Filed to story: Brace Face Betty Drama Story
Again, I don’t.
Time stretches and slows, taunting me as each second drags by. Jake bites the top of my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. He bruises me, gouges, digs, twists, pinches. He fucks me harder and harder, and I see the mad lust in his eyes changing into something else. Something that resembles desperation. I don’t know how long he continues for. I wrestle for each breath. I struggle and pull. I do everything in my power to get away-which is to say I can do nothing. And every time he pushes himself inside me, grunting and sweating, I make sure I’m glaring at him with, cold, dead eyes.
Eventually, he snaps. Dropping down, shoving his face into mine, he roars into my face. “I SAID FUCKING LOOK AWAY!!”
I…
can’t…
fucking…
breathe…
Jacob slams his fist into my side, and my ribs scream, agony ripping through my torso, tearing through every last nerve ending. I have no choice in the matter now. My body convulses as I try and roll onto my side, vomit rising up in my throat, but Sam’s still holding me in place. Jake reels back, though, and I see what I felt between my legs-his sad, flaccid dick, hanging pathetically now, stuck to the inside of his thigh, covered in blood.
Now, he reacts with shame.
Now, because his friends have seen that he couldn’t fucking finish.
That he couldn’t keep his dick hard enough to humiliate me by coming inside me.
“Don’t just fucking sit there, staring.” He snatches a towel from the counter, wrapping it around his waist, then wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Get on with it, for fuck’s sake. It’s early. There’s a party still going on downstairs.”
Sam doesn’t need a second invitation.
He climbs on top of me and does what Jake could not.
Cillian follows.
When they’re done, they release me…
…and one by one they take turns in spitting on my cold, bloodied, naked body.
The sound of their laughter rings in my ears as they leave the bathroom.
Jake pauses a second in the doorway, revulsion raging like a storm in his eyes. “If you tell anyone that I couldn’t,” he whispers, “I’ll make your life a living hell, Betty Branson. I’ll make your life so unbearable that you’ll do us all a favor and kill yourself before
I have to do it fucking for you.”
MARCUS POV
It must be nearly dawn. The light in the trailer’s grown progressively brighter as the hours have slipped by, but I haven’t moved an inch from my spot on the couch, elbows digging into the tops of my thighs, my balled-up hands pressed against my mouth. My retinas are probably burned beyond repair from the amount of time I’ve spent staring at the laptop screen, but I haven’t been able to look away. I haven’t been able to blink for fear that even that small movement might send me into a fit of rage so dark and bottomless that I’ll never be able to pull myself out of it.
Betty’s email took a while to read, but now her words are scorched into the barren wastelands of my soul forever. They’ve sparked a maelstrom of toxicity inside me that I can barely breathe around. For the past four hours since reading through the email, not once or twice but countless times, all I’ve done is sit here and talk myself out of breaking the promises I made to Betty. I should never have sworn I wouldn’t hurt those motherfuckers before I knew the full story. It was going to be bad, it was always going to be bad, but reading the minutia, diving into every single tiny detail that took place that night…fuck, I felt like I was there, in that bathroom, on my knees, hands tied behind my back, being forced to watch as those sick motherfuckers took turns hurting my girl.
It’s with a weird sense of calm that I realize I have officially lost my mind. A temporary kind of insanity. The same kind psychiatrists diagnose people with when they snap and lose all control over themselves and their actions. The only thing keeping my brain from breaking apart and sending me into a fit of incomprehensible insanity is the knowledge that Betty will never speak to me again if I don’t honor her wishes.
There will be recompense, though. There will be an atonement for their sins, I’m going to make sure of it. There has to be a workaround that will allow for those fuckers to bleed for what they’ve done.
And Jacob Weaving…
Oh, Jesus, Jacob. You have no idea what you’ve done. Nine months ago, when you took a drugged, vulnerable girl into a room with the intention of causing her pain, shaming and humiliating her, stealing her virginity, you clearly weren’t thinking of the future. You didn’t consider for a moment what was going to happen today.
You didn’t see me coming.
If you had, you would never have laid a finger on Betty Branson. You wouldn’t have allowed yourself to even think her damn name.
I’m vibrating with rage, floating outside of myself as I make myself a coffee. No way I’m going to sleep at all now. We’re not back in school until tomorrow, so I’ll go and see Betty later. In the meantime, I plan on getting the ball rolling on this situation, and I know just the man for the job.