The Story Of Us(Original)

7

Ovid wrote, "Be patient and tough; someday this pain will be useful to you."

When Brielle grabbed me by the arm that Monday, the dull pain radiating underneath my uniform felt worth it.

Kellen and I had gotten carried away, getting hot and heavy at the Seaport until he questioned if I wanted to continue our make-out session in the back of his car. I was apprehensive, checking my phone for the time and discovering it had died.

I knew I was finished; going into a full panic when I realized what I thought had been a few minutes was three hours of unmarked time.

To say Colleen was pissed is an understatement. My mother grabbed my arm so hard it bruised but, then again, I've always bruised easy. She closed her hand and smashed it into my face with Alexa, Damian, and several officers there to see.

The family lawyers quickly buried the incident. It was their jobs to make us seem like the picture-perfect family and, while they did, Colleen subjected me to a rape kit despite my assurance I had not been harmed. It would be a few months until I discovered my mother's concern was more about my virtue than my safety.

I felt mortified when my stepfather came to check on me. Damian looked hurt, as if almost unable to put it into words when he questioned how long she had been doing That to me. It made me laugh. Rueful and bitter, I envied someone who came from a world where a pop to the face was unspeakable.

I cut my eyes at him, requesting Damian not pretend he didn't know. I wasn't naïve; not in the sense most children my age were. I knew the infrequent beatings from Colleen were nothing compared to what Callahan would have done to me. To Wren.

I understood that, in that Manhattan condo, a boy who had never attended a school was thriving, so I would take her beatings. I would diet how she wanted, not smile too wide to keep from embarrassing her with my teeth, spread my legs and be subjected to every humiliation if it meant Wrenner could have a happy life.

I wouldn't give Damian the luxury of pretending not to know.

"Happy little girls don't slit their wrist, daddy." I forced a smile, watching Damian's heart break in front of me.

He hugged me, my body tensing in his arms. My father promised to protect me. He assured me that despite being punished for the next three months, he loved me and would never let her hurt me again.

I'm sure he believed his words but even then I knew it was a lie.

"I've been calling you since Saturday. What the hell happened? The police came to my place looking for you," Brielle scolded as we shuffled to lunch.

"Same - my mom thinks you're a heathen now, so, thanks." Emily tittered, enjoying having someone else for her mom to bitch about for once.

"I don't have my phone; I'm grounded," I explained.

"Saint Rue?" Emily gasped. "Can't be!" she teased.

I have never been, and never will be, a saint. I just wasn't stupid. While Wren and my friends were skipping class to go to the beach. I was the one they got notes from. When my friends were all experimenting with sex and drugs, I avoided it like the plague.

Because I knew what was expected of me. I didn't want to give my mother any more reason to hurt me. It just didn't seem worth it until Kellen.

"I was hanging out with my boyfriend and lost track of the time," I said to my shocked friends.

"Your what?" they exclaimed.

"Boyfriend?" I repeated.

I get why they were so surprised. Though I had some suitors, I had never been on a date. The closest thing was when an older teen asked me to ride the Ferris wheel with him during the school carnival my freshmen year.