Page 68 of Swallow Your Sorries

When my lungs finally find a decent tempo, thoughts of my nightmare, no, my memory, flood my mind all over again. But the most distressing part isn’t Jarett shoving me in, nor the inexplicable feeling of drowning, and the imminent outcome. It’s who I’d been hoping to come rescue me.Gant.

Did I hope that Gant fucking Auclair of all people would dive in and save me? I shudder, wrapping my fingers around the freezing metal bars for strength.

The man is a psycho. No better than Jarett, so why had my mind been so hopeful? Worse, almost giddy?

The difference is he didn’t know you couldn’t swim. Jarett did. Gant saved you. He held you. He massaged your heart into beating again and peppered it with kisses.

His voice, so deep and commanding, had lured you back to the living.

And once he had, you still played dead for a heartbeat too long.

His lips had been so soft and his touch so gentle after the chest compressions…

I shake my head frantically, anger swelling in my chest at the intrusive thought. No.No!I would never rationalise his actions after the way he ignored my pleas and my explanation. I would never willingly want him to touch me and I would never want nor need help from that jackass.

I’d rather die.

You almost did.

Gant almost did.

The car crash video zooms in my mind’s eye and Gant’s horrible, rattling breathing echoes in my ear. Seeing him, hearing him in such a state does something to my soul I don’t want to identify. I don’t want to sympathise with or grieve for my would-be killer.

But is Mum any better?A nasty voice coos in my ear.You were waiting for her too.

Mum hadn’t been able to rescue me since that day Jarett shoved me into the pool. So then why was she the first person I thought of to help me? What was one time in a sea of thousands?

Why hadn’t I tried to kick off my satchel? Sure, I could barely swim, but the water had been fairly shallow. If I’d just pushed and kicked, I could’ve gotten my head above the water for at least a second. Maybe I could’ve grabbed the dock. Why did I just stay there like a sitting duck accepting my fate?

Because you are a sitting duck. Thevoice laughs cruelly in the recesses of my mind.

I rake a shaking hand through my hair and groan. I fucking hate this. I hate feeling so helpless all the time. I hated waiting for Mum to leave Jarett. I hated waiting for her to intervene to rescue me, no, us both from his abuse. Now I end up at my dream school with the same amount of abuse I thought I’d escaped and what had I done about it, about Gant so far? Absolutely fucking nothing.

I’m no better than Mum in her complacency.

“You’re mine,” Gant’s words mock me. “I own you.”

No, he had me on a loan, on a debt I never asked for, yet I have every intention of paying off. I don’t care if Gant doesn’t want it. He can burn it or use it to wipe his ass. Paying him back has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. So if it takes a weekly nineteen ninety-nine payment plan, so be it.

Another painful wave of hopeless reality crashes over me as I remember the sheer amount.Two hundred grand.That’s more than Beaulieu’s tuition. It’s the tuition plus a hefty ass bribe.

Where the fuck was I going to get that kind of money from?

The night breeze rustles a stack of colourful papers on my nightstand, sending one onto the balcony with me. I trap it with my foot before it can fly over the edge. It’s a flyer, looking for part-time employees. I’d found it in the girls’ bathroom, of all places. Maybe it’s a hoax, because what kind of legitimate club advertises to teenage girls in a boarding school? Still, I’d kept the flyer because I’d been rejected from nearly all the local businesses close to campus via my online applications. The problem is that most places are looking for employees who can work more than just Friday afternoons, Saturdays, and Sundays,withouta curfew.

I draw my knees to my chest and study the black paper for the third time tonight. The shadiness of the ad is the only thing that’s stopped me from calling, seeing as the hours work well with my schedule. It’s seeking out eighteen and over bartenders and waitresses capable of walking in six-inch heels who are unopposed to fishnets, bow ties, and cufflinks.

Behind me, my phone buzzes and glows in the tangle of my sheets. When I fish it out, Mum’s name blares across the top of the screen. Beneath the notification is an open tab I’d been watching on repeat. A clip of a black-haired boy giving a girl a finger necklace in a dark corner against a wall. His fingers creep up her throat in slow motion then the video speeds up as he grabs and squeezes her. With his free hand, he palms her ass and lifts her onto his waist like she weighs nothing at all. Her slinky mini dress rolls up from the motion, riding around her waist and leaving his fingers on her bare cheek that he’s gripping like a lifeline. Then the video slows again and the angle changes so that the camera is pointed down at the girl’s face as she leans her head against the wall, her eyes rolling back as the boy descends on the hollow of her throat with a wet lick.

I genuinely don’t know what’s wrong with me.

One day I was normal, and then the next I’m binge-watching public, throat-grab sex while pillow fucking beneath the covers.

Shame and dread roil in my stomach as my mind produces a picture of who awakened this side of me I didn’t know existed.

Gant should ignite disgust, revulsion, and hatred within me. And he does…but the emotions are so fucking intense, they’re creating a tornado and stirring up every other emotion into the mix, turning me feral.

With a sigh, I quickly exit the video and answer the call.

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