The first of many

The whole bike ride to school on Tuesday morning, all I could think about was what my Dad said to me at breakfast. “You are eighteen now, Cass. You’re going to wake up with a diploma one day soon, and then you will need to make your own way. You cannot wait on somebody else to save you. If they have the power to save you they have the power to hurt you. You do not want that, do you?”

That’s what he said when I told him about the scholarship. That’s what he said when I was sitting there at the tiny table in our tiny kitchen, too sad to eat my cornflakes. I couldn’t say anything in response. I just got up and left.

I love my Dad. I really, really do. But sometimes he says shit like that. Shit that makes me wish he’d just left me at the orphanage for somebody else to find. Or nobody to find. Then I really would be invisible.

It’s not until I roll up to the high school that I remember what had happened at the end of the day yesterday. I see people looking at me. People don’t look at me. And then I see him. Derek. Towering above his flock of admirers, his eyes fixed right on me as I lock my bike to the rack.

I feel my cheeks warming, glowing, they must be crimson. He’s between me and the door to the school. Keep my head down and walk fast. Too late not to be noticed, just have to get away. I try to circle around him, not too wide, and I hear him calling my name.

“Cass! Cass! Hey, don’t ya see me? CASSIE!” His words float on a wave of giggles from the crowd.

The sound of his voice pushes me onward until I’m practically running through the doorway. Nobody calls me Cassie. Not since I was little. It sounds foreign and familiar all at once, totally bewildering me. It’s like he’s taken some small, intimate part of who I am and claimed it for his own.

I slow down once I’m inside, feeling safe, trying to catch my breath. I start to orient myself, point my feet in the direction of my first class, when I hear a swell of noise behind me. He’s come inside, followed by his entourage, and they’re all headed right for me. I make myself small. Make myself quiet. Make myself invisible. But it doesn’t work now. The noise of people walking and talking and laughing gets closer and louder and

whooshBAM

I’m thrown against the lockers by an irresistible ****. I want to cry, or scream, or yell, but I refuse to make a sound. Instead, I just look, look up at the powerful body that just swatted me aside like a ragdoll. Derek is just looking back over his shoulder at me as he walks away, that sharp smile on his face, his green eyes twinkling. “Oh! Sorry, guess I didn’t see ya.” And then he and his friends are gone in a rolling wave of laughter.

I gingerly rub my shoulder, the ache from the impact paling in comparison to the waves of emotion. I’ve never felt anything like this before. My whole life has been spent avoiding exactly this, and now I don’t know what to do about it. I have to try to keep hiding, find my invisibility powers again. Maybe he’ll get bored. Maybe he’ll forget about me.

Not today he doesn’t, though. Every time I’m in the halls between classes he’s there, somehow always knowing where to find me. Another rough shove after trig, garbage thrown at me after English. Before I can make it outside to eat alone at lunch he finds me, knocking my sandwich to the floor and dumping my water over my head. I spend that lunch period in the bathroom, drying off with paper towels and trying not to cry. I refuse to let anything out in response to this treatment. Have to keep it all inside, where I keep everything else, so no one can see it. So no one can see what this is doing to me.

I’m terrified walking into my art class at the end of the day. Thinking about being trapped in the same room as Derek makes me almost want to skip. But I can’t do that to Mr. Berenger. So I enter and take my seat and try to focus on my work. Thankfully, it seems Derek is aware of our teacher’s fondness for me, and leaves me mostly alone. At least, he doesn’t hurt or harass me like he has all day. He instead spends the class commenting on my art, narrating what I’m doing to the amusement of the other students. For the first time in my life, I hate art class.

I excuse myself a few minutes before the bell, and bless Mr. Berenger for not making an issue of it. I’m running down the halls, out the door, trying to get to my bike and get away before Derek can do anything else to me. If he’s willing to do what he did in the confines of school, I can only imagine what he’d do once the bell rings and the teachers stop caring.

I’m almost there, steps away from the bike rack, a sigh of relief building in my chest, and then PAIN

A hand in my hair, gripping, pulling, twisting, jerking my body back and bringing ancient memories flying out of the depths of my **** mind. I can’t help it. I make a sound. “AHHHhhhhnn…”

Derek twists me around so I’m looking right at him, and that smile is sharper than I’ve seen it all day. “There it is! I knew I’d get your voice out of you eventually.” He chuckles to himself.

I’m not thinking. The pain, the pent-up frustration of a day of nonstop torment, the unbearable feeling of being watched by everyone. I lash out. Both hands fingers curled into claws going right for his face and he has them. In a blink he’s let go of my hair and his strong hands are on both my wrists, locking me in place.

“So you can fight back, how fun!” Derek presses his lips together. “I got your voice out of you, now it’s time to get something else from that cute mouth of yours.”

He’s pulling me close, my body pressing up against his, faces coming together. He’s so warm and so big and so hard against me, I feel his breath against my skin and I open my mouth in a plea. “Wait… I… I haven’t…”

He pauses with his face inches from mine, the tiny golden hairs on his chin glinting in the afternoon sun, his eyebrows tilting at my words. “Hold on, is this gonna be your first kiss?” He watches my barely perceptible nod, and his sharp smile returns. “Lucky you.”

His lips press against mine and my eyes go wide. I suck in a sharp breath through my nose and I’m full of the smell of him, sweat and musk and danger. His sparse stubble is painful against my soft skin, and all I can think about is how his mouth feels as it moves. Rough on the outside, just a little give, a little softness within, pressing against my own softness, molding together with it until our shapes are reciprocal. There’s heat, heat from him, heat inside me, my head is spinning and I’m just about to open my mouth for him, open it to let out a tiny moan and then he pulls away.

He looks at me for a moment, watching as I pant and tremble and he’s smiling at me and then he releases my wrists. I collapse to the ground, my legs shaking, my hands barely catching me so I can at least stay somewhat upright. I can’t look at him. I can’t hear the laughter of the other students because my heart is beating too loud, the loudest thing I’ve ever heard. But I hear his voice.

“That was fun, Cass. Let’s do it again tomorrow.”