His eyes stay on mine as we stare at one another. I watch them slowly close before he presses his lips to my forehead like he’s done a hundred times before, each time searing me, marking me as his. My eyes fall shut, savoring him.
“One day, I’ll replace it all,” he promises, his lips dancing on my skin. Then he grips my chin, tilting my head back more. My lips part, waiting, wishing, wanting. “But not now.” Whisper soft, he kisses the corner of my mouth. “Go back to sleep. I’m here to fight any demons that show.”
Turning me so that he’s spooning me, cocooning me with his body, I sigh at the feel of him around me. He’s right; it’s not the time. Not when my wounds are so fresh. When I can still feel every dirty thing done to me just hours ago.
Yet, somehow, I still feel a mixture of turned on and broken lying here in Sonny’s arms.
The next time I wake up, I stretch my sore, tired muscles. Realizing the bed is empty next to me, I frown, wishing Sonny were still here.
My whole body aches as I stand and walk carefully to the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, I see the horror of last night in front of me. My right eye is now swollen almost completely shut. My lip is split. I have bruises around my neck. Looking down, I see more bruising on my arms. Lifting my shirt, I see almost my entire torso is also covered in purple and blue marks.
Pulling down the sweatpants Sonny gave me, I sit to use the bathroom. Dried blood is on the inside of them. Bruises the shape of fingertips mark my inner thighs. I want to throw up at the sight of it all.
At the sight of me.
As I begin to pee, it burns so badly I let out a scream that turns to a cry.
Quickly, I turn and hover over the toilet as stomach bile rises, and I gag.
It’s all too much.
It hurts.
Every part of my body hurts.
Inside and out.
“Ruby?” Sonny knocks on the door. “Tink? You’re okay,” he says softly, trying to coax me into believing the lie he’s telling me through the closed door as my reality comes crashing over me.
I was attacked.
Raped.
My virginity—my innocence—taken.
Stolen.
“Son—” I start to cry his name but can’t finish it as another wave of nausea comes.
Pushing the door open, Sonny kneels next to me, his body covering my back as I stay hovered over the toilet.
“I can’t…” I cry. “It’s too much.” I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see the contents in the toilet that remind me of everything.
Hearing the flush, I turn to look back at him. His jaw is clenched, eyes full of sorrow, regret, anger. Pulling me into him, he holds me.
I begin to shiver, only then realizing that I’m naked sitting on the tile floor. “I’m so-sorry,” I manage to say, curling around myself to shield my ugly truth from him.
Pinching my chin in between his finger and thumb, he makes me look at him like he’s done many times before. “You do not ever apologize. For this. Or anything else.” His words are said harshly, but it’s not meant in a mean way.
Swallowing them down, I nod at him. “I need something to wear home.” Without a second passing, he strips off the shirt on his back and pulls it over me. I hum at the feel of the soft warm cotton on my battered skin.
He gets another pair of sweatpants for me to wear. He changes too, and when we’re both clothed, he tells me it’s time to go home and talk to my parents.
Pleading with him to let me stay, he doesn’t relent, practically shoving me in his car, and we drive in silence to my house. I gnaw on my swollen, cut lips the entire ride, nervous about how my parents will react.
I know it’ll kill my dad. My mom will be hurt that I didn’t come home first but stayed with Sonny. And what they’ll think of him? I don’t even know.
“Do you want me to go in with you? Talk to them with you?”
“What?” I ask confused, turning to look at him. I look up then and see we’re sitting in front of my house. I didn’t even realize we’d arrived. “Oh, um, sure? I don’t know. Do you want to?”
His stares at me with a furrowed brow. “I’ll walk you in. Judge the room after that, okay?” I nod, tears already filling my eyes. “It’s going to be alright, Tink. You’re going to be alright.” I nod faster as I unbuckle and jump out of his car.
His hand slips into mine when I reach the front door, and I look up at him, a single tear falling down my cheek. Reaching up, he cups my cheek and kisses it away.
Opening the door, we walk in together.
“Is that you, Dove?” my dad asks as he walks out from the kitchen. He stops short when he sees my face. His eyes bug out and go from my face to Sonny to our joined hands. I know the conclusions running through his head; the son of a bad guy and me, bruised and beaten on his arm. I open my mouth to stop them when my mom enters next.
“What the hell happened?!” she yells, coming up to me and pulling me away from Sonny. “You don’t touch her!”
“I-I-I—” I stutter as I begin to panic.
“Can we sit down?” Sonny asks, not taking his eyes off of me.
“I think you can stay right there while I call the police,” my mom says to him.
“No! It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him,” I cry. Plead.
Not taking her icy gaze from Sonny, Mom ushers us into the living room. Her arms stay around me as we sit, and my dad stares daggers into Sonny, who keeps looking at me, calming me.
“One of you better start talking soon. My little girl comes home after being gone all night looking like she was hit by a truck and with a boy we haven’t seen for years. What. Happened?” Dad asks, losing patience for maybe the second time in my life.
“I was supposed to pick Ruby up from dance last night.” Sonny’s eyes drop from mine for the first time since we got here. “I was late. When I got there, she…she…” He takes in a deep breath. “She was—”
“Raped,” I whisper, finishing the sentence for him.
My parents eyes fly to me. “Oh my…” My mom trails off, pulling me in for a hug that she doesn’t usually give freely.
“Did he do this?” my mom asks, looking to Sonny.
“What? No. He told you he stopped them,” I say, pulling away from my mom and looking at her, finding my voice now. “Sonny was picking me up but was late. But he stopped them when he got there. He took care of me last night. I didn’t want to come home.”
There it is. The hurt on my mom’s face. She wanted to be the one to take care of me. But the truth is, as good of a mom as she is, she’s not the soft and caring kind. She’s a mom who’s down to business. She would have made everything clinical, and last night, that was the last thing I wanted. I just wanted to feel safe. Cared for. Loved.
“What are you doing having a fourteen-year-old girl alone in your car? In your home? In your arms?” My mom’s anger flares.
“I’m almost fifteen, and Dad knew he was picking me up.” I look to him for backup, and his pained expression tells me he’s feeling guilty about that decision.
Mom’s anger falls on him, “You knew this?” she asks with a raised brown. “I’m glad someone told me about my daughter being taken advantage of by a man,” she grits out.