Wrecked(82)

. . .


She wakes to a kiss.

His mouth on hers, insistent. Her lips part of their own accord, and then his tongue again. She makes a sound. “Ummmm.” They were just talking. Were they just talking? He was. His voice, in her ear, as he touched her body.

His hand, again, is between her legs. Slips inside her underwear. His fingers probe. She feels his hips press against the side of her leg. He rocks. He breathes hard. She pulls her face away from his.

“Jordan.” Her voice comes out like a whisper even though in her head she shouts. She tries to push his hand away, but her bones are gone. She thinks of a rag doll. Floppy head, limp arms.

He takes her hand. He presses her palm against him, the place between his hips. He massages the bulge between his legs with her open hand. “Yeah,” he breathes into her ear.

“What?” she manages. “What?” She sounds far away. She feels far away from her voice. Feels far away from her own body.

He shifts, drops her hand. She hears sounds. Rustling. Zipping. She thinks about sitting up. Can she get up? Can she walk without bones?

Then suddenly his face looms. His eyes are wide, but they don’t look into hers. He stares at something not--her, intent on something only he sees. She feels him reach, slide, beneath the dress, and pull her underwear down. She gasps.

His knees push her legs apart, and what is happening, about to happen, envelopes her. Like something spilled, a glass tipped, spreading, unchecked, while she—frozen—watches.

She tries to kick, to use her heels, but she moves in slow motion while he moves fast. He presses on her chest, his hair and the top of his head in her nose. She smells his skin, his scalp.

The shock, when he pushes inside her, is knife--sharp. She reels, her mind frenzied, her body unresponsive. She tries to scream, to speak, to move. I am paralyzed goes through her head. How did I get paralyzed?

She wills her hands to his shoulders and pushes, but he is boulder weight. He says her name. Faster, her name, over and over, and the pain is so bad, searing, screaming pain, and then he yells, angry, in her ear, and cries out, this animal noise. Then stops. Collapses on her, his full weight on her chest, and she knows, right then, that she will die. Because she can’t breathe. He is crushing her, her hands helpless to move him away.

Then he rolls away. Off her, out of her, one last swipe of pain. He breathes heavily into her ear. She feels it damply on her neck.

“You are so sweet,” she hears him say.

. . .





38





Richard


The Audi and another car, an SUV with Jersey plates, are parked in front of Taylor House. The hatch of the SUV is open and the guts of a dorm room threaten to spill out: stray shoes, stacks of shirts still on hangers, a floor lamp. A dirty rug is rolled up and wedged in between a mini--fridge and a carton of books.

Jordan’s packing up.

Richard wanders into the common room. A few of the guys occupy the couches in front of the fireplace. Rob and Justin. They end their conversation when he enters.

“Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?” Richard asks.

“You haven’t heard?” Rob says. “Bockus is out of here.”

“The Doctor, too,” Justin adds.

Richard isn’t sure he’s heard them correctly. “What do you mean ‘out of here’?” He notices Rob glance at Justin and roll his eyes. As if Richard’s stupid.

Or is it more like, Can you believe this guy?

“Meaning leaving MacCallum,” Justin answers. “They’ve dropped out.”

“Thrown out, more like,” Rob comments.

“Dude: no,” Justin says. “Jordan said ‘withdrawn.’ Nobody’s kicking him out. Get your facts straight.”

Richard sits on one of the couch arms. “Why?”

Rob snorts. “You tell us. Haven’t you been going to all this trial stuff with him?”

“No, not anymore,” Richard says. “Wait, this has to do with the investigation? They’ve made a decision?” Haley had told him it was weeks away from anything final.

Rob seems clueless. “Jordan won’t give anybody a straight answer. Except to say he hasn’t been found guilty of anything, but his family decided he’d be better off getting the hell out of MacCallum and starting over somewhere else.”

“So why’s Exley leaving?” Richard asks.

“No idea, man. At any rate, he’s already gone. Took him two hours to cram all his stuff in his car and disappear.”

Richard doesn’t know what to say. Before he can think of another question to ask, he sees the guys’ eyes shift to the entryway. Richard turns.

Uncle Bruce. In jeans and a T--shirt. He looks sweaty. Like he’s been carrying heavy items.

“Just the man I was hoping might turn up,” he remarks casually. “Do you have a minute, Richard?”

Richard practically feels the other guys’ stares lasering into his back as he leaves the room with Uncle Bruce. The older man heads out of the building.

“Walk with me?” he suggests. Pleasantly enough.

Richard’s curiosity outweighs his instinct for self--preservation at this moment. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of being alone with Uncle Hard--ass. But he really wants to know what the hell is going on.