Page 61 of Wicked Savage Cruel
Letting that resolve settle inside of me, I shower. The hot water scalds my skin, but it’s still not enough to warm the bone-deep chill. I scrub at my arms and legs, wishing I could clean myself, but I’ve already learned it doesn’t matter how many times I wash my body, I still feel dirty. I can’t get the smell or feel of him off me.
I spend thirty minutes in the shower before giving up and drying off. I put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved purple top, careful to cover every inch of skin I can reasonably manage and add a silk scarf to cover the bruising on my neck for good measure.
Leaving my hair down, I blow it dry and add a heavy layer of concealer along my jaw, my right cheek, and beneath my bottom lip. It’s not enough, so I add a layer of foundation on top and then another layer of concealer on top of that. It covers the bruises but I can’t do much to conceal the swelling. With some lip liner and gloss, it should be less noticeable. I hope.
Even with a full face of makeup, my skin is still a little discolored but if I keep my head down like I usually do I should be fine. No one will give me a second glance.
There’s a knock on my door and before I can answer, it swings open.
Janessa walks in to find me sitting on the floor in front of the full-length mirror in my room.
“You’re ready?” she asks, sounding surprised.
“Yeah.” I stand and reach for my backpack. My eyes lock on my hands and I freeze, staring at them as though for the first time. My knuckles are bruised. My nail beds torn and cracked with dried blood.
Makeup can’t cover that. I frown. I'll have to keep my hands in my pockets if I want to avoid any questions. Dread wells up inside of me. I can’t handle any questions.
I grab a zip-up hoodie from my closet. One of the pieces I picked up with Aaron during our Target run.
Janessa frowns when she sees the black garment and then steps over to my closet. She flicks through the clothes hanging there and pulls out a soft white sweater with pale pink sleeves.
Turning, she hands it to me, gently taking the hoodie and placing it back inside my closet. “This goes with what you’re wearing,” she tells me.
I want to scream.
But I don’t.
Screaming doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t help. I know that, so I nod and slip my arms into the sweater, feeling another piece of myself die inside. Why does the sweater matter so much?
When we step outside to head to school, an unfamiliar car sits in the driveway.
Dominique stands there, leaning against the hood of his black Escalade, arms folded over his chest.
I freeze.
“Allie,” he calls out and tilts his head back to his car. “I’m giving you a lift. Come on.”
My heart rate picks up and my eyes turn to Janessa, pleading with her to say something. Anything.
I can’t go with him.My breathing becomes erratic.I can’t.
Understanding washes over her face. She gives me a barely perceptible nod and turns to him. “I’m sorry, young man, but you need to leave.”
Dom smirks. “I’ll get right on that. As soon as Allie gets in the car.” He flashes her a dazzling smile. “I’m a friend from school. I’ve given her rides before. She’s plenty safe with me, ma’am.”
Janessa flicks a look to me as if to ask, what now?
But how the heck should I know. I have no idea what to do in this situation. I wasn’t prepared to face him. I had an entire pep talk ready to give myself on the drive to school today. Before I saw him. Before I saw anyone. My hands are clammy and a cold sweat drips down my spine.
My heart hammers in my chest. Faster. Harder. My breaths quicken and I know a panic attack lingers right there on the edge. I can’t let him see me like this. My temples pound, a headache now coming on strong, beating inside me like a battering ram.
“Allie?” she whispers.
I can’t. I can’t.
I know Dom is safe. He’s my friend. He’s safe. I know that. But the idea of being in a car with him right now is sending my mind into a spiral. I can’t.
I turn and rush back inside the house, ignoring both of them as they call out for me.
