A/N: So I've written something for The Clique before; it was a terrible story and against the TOS in so many ways! But now I know what fan fiction is about (the rules etc.), and I've decided to write a one-shot. Reviews would be nice. Do enjoy!
Summary: This is Massie's POV just so you're not confused while reading this; this is a bit different from other stuff on here, so beware. There's a character in here that is in the books, but not listed on fan fiction. Just to let you know.
Disclaimer: Disclaimed. I like Lisi but I don't own The Clique.
Warning: Just the typical angst, implied stuff( kisses etc.), and a little bit of a drabbling to watch out for.
/
They say that murder is a bad thing. And I'll admit, taking someone's life from them is horrible, atrocious and- oh so brutal- in all its gruesome demise. But now, after all I've been through, I'm finding it hard to agree with the strict law system.
What if that person truly deserves it? What if they really deserve to die? They couldn't bring about pain any longer. If the person that ruined me was gone… My life wouldn't be corrupt anymore; I'd be the lily white rose that I used to be, even through all my past pretensions. I'd be free.
Maybe I'm exaggerating, or maybe I'm not.
But I think that everybody knows what it feels like to get their heart broken, and they have undoubtedly had the overpowering vengeance that rides along with all the anguish. If you love someone, it hurts so badly to be betrayed. Betrayed in unthinkable ways. What if you want to break and do the unthinkable?
Maybe it's the loss of the decrepit, furrowed face of a grandparent, that shatters the rosy-cheeked countenance of a youngster, that breaks you. Or maybe it's the pitiless smart across the face of a ragged woman from her plastered husband that tears all. Or maybe it's a typical adolescent being ruthlessly dumped by her loaded, older boyfriend that really shatters a plastic existence.
You can probably guess which one happened to me. I can't forget that evening. No matter how hard I've tried, how much I've willed it to leave me.. It won't. And my days will be troubled forevermore because of it.
/
I giggle through my giddy uneasiness as he guides me into the compact, verdant woods that frames my towering domain of a house. I glance back at the disappearing plane that grounds the house and mini-me guesthouse, wanting to turn back.
This is so dumb.
His clammy hand tightens, tugging on my slender arm, and jolting me back into all the fun and games. I teeter after him in my Louboutins, using all my self control to not fall. Even through my tipsy state, I know that something about this isn't right.
'Go back.'
'Why?'
'Something isn't right.'
' So?'
'…..'
"Mass, come on." His sharp tug sends me flying; his bicep catches my fall and with a grunt, he pushes me upright. He turns around, and continues leading me into the forest, not glancing to see if I'm okay.
"Chris," I mumble, wincing at my slight slur, "can we go back? It's more comfortable in the guesthouse…" I trail off as I bump into his back, not missing his rigid stance breathing heavily.
His feet crunch on the shadowed, autumn leaves as he shifts to turn his head to the side. His flaxen colored hair, reaching below his ears, sways with the soft, lulling breeze, making my attention draw away to focus on its beauty instead of him..
The sound of his deep voice, deadened by the slack of his emotion, awakes me from my trance. "It's fine out here," he pauses to take a breath, "why would we go in there anyway?" I hear spit fly from his mouth, and I take a startled step backwards, loosening my arm from his vice grip. "Aren't your parents home? They would be breathing down our necks the whole time!" He breathes in sharply and I wish that I could see his face. I stand a few feet away staring at his taut back, in shock over his reaction and waiting for the coming statement.
"What's wrong with you, Massie? I thought you trusted-"
"Of course, I trust you!" I shake my head in disbelief, not caring that he can't see it. "My parents wouldn't bother us, Chris. You know that. What's wrong with you?" I step cautiously forward and lay my hands gently on his back, sliding them up to rest on his broad shoulders. He stiffens slightly, muscles flexing, and says nothing.
"Of course, I trust you,"I repeat, feeling that maybe.. I'm trying to convince myself.
I regain my confidence ( Nothing to worry about, Massie, you're fine..just fine.), and try to persuade him to do what I want.
After all, I always get my way.
"Think about that soft, leather couch you adore so much. We could do a few 'PG-13' things," I move my fingers in circles on his chest, my arms wrapped tightly around him, "Chug some more champagne. Watch a movie," I pause, not even realizing how stiff he'd become, "what about Superbad?"
Personally I despise that movie, but he loves it so I suffer through it.
"Hey, I know you love it!" I laugh and break off as he whips around and gives me a harsh shove.
"Chri-"
He slaps his hand over my mouth, easily silencing my protests. The sting of his sweaty palm and the feel of it against my lipgloss is sickening. Tears surge through my eyes, threatening to overflow. I discard the fogged thought of my Maybelline mascara streaking, and pry his long, slender fingers from my mouth.
Piano fingers, as I've always liked to think.
I stumble back a few steps, nearly tumbling into the dense foliage behind, and come to a shaky halt.
