Page 39 of The Dance
“Why are you being like this?” she cried.
“Being like what?” I pulled into the parking space at my apartment. “Caring about you?”
“Not listening to me.”
“I am listening to you.” I turned off my truck.
“No, you’re not.”
I turned to her. “Have you seen your fucking face?”
12
Stacey
The stingfrom the blow across my face radiated through my entire body.
“I’m in charge, bitch.” His hand slipped up my dress, pulling and ripping my thong off. “Now, Tootsie, I hope you like it rough.”
I bolted upright, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My eyes remained closed, fearful if I opened them, I’d find myself back in the hotel room with Chuck, and not Blake’s bedroom where I felt safe. But I knew I was in Blake’s bedroom because I could smell Blake in the air: sweet, spicy, and a bit woodsy and citrusy.
Opening my eyes, I looked at the window, realizing it was still dark out. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but it could have been only a few minutes.
As I laid back down, I was scared to close my eyes again. Afraid I would see that monster if I were to fall asleep. A part of me acknowledged Blake was right and that I should go to the police. I also should go to the hospital and have them do a rape kit, but I knew they wouldn’t find semen. Plus, Chuck had used a condom, and he’d tied my hands behind my back with the tie from the robe in the closet, so I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t scratch him and get his DNA. I couldn’t do anything except be forced around in the positions he wanted me in.
Before I’d rushed out of the hotel room while he was still in the shower, I looked for Chuck’s wallet. I wanted to know his last name, his address, whatever I could, but I couldn’t find it. There was nothing in the room. No luggage, no clothes, nothing except what belonged to the hotel. I wasn’t going to wait around to see if there was something in the bathroom, so I bolted.
Needing answers, I grabbed my phone and opened the Sweetheart’s app, going to Chuck’s profile, but it was gone.
Username doesn’t exist.
The chats between us had disappeared as well. I searched every message and didn’t see the ones between him and me.
It was as though Chuck never existed.
I didn’t know how the vetting process worked, but I had to assume Chuck was his real name. There had to be records of our interactions so the company could track him down. They had to have his address or something.
Even if I went to the cops, there would only be my word. If I went to the police, my parents would find out. Friends would find out. Everyone would know. I wouldn’t be able to keep dating sugar daddies. I would lose my income that was keeping me in school, and keeping my bills paid.
So, I knew I couldn’t go to the cops, no matter how much Blake begged me to.
No matter how muchIwanted to.
As I lay there, staring up at the black ceiling with tears streaming down my face, I knew what I needed to do. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but it was whatneededto be done so I could move on, to remember what it was like to feel safe while having sex.
I climbed out of Blake’s bed, and avoiding the mirror, I went to the bathroom and took a shower as quietly as possible, so I didn’t wake him on the couch. Even though we’d shared a bed once, he still offered to sleep on his sofa. He’d given me a T-shirt and shorts to wear that were too big for me but did the job. After I got out of the shower—smelling like Blake from his body wash—I didn’t put them back on. Instead, I dried off with a towel from a cabinet above the toilet and walked out of the bathroom toward the living room.
Light from the streetlamps shined through the slits of the blinds, and I could barely make out his form on the couch. He was on his back, and after taking a deep, long breath, I stepped toward the sofa, slid the blanket off, and got on top of him.
“What—Toot—Stace? What’s wrong?”
Everything.
“Shh.” I reached between us, slipping my hand inside his shorts.
He started to sit up. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think?”
