Page 55 of The Boy I Loved
“Tristan?” I queried, turning to look at her again.
She nodded, keeping her head lowered. “You haven’t met him yet. You’ll know when you do.”
A chill swept down my spine. They were all the same in my book—monsters. “What’s he like?” I asked.
Stacy situated herself on the thin mattress she was positioned on and straightened her back the best she could. That was when I saw it. The dim lighting shone down on her body, revealing a series of welts spreading from one shoulder blade, over her small breasts to the opposite hip. They looked like … lash marks. When she angled her head just right, I could make out a single black eye, rimmed with purple bruising, and a busted lip.
Horror swept through me, tugging at my heart until I could almost imagine the pain she must have endured. But I knew that even my own imagination couldn’t compare to what had actually happened.
“W-who did this to you?” I demanded.
Stacy arched a sharp eyebrow in challenge. “You care?”
I blew out a breath and lowered myself to my knees, wincing slightly at the discomfort it brought. “Why wouldn’t I?” I snapped, slightly annoyed that she’d suggest I didn’t.
“Never mind.” She blew out a breath and glanced away for a moment, collecting her thoughts before giving me her attention again. “Tristan likes new girls. He’s obsessed with them. I-I couldn’t get him off. I wasn’ttightenough for him.” She winced as if it was truly an insult.
“Maybe he’s just too small,” I offered in an attempt to make her feel better.
She huffed a soft laugh, but I could tell it was forced. “As punishment…” she trailed off. “He beat me with a whip until I bled.”
My stomach bottomed out at that admission, sympathy tugging at my heartstrings. What kind of monster would do something like that? Then again, what kind of monster would do any of this?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, genuinely meaning it, and not having anything better to say.
“It is what it is.” She shrugged, but even that seemed to pain her if the wince was anything to go by. “As for the black eyes … Vincent can get pretty rough. I mean, they all can, but Vincent is rougher than most.”
“He did that during sex?” I whisper-shouted.
She snorted in response. “Yeah,sex,” she repeated with a shake of her head. “They aren’t supposed to hurt us, not unless we actually deserve it. But they don’t follow the rules, and to my knowledge, they’re not punished for it either.”
“Rape sounds pretty harmful to me,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, but to guys like them, that’s all we’re good for. Theyaren’t supposed to hurt usfor their benefit—not ours. They can’t sell a broken toy at full profit.”
I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes, mixing with the anguish I felt on the inside. She’d only been missing for a couple weeks, and already, so much had happened to her.
We would die here or be sold. There was no alternative where anyone made it out of this unscathed. That knowledge had a heavy weight settling over my shoulders. There were things in life I wanted to accomplish. I wanted kids, a home of my own, and a degree. I wanted to live a normal life and spend time with my parents before they died of old age or natural causes.
Tory…
We were supposed to go to prom together this year and apply to the same colleges.
Then there was Dominic. Fuck … He tried to get me to run away with him, told me he was scared of something happening. He told me this town was no longer safe, and I didn’t listen. Hell, were we even in Greenbriar anymore?
“You should probably get some sleep,” Stacy suggested. “Tristan’s on night duty, and he doesn’t always wait for the results to come back from the lab before he plays. He’s the one always fucking the girls in the middle of the night.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, rising on shaky legs. I turned and made my way across the cell, lowering myself onto the thin mattress. The floor pressed against me from underneath, but I was already becoming used to it. I situated myself on the bed, lying down, and tugged the small blanket over my naked body.
Shuffling caught my attention from the other cell, the one closest to where I resided. It took me a moment to realize what was happening, but it all clicked when I saw her naked form, squatting over the bucket in the corner. Liquid splattered against the inside ofit, and I winced, shutting my eyes tightly so I didn’t have to see it—as if closing my eyes would help me unhear it. Unfortunately, I heard everything. The long stream of piss that faded into nothing when she was finally done, followed by the toot she let out at the end.
I couldn’t do that—pee around a bunch of women and men. Could I? It wasn’t like there was much of a choice.
Mom used to tell me this story. It was about a woman who grew up in poverty and had to do wicked things as a means of survival. Her mom was a drunk and her father had abandoned her. The woman in the story was named Zori. She didn’t want to be bad, but when options were limited, sometimes you had to do what you had to do. When I was younger, Mom told me one version of the story and later, when I grew older, she added in more details—probably because some of the details in said story weren’t appropriate for young ears. Zori’s mother often chose men over her and would invite them over. Once her mom passed out in a drunken stupor, the man in question would sneak into her room and have his way with her.
I never understood the point of the story, or why Mom felt the need to tell me it. Who would even write such a horrible thing? What was its purpose?
Zori’s mom never did believe her when she told. Instead, she was blamed and called horrible names. It wasn’t until later, when she met a man in her favorite flower shop who had arrived as a paying customer to buy his mother flowers for Valentine’s Day, that she felt hopeful for what the future held. She was intrigued by this stranger, even before he ever uttered a word to her. When he finally did speak, it was even better. They talked for a little while, harmless flirting passing between the two, and then they made plans to go on a date.