I steady myself, and peek at him, from under my auburn bangs, suddenly frightened.
'Keep your cool. You're okay. It's just Chris.'
' A drunk one.'
'I'm drunk too.'
'Does it matter?'
'…..'
"What's wrong with you, Chris?" I break off to clear my throat, realizing with a start that my hands are shaking. I clasp them together against my chest to stop the little convulsions.. "What did I do to upset you so much? Was it Cam? Derrick? I'm over them. You know that."
I begin to babble angrily, not even knowing what I'm speaking about. I just know that I'm furious and so hurt, and my emotions are rushing through me with no apparent end.
My voice comes to a standstill as I observe that he has yet to move. He stands erect, seemingly sober, staring, searching me. For what? I have not a clue. I feel even more disturbed by his peculiar expression.
His eyes are an unfathomable, cerulean blue that shine even in the shadows of the trees as they scan me. His sculptured cheekbones, Roman nose, and rosy, even lips are any girl's fantasy; I am aware of it all. It hurts to see such beauty tarnished by such rude actions. I've never seen him like this. The hurt must show in my face, for his posture relaxes instantly, and he steps hesitantly forward.
"I didn't mean to upset you, baby," he begins, his handsome face broadening into a glistening smile, "I love you." He stops to step a little closer, as I stand still, convincing myself not to run. "You know that, Mass. Don't you?" His eyes search mine, and I let out a gust of air; maybe it's okay.
"I know," I whisper, "but you scared me-"
"I know. I know. And I'm sorry." He strides over quickly, covering the remaining space between us easily. He reaches out one elegant finger, and brushes my disheveled locks behind my ear, his fingertips gliding across my face, leading a long, sensuous trail in its wake.
"I just love you so much. Sometimes I have a hard time controlling myself around you. I didn't mean to hurt you-or scare you," he stops stroking my cheek to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead, "I love you. So very, very much."
My lips begin trembling, and I close the few inches between us to entwine my body around his. I turn my puckered lips up and close my eyes, waiting for him. But after a few moments of nothing, I squint up and see his handsome head tilted down, staring silently at me.
"Do you trust me, Massie?"
'No.'
"Yes," I whisper, as emotionless as possible. He nods and grabs my hand; he gently tugs on it and, with a string of doubts in my mind, I follow.
We walk placidly into the forest, hands and fingers locked, until we come upon a small, circular clearing. The first thing I notice is the rippling, jade colored grass sparked by the invigorating breeze; it's so beautiful and so stimulating in all its fluidness. The moon is in its gibbous phase, on the edge of shining at its absolute. It gives an ethereal glow, blanketing the surrounding terrain with its pale touch.
I loosen my hand from his grasp and inch my way to the middle of the enclosed expansion, my heels lingering into the fresh soil as I have to forcibly uproot them from the ground, step after step. With an upward glance, I take the moment to be in awe of the night sky's glowing and sparkling, adorned by all those elusive stars. The cool breeze ruffles my hair, sending it flying around me, as its silky strands playfully tickle my cheek. Its touch is so much more gentle than Chris's, but yet similar in the way of being unpredictable.
His soft touch on my arm makes me come to with a start; he stands still, observing me with a ghost of a smile upon his face. His hair once again entrances me as it waves back-and-forth. Maybe I'm not sober yet; why I love his hair so much is unknown to me. Something in the deep recesses of my mind knows all about this strange obsession, but I can't touch the reality of it.
"Dance with me," he breaths, eyes glittering eerily in the moonlight.
I nod hesitantly, not really knowing if it's a good idea to do that now after what had just occurred, as he grabs my hand and raises it over my head. We've done this before, and as I begin to twirl, I bask in the warmth of the familiarity of it all. I begin to laugh joyously, and laugh even harder as he yells at me to 'dance' the other way. All my past worries are momentarily forgotten as we dance ( or more appropriately, as I dance.), and I feel a strong surge of passion race through me. It's love, comfort, and home. Definitely home. Chris is my home.
An intense bout of dizziness makes me tumble into his eager arms with a gasp, and I begin giggling obnoxiously loud as I knock him flat on his back.
He coughs, out of breath, and his body shakes me from my sprawled position on his chest to the vacant space beside him. I wait until his hacking ceases before climbing back on top of him. I cup his face with my hands, as he smiles widely at me, waiting for my next move.
"I love you," I murmur as I trace his artist's cheekbone with my thumb.
"I love you more," he replies, taking my hand from his cheek and bringing it to his mouth to plant a gentle, lingering kiss on the soft flesh.
His humored expression fades and is replaced with that look. He puts one long-fingered hand behind my ear, and pulls my face down to his. I cover the remaining distance between our lips; the familiar softness of his lips and the last traces of champagne on his breath is intoxicating, and I wrap my arms tightly around his neck.
