Page 22 of The Striker
And there it is. Explanation required.
“Parker Benson. But yeah, that’s his name.”
“He’s a serious asshole. Is he your ex-boyfriend or something? If he is, you’ve got real shitty taste.”
My lip curls. “Definitely not.”
“Good.” She nods. “But then, what’s his deal?”
“I’m not really sure,” I hedge. “He’s never come at me like that.” All true, though I leave out the part where he’s one of three guys who assaulted me at a party this past summer. A lot of that night is a blur. I’m only able to remember bits and pieces.
Austin recounted the night’s events in sickening detail, but I don’t know if I believe him.
That’s a lie.
I’m pretty sure I do believe him. I only wish I didn’t.
Austin claims he was the only one to rape me. He’s bragged about it actually. Like being the only one to fuck me while I’m unconscious is some prize.
Parker and Gregory fucked my face. I remember that part. Choking as Parker forced his cock into my mouth. Gagging when his cum hit the back of my throat.
He and Gregory took turns, and all three of them laughed as tears streamed down my face.
Whatever drugs they slipped into my drink that night kicked in shortly after that, so the last thing I really remember with any sort of clarity is when Austin lifted me onto the bed. I remember his weight pressing into me. The way he tore at my clothes and the feel of him groping my breast.
And then … nothing.
I’m grateful for the nothing.
There’s a recording of what happened. Austin taunts me with it often enough. He texted it to me the morning after. His way of threatening me to fall in line. He says the video makes it look like I’m an active participant. Like I wanted it to happen.
I didn’t believe him, of course. But I watched the first minute or so of the recording. With the angle of the camera. You can’t tell anyone is holding my hands behind my back. That I’m being restrained.
I threw up and stopped watching after that.
I don’t remember everything they did to me, but I remember enough of what happened for it to break something inside of me. For that reason alone, I’ve never tried to watch it all the way through.
I want to forget what little I do remember, not add to it. How else am I supposed to move on?
“Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
I wave her off and shove my dark memories back into their box. “All good,” I tell her, blinking away the burning sensation in my eyes. “I just wasn’t really expecting that. You know?”
Pursing her lips, she nods. Silence stretches between us. It’s not uncomfortable per se. But I still have the urge to fill it.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate you stepping in like that. Though you should probably avoid Parker if you see him around campus. He’s …” I hesitate. “He can be dangerous.” I’d never forgive myself if he targeted her next. She needs to be careful. “He’s not someone you want to be caught alone with.”
She ponders my warning. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye out.”
Good.
“He gives off major creep vibes.”
She’s not wrong.
“He does,” I agree. Unraveling my clothes, I slip them on over my still wet swimsuit. “Maybe I’ll uh, see you around.”
“Hold up.” She pulls her long, wet brown hair over her shoulder and gives me a considering look. “You’re a competitive swimmer, right? Are you a part of a private team or something?”
