You Are Not Alone(102)

“Trey! What are you doing?”

He straddled her while simultaneously grabbing the lever on the side of her seat to jerk her down into a reclining position.

She was too stunned to immediately react. Then she yelled, “Get off me!”

His mouth crushed hers. His hand pulled up her skirt and clawed at her skin. His fingers jammed their way inside her.

She fought back, squirming away from his fingers, trying to push him away. But his athletic body was so big and strong it easily overpowered her.

“Whore,” he muttered again as he captured both her wrists with one hand, pinning them above her head. He ground his groin against hers.

Trey was reaching down to unzip his jeans when her knee knifed up through the air. He stopped moving and made a high-pitched, strange sound. She somehow managed to push him off and grabbed the door handle, sliding out from beneath him.

She fell roughly onto the gravel street and scrambled back up, cutting through backyards. Running toward safety.

A little later Valerie pushed through the front door of her stepfather’s house, still breathing heavily. She could smell the roast chicken her mother—who was such a fake little housewife now—had made for dinner.

She stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a can of Diet Coke from the fridge, popping the tab and spilling a few drops on the white tile floor.

She shuddered. She could still feel Trey’s tongue pushing into her mouth while his fingers invaded her body. She wanted to punch him, to hurt him again. She took a long sip of Diet Coke, trying to erase the taste of his tongue in her mouth.

“You’re late,” her mother scolded. “And you know you’re not supposed to drink my soda.”

Valerie locked eyes with her mother and took another sip. Her little sisters, Cassandra and Jane, were sitting at the wooden table, their napkins in their laps, glasses of milk in front of them, still wearing their school uniforms.

“Hi, Val,” Cassandra piped up.

“Guess what? I got a hundred on my spelling test!” Jane said.

Valerie exhaled. “Good job,” she muttered. Normally she’d go over and give them both a hug. But she couldn’t bear to be touched right now.

“Dinner’s ready,” their mom said.

“I’m not hungry,” Valerie mumbled.

If her mother would just take a good look at her instead of fussing over the salad she was preparing for her new husband, she’d notice what had to be written all over Valerie’s face.

He hurt me.

Her kneecaps stung, and dried blood was still on her palms from when she’d landed so roughly on the gravel road.

Her mother sighed heavily, bending down to wipe up the drops of Diet Coke. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight, Val.”

Valerie turned and ran upstairs, slamming her door. She desperately wanted a shower; she was already pulling off her jean jacket. She flung it across the room, where it hit a lamp and knocked it over.

Her mother pushed her door back open a moment later without even knocking. “Young lady! Your father is going to be home any minute now! You need to get your act together.”

“He’s not my father!” Valerie’s whole body felt hot and jittery and somehow alien, as if Trey had altered it. She needed to wash everything away.

Her mother stood in the middle of the bedroom, not even seeing her. “If you don’t change your attitude right now, you’re grounded.”

Valerie took a deep breath. “You don’t understand.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Trey—he grabbed me.” She felt her chin tremble. Tears pricked her eyes. “He wanted to—he was on top of me—”

Her mother picked up the jean jacket Valerie had thrown and began to fold it. “Valerie, don’t be so dramatic. That’s ridiculous.”

“He wouldn’t stop!” Valerie blurted. Finally, she was able to put words to what had happened: “He tried to rape me!”

Her mother laid the jacket on the bed and smoothed the already-neat comforter. “Trey could have any girl he wanted.” She could have been talking about the weather; her tone was conversational. But a remote coldness came into her eyes just before they slid away from Valerie’s.

“I’m sure you got this wrong,” her mother continued briskly. “Why don’t you take a shower and try and calm down. I’ll keep your dinner warm in case you want it later.”

Then she exited the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Mom,” Valerie whispered.

But her mother was gone.



* * *



A few weeks later—after enduring Trey’s leers, and the rumors he’d spread that made his buddies in the school bark when she passed by, and watching her mother beam up at Trey every time he entered a room, as if he were the perfect son she’d always dreamed of having—Valerie was gone, too.

Trey was a charmer, a star athlete, a solid student who called his teachers “sir” and “ma’am.” She was a teenager who wore short skirts and heavy black eye makeup and struggled to get B’s and had spent more than a few afternoons in detention for skipping classes. Guys like James Scott Anders the Third—with their pedigrees and trust funds—always won. Who would believe her word over his?

Not even her own mother.

She stole all the cash she could from her stepfather’s wallet and her mother’s purse and bought a bus ticket to Hollywood.