The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,93
aware of what he just said: “…only gave her half a dose. Figured she’d be more docile…” The knowledge that he's drugged me weighs heavy, pressing me down into the ground. The sluggishness. My inability to think straight. I should have known the way my body was reacting had nothing to do with the coke. The drink. He must have put something in the drink he made me. God, how fucking stupid could I have been? I should have known. I should have seen this coming.
But…
A cute guy I liked smiled at me and made me a drink. At the time, it seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing for him to do.
I feel like I’m drowning in glue. The oxygen in the bathroom is sluggish as I try and pull it down into my chest; it should be a relief to breathe, but every time I try and fill my chest, I end up coughing, choking and spluttering.
It’s Jake’s hand. He’s…he’s strangling the life out of me.
“Get her legs, man,” Jake commands. Cillian obeys. I try to scream again as the room tilts, and I’m dumped roughly onto my back, but I can’t make a single sound. The slate tile on the bathroom floor is freezing against my shoulder blades and the backs of my legs. Jake lets me go, twisting around, placing one foot on either side of my torso. Before he can crouch down and wrap his hands around my throat, I draw myself together, adrenalin and fear doing my thinking for me, and I holler at the top of my lungs.
I’ve had dreams before. Dreams where I’ve been in trouble, but when I’ve screamed for help, only the softest whisper has come out of my mouth. Well, that’s not what happens this time. The scream is piercing, loud enough to wake the dead. It echoes around the bathroom, grating and high-pitched, a help-me-I’m-about-to-be-fucking-raped! scream. Jake cuts it off with his fist.
Pain blossoms on the right-hand side of my face as my body registers the swift, vicious right jab I just took on the jaw. I've never been hit before. Never like that. My head swims, and for a horrible moment, I think I'm going to pass out. Don’t you fucking dare, Parisi, don’t you fucking dare! I’m high, scared beyond reason, and now I’m in pain, but I know for a fact that I don’t want to lose consciousness. Yes, being awake for this is the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to me, but if I pass out, I’ll never know what they did to me. I will only have my imagination to supply the details, and my imagination already likes to picture the worst. I need the cold, hard facts. I need to be able to hold each of them accountable for their individual actions.
A spiderweb of agony laces its fingers across the back of my head, where it hit the tiles just now. Jake sneers, face contorted, his features all warped and twisted as he looks down at me in disgust. I am seeing him for the first time. This is the real him, and I suddenly have no idea why I’ve wasted the better part of the last two years lusting after him. He’s so damn ugly. All the anger, and the hate, and the loathing he’s wearing on his face is enough to make him the most hideous creature I've ever seen. He grabs my face by the jaw in one hand, holding me steady, and slowly purses his lips, letting a string of saliva fall from his mouth. I try to turn my head away, but it's no good. His grip on my skull doesn't waver for one second. The only thing I can do is close my eyes as the wad of spit lands on my cheekbone, rolling into the well of my eye socket.
“God, you’re a fucking mess, Silver.” I whimper when his thumb presses down on the top of my eyelid. I have no idea what he’s trying to do for a moment, and I imagine the worst—that he’s about to gouge my eye out. Quickly, I comprehend what’s really happening, though; he’s smearing my eyeliner down my face. Not quite as awful as losing an eye but humiliating none the less. His thumb shoves into my mouth, and I do the only reasonable thing: I bite down as hard as I can, until I feel my teeth scrape against bone.