Page 53 of Riot Reunion
Elodie: Presley’s pregnant. Things are *really* messy between her and Pax. Her dad told her to go back to New Hampshire, so we’re all following her back there now. I know you’re supposed to head straight back to London after Dash’s audition, but any chance you feel like stopping by Mountain Lakes on your way home? Presley needs all the friends she can get. And so does Pax.”
“Wait.”I hand Carrie’s phone back to her and check my own. Sure enough, there are a slew of messages from Wren, and a missed call from Pax. Any disappointment over the conservatory immediately takes a backseat, replaced by shock. “What the fuck? Presley’spregnant?”
Carrie looks just as dumbfounded as I am. She shakes her head in disbelief, holding her cell phone to her ear as she returns Elodie’s missed calls. “Hey, sorry. My phone was on silent. I—Oh my god. What the hell is happening over there? Slow down. Tell Pax to quit yelling. I can’t—wait. Yes. Yes…we…can make it.” As she says this, Carrie looks at me questioningly, making sure I’m okay with what she’s telling Elodie.
I nod yes, of course.
“We’ll get the first flight we can. Okay. Love you, too. Bye.”
18
PRESLEY
THREE DAYS LATER
“Dirty little bitch.Open your mouth. Open it right fucking now.”
Pain lances through my jaw; the pressure of his fingers, gouging into my skin, is wicked enough to make me cry out. I claw at his hand, trying to push him away, to get free, to wrench myself out of his grasp, so I can wriggle my way out of the bed and run, but his weight presses down on top of me. I’m pinned. Trapped. Helpless. There’s nothing I can do.
“I swear to God, if you don’t open your fucking mouth, I’m gonna break your goddamn jaw, Presley. You’ll do it right now if you know what’s good for you.”
He will do it. Normally, he wouldn’t dare hurt me so obviously—he’s smarter than that—but not now. He’s been drinking, is so drunk that he can barely speak without slurring, which means that he’s currently not very smart at all. He’ll do it just to prove to me that he can. It’ll entertain him to cause me so much pain. I don’t have a choice. I open my mouth.
A wet, fat gob of spit lands on my tongue, rolling to the back of my throat. It’s warm, and disgusting, and slimy—oh god. It’s not saliva. It’s phlegm. He’s just hawkedphlegminto my mouth.
His fingers dig into my cheeks even harder, the ragged edges of his bitten nails cutting into my skin. I’d give anything to close my mouth, but I can’t; he’s gripping my face so tightly that he’s making that impossible. “Swallow,” he snarls. “Swallow what I’ve given you, or I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your miserable fucking life.”
My heart hammers.
My stomach rolls.
The wad of phlegm sits at the back of my throat, thick and viscous.
Oh god, I think I’m going to throw up. I—
The hot stream of vomit comes out of nowhere. There’s no time to brace. What can I do anyway, with my arms pinned to my sides and his monstrous weight bearing down on me? I’m at his mercy. In the darkness, I can’t make out his face as I puke all over myself and him, but I hear his string of vile curse words perfectly well.
“Fuck! What thefuck? God, you’re disgusting. Dirty little bitch. You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that. You—”
“Sweetheart?” I shake, rocking from side to side. Where is that movement coming from? Confusion clouds my mind. Is he shaking me? I can see his hands. I can—
“PRESLEY!”
Snapping awake, I sit bolt upright, gulping down air like I just surfaced after a deep free dive. My blood races, panicked, spiked with a heavy dose of adrenalin.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” a concerned voice asks into the dim dusk evening. It’s my dad. From the strain in his voice, he already knows that I’m not.
My mouth is as dry as the Sahara; my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth so that my tastebuds feel stripped when I peel it free like Velcro. “What time is it?” I croak.
Three days, I’ve been back here. After that run-in with Pax in the car, Dad told me to come back to New Hampshire and I obeyed. Like the pathetic little coward that I am, I ran home to my father with my tail between my legs. Starting college was supposed to be an escape for me. An exciting new adventure. Certainly, it was supposed to be a reason to never come back to this godawful house in this godawful town, but in the end, when I’d needed somewhere to hide, there hadn’t been anywhere else to go. I jumped from the saucepan right back into the burning Sulphur-laden fires of hell.
“Nearly five-thirty,” Dad whispers. Normally, he’d already be at the restaurant, prepping the pasta for dinner service, but it’s Monday today—the only night of the week the restaurant is closed. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. I can see a little better now that my eyes have had a moment to adjust to the waning daylight.
My father perches on the edge of the living room sofa, pale as a ghost, twin blue smudges of shadows marking the skin beneath his hollow eyes. He’s lost weight since I went away to Sarah Lawrence. Even more since I told him about the baby. I rub my temple and brow, trying to soothe my tension headache away. Rather than improve, it defiantly worsens beneath my fingertips.
“When was the last time you ate, Dad?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I had a big lunch, kiddo. Burger from Sam’s. They put curly fries back on the menu again last month.”
