Page 38 of In the Stars

“You’ll fucking learn,” he said, pushing my face even harder into the mattress. “When I give you a fucking order, you’ll fucking listen!”

I manage to turn my head to the side and pull in a lungful of air just as his hardness slid between my ass crack.

A scream tears from my throat when he enters me, the white-hot pain of his intrusion so intense that it blots out every other sense.

He pushes forcefully inside of me, and I nearly black outfrom the pain. The agony is unbearable, and my screams only serve to heighten his arousal, judging from his loud groans and taunts.

Perry continues to attack me with his fists while he assaults me, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but surviving the pain. I beg and pray for someone, anyone, to make him stop, to make him go away.

But nothing saves me. Nothing but him finishing and warning me if I tell anyone, he would kick me and my mother out on the streets.

I curl into a ball and cry, my faith in God shattered, and my innocence stolen.

With effort,I pull myself from the past and stumble backward, falling over a box in the living room. I race out of the door, tripping down the stairs. An errant scream tears from my throat, and I take off down the street, running and running, trying to get away from my past.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have gone there. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have.

I stop running long enough to drop to one knee and vomit, the memory of Perry’s hands on me making me sick. I can still feel the burn of his palms as he held me in place, the pain of myself tearing open as he took me in a manic frenzy.

My past assaults me, and all I can do is purge my system and fight against the tumult of memories.

Fuck, I need to get high. I need something to take the memories away. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to work through my trauma. I want toforget.

Wiping my mouth, I get to my feet and stumble forward, needing something that will take the edgeoff, something that will keep my mind from cannibalizing itself with the shitty memories of my childhood.

I need something that will make me feel better.

Taking the familiar street, I pick up the pace and run flat out. Hopefully I’ll be able to get out of my own head.

Just for tonight.

SIXTEEN

JAXON

Tappingat my window startles me awake, and I sit up in bed, looking to my left. I don’t see anything. My brain is playing tricks on me. It’s not the first time I thought Wesley was back, trying to sneak inside. For years after he left, I would wake up, thinking I heard the familiar tapping. But it was always in my head.

Except I hear it again. Then I see the silhouette blotting out the illumination from the streetlight.

“The hell?” I whisper, then stumble out of bed and go to the window. I peek out and see Wesley walking back and forth in front of the glass, weaving slightly. “Fuck.” I rush to open the window and pull up the blinds. “Wes? You okay?”

He shakes his head. “Can you come outside? I’m a little too old to climb through your window.”

“Do you wanna come in? I can?—”

“No,” he answers quickly. “I can’t…” He stops and turns to the side, vomiting. Well, not really vomiting, more like gagging and tossing up stomach acid. “I can’t be in four walls again.”

I don’t know what that means, but I won’t pressure himto come inside. “I’m coming out. Don’t move.” I shut the window, slide on a pair of sweatpants over my boxers, and rush out of my room. Before I leave the house, I grab a bottle of water so he can rinse his mouth, and I dart outside.

Wesley is standing in front of the door, pacing back and forth, shaking his hands out like he’s anxious.

“You okay?” I ask again

He turns to me, and I gasp. He looks…fucking wrecked. Not only does sweat drip down his face, but it’s red and blotchy, like he’s been crying. “I needed…you’re a safe space. I needed somewhere safe.”

I rush over to him, cupping his face in my hands. He sighs, and his body sags, his shoulders shaking as if he’s… “Shit, Wes, I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. I pull him in for a hug, and he grips my shoulders as if I’m a lifeline, and he sobs.

I lower us to the ground, holding on to him as he cries and rock him back and forth. “I’m here,” I whisper, rubbing the hair at the base of his neck. “I’m here. It’ll be okay. I got you.”

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