Page 63 of Strange Lad

All becausehisfriend raped me repeatedly throughout my sophomore year.

His sick, twisted, fucking friend. I heave over Jorge’s kitchen sink, the soup I ate coming right back up through my teeth and splattering all over the stainless steel.

Gripping the counter so I don’t fall, I purge it all. And then the tears come. A silent sob rips me apart because I can’tdo this.I’m not strong enough. I don’t want to feel it anymore.

The shame. The rejection. The constant berating of my own mind.

“Stop crying, you love this.”

“I saw how you were looking at me earlier. Go on, beg.”

“If you wanted it to stop, you’d fight it.”

I heave again, only bile coming out before I rinse it down the drain and sag to the floor. Panting and trembling, I lock up. My limbs are stiff rods; my gut solidifies into stone. I stare, wide-eyed, at the refrigerator, remembering it all. Every time he’d corner me in the showers after a game. Whenever I’d try to hang out with Phoenix and Jorge, he’d force me into a secluded room. Michael’s party. The first timeanydrug had been in my system.

I cry loudly, my voice echoing off the walls. But I can’t stop.

I couldn’t walk or sit down right for a week after that party. Before practice, I’d hide in the bathroom to throw up and change my clothes so no one would see the bruises on my hips. I’d shaved my head sohewouldn’t have anything to hold on to. I quit football. I started smoking pot and cigarettes. Drinking whatever I could get my hands on. It was never enough. Not even a decade later. Who would’ve believed me, anyway?

No one.

Hewas a star athlete, and his dad was the Chief of Police.

“Oli?” Jorge’s voice breaks through my episode, and I rip my head up to see him hovering in the entryway.

I gulp and wipe my face quickly. “Sorry. I—”

“Who fucking hurt you?” he growls, stomps over to me and kneels. Cupping my cheeks, he looks me dead in the eye and repeats it, softer and sharper. “Whohurt you, Oli?”

My lips quiver, my chest caving in. “You knew? You could tell?”

“You’d have to be blind not to see it. Of course, I could tell, beautiful.” He wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me in for our first real hug.

I melt into it, taking in his scent mixed with the sweat on his skin and curling my arms around his middle. “I’m so sorry,” I whimper into his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Jorge

Half Life

Well, aren’t we a pair?

My fever is back with a vengeance, and Oli looks like he’s seen eighty-seven ghosts. The worst part is that I don’t know what to do. I’m trying my damnedest not to be a drama queen and pretend I’m not sick so I can get to the bottom of this. Hehasto tell me what monster hurt him. Since I connected the dots, it’s been like a parasite in my brain, chewing away at the neurons. It’s killing me that I don’t know.

Despite that, I know tonight is not the night he’ll cough it up. Olihatesconfrontation, and even though he was mean to me, it was a result of extreme build-up that had to be released somehow. If I have to be the target temporarily, I will. He can take itallout on me if it’ll help.

“Don’t be sorry,” I whisper, easing away from him. The last thing he needs is to feel suffocated by unwanted affection.

But there was no way in hell I wasn’t hugging him. His sobs will haunt me forever.

I slide my hands into his, and he sucks in a rough breath. “You’re burning up,” he rasps. “You need to get in bed.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, squeezing his fingers. “I’m more worried about you.”

His green eyes are highlighted by the bloodshot whites glistening with residual tears. A few strays still linger in his beard. “Don’t be. It’s…I’ll get over it.”

Like fuck he will. “What can I do?”

Dropping his gaze to where we are connected, he shakes his head. “Nothing.”

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