Peter doesn’t respond. His hands are at his sides. The only reason that I can tell that he’s upset is the way his fingers twitch every few seconds, as if he’s.
Dean gazes past Peter, and gives me a look that makes me sick inside. “Or did you already do her?”
Peter doesn’t answer.
Sam is annoyed, “Cut it out, Dean. I don’t want to hear what shit my sister does in bed.” He snaps his fingers at me like I’m a dog. “Come. Now.”
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Dean smirks and presses his finger tips to Peter’s chest. “Or are you just pissed because she won’t sleep with you.” He pushes Peter again. Harder this time.
Peter moves. In two steps he’s behind Dean with his arm around his throat. Peter’s hissing in Dean’s ear, saying things too low for me to hear. Dean claws at his throat. He swings his elbow back, but doesn’t do it hard enough to make Peter let go.
“What the fuck?” Sam yells. He gives me a look that I recognize all too well—this is your fault. Sam throws a punch and hits Peter in the side. Peter lets go of Dean. Sam and Dean go at him.
I scream, bellowing like a banshee. I can’t stop. The players down field stop and look toward us.
The three guys are fighting, but it seems as though Peter is getting overpowered. I don’t know what to do. There are a few guys from the field hurrying towards us. Peter lands a hit on Sam’s face. Something cracks. Sam drops back, yelling. Dean doesn’t stop. His knife, that f**king knife, is in his hand. Peter’s eyes lock on the knife and he backs away. Sam moves and is telling Dean to put it away, but Dean doesn’t. He jabs it forward, narrowly missing Peter.
No, no, no. My bag is on the sidewalk. I see it, that silver pen, the one Millie gave me this morning. I race toward it and pick it up. I’m so nervous that I can barely line up the cap with the mark on the side. It isn’t a pen. It’s her pepper spray. I shake the thing as I rush back toward Dean and Peter.
Peter sees me coming. I spray my brother. He screams and rubs his eyes, cursing at me. When Dean turns to see what’s happened, the stream of liquid hits him in the face. Dean yells, clawing at his face and doubles over, dropping the knife. I kick it into the drainage ditch and tug at Peter.
“Take me home. Now.” I grab my bag, Peter grabs his, and we’re running toward his car. The field full of guys sees us run past. They don’t say anything. I recognize Mark. He sees my face, the blood. His eyes widen before they narrow. He pulls out his phone. I see him talking as we pull away.
CHAPTER 24
Peter is breathing hard, his hand clutching the wheel. We’re driving away from the college. “Are you hurt?’
My head is against the seat. My eyes are pinched shut. I nod. “My shoulder. I think it’s not in the socket.”
“Hold on a few minutes more, okay? I can fix that. I’ll get you some pain medicine and you can call the cops from my place.” He pulls into the parking lot and he helps me up the stairs. Peter has a cut on his cheek, but he looks pretty good. Me on the other hand, I look like hell.
When he sees me in the light, Peter nearly has a coronary. “You’re bleeding.”
“Most of it is his, not mine. I think I broke his nose with my face.” I rub my forehead. “My head hurts. It feels like my brain is in a vice.” We’re in his apartment. I’m standing in his living room with panic dripping through me. The feelings are still raging through me even though I’m safe.
Peter hands me Advil. I take them and swallow the pills down. Peter explains what he’s going to do to my shoulder because that does seem to be the problem. I tell him to do it. I cry out when it pops back in. “That hurt just as much as pulling it out.” I rub my arm. There are tears in my eyes.
“What happened?” Peter’s hands are on me, gently sliding down my face, my arms. He’s so careful. “What did he do to you? Did he—”
“No,” I breathe. My pulse is finally slowing down. “He said stuff and grabbed me. He didn’t do anything else, besides try and shove me in his truck. All this happened because I wouldn’t just go with him.”
Peter’s fingers touch the ends of my hair. “You fought back. Good girl.” He takes a deep breath and reaches for the phone. “I’ll call it in.”
I take his hands and stop him. “No, don’t.”
Peter looks up at me. “Sidney, you need to report this.”
“Sam didn’t do anything. It was Dean.”
“Sam chose to help the wrong person. You don’t owe him anything.”
“He’s my brother. Peter, please. Let me think about it. I can’t decide right now. Please don’t, not right now.”
He watches me for a moment and nods. “Let me look you over.” He takes my hands and looks at my nails. A few of them are ripped all the way into the nail bed. Peter turns my hands over and looks at my scraped palms. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are filled with remorse. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I could have…” his voice drifts off. Peter shakes his head and turns away. I sit down on the couch. Exhaustion is creeping up on me. Peter goes to the bathroom and comes back with the first aid kit and towels. He’s breathing too hard. Peter doesn’t look at my face. He takes my hands and turns them so the palms are up. His touch makes me feel so much better.
