts in one motion.
I stop struggling, closing my eyes as I cringe. It will be worse if I keep fighting.
He releases my wrists, then strips off my jeans and underwear. Tears stream from my sealed eyelids. The zipper of his pants swoosh down and moments later he spreads my legs roughly; the tip of his penis pressing against me, searching. Searing pain shoots through me as he tears into me, thrusting in and out. I squeeze my eyes shut harder and bite my lips.
I was wrong. This is worse.
He breathes harder in what seems like seconds, but I have no idea how much time has passed. After his final groan and grunt, he withdraws and puts his pants back on.
“No boy could ever want damaged goods like you. Now clean up your mess before your mother and sister get back,” he says, throwing my jeans on me.
I sit up, wincing from the pain between my legs. Blood smears over my thighs and the carpet as I push myself to my feet and traipse to the bathroom. I give my legs a cursory wash and get dressed before scrubbing the sanguine fluid on the carpet until it disappears.
But it plagues me like it did Lady Macbeth. Different circumstances, same problem.
That damned spot.
I shower, scouring my skin until it is raw. The feeling of him licking me, pinching me, and pushing into me remains no matter how much I try to erase him.
It was nothing like what Rose told me about having sex with someone you love.
I don’t love my father. I fear him.
I’m gonna teach you, his voice echoes in the nightmares plaguing my sleep.