Page 34 of Let Me
This weekend, Tyler is babysitting his nephew. Jack is out of town on a university tour. And Caden...I don’t know where Caden is, but even if he was at the Virani’s, I’ve got no reason to see him. I don’t even know his number. Jack would lose his shit if we had ever exchanged them.
But right now, I wouldn’t mind Jack losing his shit on whoever is walking down this hall. But we’ve already said goodbye for the night, and it’s just footsteps, right?
I can’t call him over that. He already thinks I’m weak. I don’t want to prove him more right.
I sit up in bed, lean against the thin wall at my back, pulling my knees to my chest. And the footsteps pass me by. I exhale, squeeze my eyes shut, and then reach for the pen by my nightstand, just in case. It’s the one I use to write in my black studded diary, a gift from Tyler. The diary is tucked away, hidden with secrets I’d never voice out loud. But I grab the pen anyway, just in case.
And then I hear the toilet flush—either he or my mom have probably clogged the one in her room—and he comes out of the bathroom. And stops.
I can hear my heart pounding in my chest. I strain my ears, trying to listen over my own fear. I’ve been leered at before by Mom’s men. Had my ass grabbed. Offered drinks. But no one has come by my room in the dead of night before. I glance at my phone screen, on my nightstand.
It’s after midnight.
I wait, praying to a god I don’t believe in that he keeps walking. But he doesn’t.
And then, in the streetlight streaming in through my thin white curtains, I see the brass of my doorknob glint as it turns.
My lock has never worked.
I scramble against the wall, as far as I can get, gripping the pen in a shaking hand. The door creaks open and in that moment, more than in any others, I hate my mother.
Whatever comes next, this isherfault.
For a moment, the guy is just a shadowy figure beyond the doorway. And then he steps through, and I realize he’s laughing under his breath.
I can’t speak. Even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to say.
He steps closer, and I make out dirty jeans with holes in them, bare feet, long, scraggly hair that recedes high on his forehead. And a smile that stretches across his pockmarked face.
“Hello, beautiful.”
I get off the bed. I know it won’t help me, to sit here. I can barely think through the panic roaring in my head but I know that my room is no longer safe. My bedroom isn’t just mine anymore.
He cocks his head, holds his hands up placatingly. “I’m not going to hurt you, kid,” he whispers. Even still, he takes another step closer.
“Get out of here,” I manage to say, but my voice comes out low and shaky.
He steps forward. “I said I’m not going to hurt you.” But he frowns and rubs a hand over his face. “Now, if you put up a fuss, well...that might change things.”
Then he lunges for me.
I crash into the wall at my back, head snapping against it as his hands go for my throat. But I dig the end of the ballpoint pen into his neck, as hard as I can. He yelps, surprised, and that surprise lets me twist free as his grip loosens on me. I run past him, dropping the pen as I do. I’m almost through the door when he grabs a fistful of my hair.
In that moment, all I can think about is that I should have cut it. I should have cut it long before this. But we could never afford it.
My neck snaps back as he pulls and he twists his hand, spinning me to face him, my hair still tangled in his grip.
I can smell him. He smells like urine and beer and his breath is like rot this close to my face.
“I said I wouldn’t hurt you, beauty. But you gotta stay still.” He reaches a hand out for my chest, but I knee him, hard, in the groin, and I think he’s going to let go.
Instead, he hisses through his teeth and pulls my hair with both hands, dragging me toward the bed.
I dig my heels in, but they slip along the threadbare carpet of my room, burning my feet.
“Mom!” I cry out, and but he clamps a hand over my mouth. I try to bite him, but his hold is too tight.
“She’s not going to hear me defile you, beauty, just like I did with her,” he sneers, hot breath against my ear. And as he goes to throw me on the bed, tears welling behind my eyes, I take my last shot. In that moment when he lets go, expecting me to hit the mattress, I twist away and barrel past him, flying past my bedroom door. I sprint down the hall, hearing his footsteps crashing after me, and his growl of rage.