My vision is blurry, but I finally look at his face. The cut on his cheek is deep. It looks like a piece of metal tore the skin away. I look down. Peter’s hands are roughed up, too. There are too many things to say. I want to explain why I said no before. Even if I never saw Dean again, I’d be dealing with this for the rest of my life. “Peter, about earlier…”
“There’s nothing to say. I understand. It’s fine.” He pours peroxide over my cuts and I flinch. His voice is cold, like he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t. I nod. I’m a coward. After a moment, he asks, “Why did they want to take you home?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t say anything except that Mom sent them.”
He nods slowly, tending to my other hand. “Do you want to go home?”
I look down at him as if that was the stupidest thing he could have asked. “No, I don’t.”
“Even if it was just your brother?”
I stiffen. “My brother thinks I like rough sex and that I was asking for it. He doesn’t think that Dean hurt me. He doesn’t believe that his friend used me.” My jaw locks. I’m defensive and I don’t know why. I feel like Peter is saying what Dean said. I can’t handle it. “Is that what you think? You think that I liked it, that I wanted it?” My arms are so tense that they jerk out of Peter’s grip. I stand up and walk down the hall, not knowing where I’m going. I want to scream.
Peter’s behind me. His voice is soft, soothing “I know that isn’t true, Sidney. I know. I wish I could change it. I wish I could take away some of your pain. Sometimes, family helps, that’s all. I wanted to make sure you weren’t throwing away your hand to spite your arm.”
I glare at him. “Fuck you.” My entire body is shaking with rage. “You think I don’t know how I feel about this? You think that I haven’t laid there every night since it happened wondering if I did this to myself? If all that shit he said was true? I thought it was. For a long time, I thought I did it, that I led him on. That’s why it kept happening and every time was worse than the last. I let him rape, cut, and burn me. I let him do it over and over again. My parents loved him. They didn’t defend me. My brother didn’t even believe me, so don’t pretend that you know a damn thing about it because you don’t. You have no f**king clue!”
I’m screaming. My hands are clenching into balls at my sides and I can’t stop. I want to stop. I don’t want things to be like this, but my mouth keeps going. Peter’s eyes fall to the floor. He can’t even look at me. I try so hard to stop shaking. My muscles are so tense, so tight. I have to control this. I have to hold myself together, but I can’t. I feel the patches unraveling. I feel the weight of my pain tearing me apart. My bottom lip quivers. I bite it, but it doesn’t stop. A sob bubbles up my throat. I turn away from Peter. I can’t stand this. I can’t stand that he sees this version of me. That’s why I said no. That’s why I turned him away. No matter what I do, this part of me will always be there. I bury my face in my hands and push the tears away.
Peter walks up behind me. His hand touches my shoulder gently. He turns me toward him as he speaks. “I don’t know what you’ve been through. I don’t have a clue. I don’t understand. I can’t even pretend to…”
I stare at his chest, at his bloody shirt. My hand reaches for him before I realize what I’m doing. It laces around his waist and I lean into his chest. Peter’s arms fold around me. He holds me and lets me cry. He lets me mourn everything I’ve lost without making offers to fix something that he can’t. Peter lets me weep a river of tears and holds me close.
Eventually, I notice his heartbeat. I listen to it thumping in his chest. It stills me, steadies me. I press my lips together too many times before asking, “Can I stay here tonight?” I’m afraid he’ll say no. I’m afraid I’ve ruined everything and that he doesn’t want me here anymore.
When he speaks, his voice is soft. “Of course.” His hand strokes the back of my head. Peter holds me until I let go. Then, he gives me towels and turns on the shower. He lays an oversized tee shirt on the bathroom counter. “I don’t really have any women’s clothes, but that should be good enough for tonight.”
I nod and he leaves me alone.
CHAPTER 25
The scent of Peter fills my head as I lay in his bed. The room is warm and quiet. Peter’s arms are around me and he’s asleep. His gentle, slow, breathing makes me feel safe. It keeps away the horrors that happened tonight. They’re fighting for me to replay the memories over and over again, which is why I don’t sleep. I don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to remember.
I’m on my back. Peter’s arm is draped across my stomach. I’m so tired. I watch him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Peter came to bed with a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. My eyes trace his muscles lazily. I wonder what it must be like for him, to be down here alone, and then run into a train wreck like me.
He’s too good to me, too kind. Peter gave me his love and I threw it back in his face. He stirs and turns on his side. His hand drops to the bed between us. It makes his h*ps turn toward me. My eyes travel over his body, and rest on a jagged white scar at his waist. It’s nearly on his back, but not quite. Seeing it makes my stomach sink. Something happened to him. It’s not a surgical scar. It can’t be. The line looks more like a Jack-O-Lantern’s smile than anything else.
As I’m staring, Peter’s eyes open. His tired gaze meets mine. Peter blinks slowly. “Are you still up?”