I finger the long strands of his rough, thick hair, and return his kisses with equal intensity. His lips part mine, and he begins to nibble on my bottom lip. I pull away to supress my rising moan; he pulls me back down and claims my lips, his nimble tongue slipping in my mouth. I tug at his hair in response, and move my mouth away suddenly.
"Chris," I mumble, embarrassed, "we can't-"
His mouth is on mine again; he's not gentle, and it makes me want him. All of him. We've had our moments, but something about this-this moment, out here-is irresistible. And so delicious.
"Massie," he groans.
My breath is coming in short gasps; I won't be able to restrain myself much longer. I rub under his unbuttoned Polo, feeling along his collarbone. The motion sets him off and he flips me off him and onto my back, hovering over me before promptly attacking my neck with kisses. I arch into his melting embrace, wanting to stay like this for as long as possible.
'Stop him, Massie! This is going too far.'
'But it feels so good.'
'Stop him! Hurry!'
'But I don't want to.'
'….'
"Chris," I try to force him off me, but his lips are apparently glued to my neck, "Stop. We can't do this. Please stop."
"Come on, Mass. Don't ruin this," he hovers over me, his eyes squinted, "I thought you loved me."
"I do! But-"
"Then show me," he replies harshly.
I know it then. This is surely a trick. He's testing me; he wants to see how far I'll go. He wants to see how committed I am to him.
I'll certainly show him.
I let out what sounds like a growl and force my mouth upon his eager lips. He pushes me down again, this time, his entire weight on me.
"Chris," I let out a mewl of protest, but his lips ravage my own, and his hands are everywhere.
This isn't what I had in mind.
"Chris! Please stop! Don't do this! Stop!"
The realization of what he's about to do hits me like a brick.
"Please, Chris, don't. Please. I'm not ready!"
"I love you, Massie," he whispers in my neck, his hot breath caressing my perspiring skin.
"No!"
/
"Massie! Massie! Wake up sweetie!" My mom's voice is carefully controlled, but I can hear the lines of panic underneath. What is it that scared her this time?
My eyes feel glued shut, and I realize that I've forgotten to remove my mascara. It's Maybelline mascara. The exact tube I wore on that night.
"Gi ma rag.." I mumble.
I hear her loud sigh of relief as she questions, "What was that, honey?"
"I wana rag!" I yell, irritated.
"A rag?" I don't answer her.
"I'll be right back," I hear her walk quickly across my room and freeze in the doorway as she adds, "I love you, Massie."
"Love you too, Mommy," I reply quietly, feeling tears flood my eyes, which I quickly wipe away. The responding creak of the hardwood floor signals to me that's she's gone. Every word brings back that nightmare of a night. With that thought, those last moments rush back.
/
I lay there in shock, not daring to move as he stands above me, fully dressed.
"That was nice," His voice shatters my hopes of it all being a nightmare, and I begin to cry, my weak cries barely splintering the night air.
"Why? Why, Chris?" I shake my head, my body moving up-and-down in my possessed sobbing motions. I hear him begin pacing, his bare feet padding softly on the lush growth. His sharp intake of breath begins his statement.
"You literally jumped me! I thought you wanted it," he yells, making my tears only come harder.
"I-I told you-I told you to stop! And you didn't. You didn't." I feel myself slipping, slipping to someplace that I don't need to be.
'Hold on.'
'I'm trying, but I'm hurting so bad.'
'Try harder.'
"I thought you would be happy," He stops and shakes his head as he twists it all around, "I guess nobody can please the great Massie Block!" He goes quiet, waiting for my reply that I won't give. My heart is beating so hard. Everything hurts. Such a deep, pain that's overriding my conscious.
"Well I guess I'm done here; farewell to you, Massie. Have a wonderful life." He says coldly, sending a dagger through my already trod-on heart.
His fading footsteps urge me to move.
"Chri-" my voice breaks, "Chris?" No answer. All that's audible is the hooting of some lonely owl and the gentle swoosh of the wind soaring through the trees.
"I love you." I whisper as I fall into a state of unconsciousness.
/
"Massie! God no! Massie! Wake up, honey! Please wake up! I need-we need you! Don't do this to yourself!"
I groan, feeling myself slip into something, some area that I don't want to be.
"Come back to me, baby. You can do it."
Mommy. I search for her, swimming through the darkness. I see a spot of light, and head for it. Leaves crunch as I come to the into the bright light. I'm in the clearing. No. Not again. The grass flows lazily and the moonlight gleams, smiling down on me as if it's finding my situation humorous.
"Massie," his whisper comes from behind me, flowing, floating around me.
"No," I murmur, "no." His hand rests on my shoulder, and I crumple to the ground, crying.
"Please don't." I sob, "please."
/
"Mommy! Help me! It hurts.. Make him stop! Please!"
I sit up with a loud scream, quieting when I realize where I am; I'm home. I'm safe.
"Mommy.." Tears stream down my cheeks. She stands over my bed, her brown hair streaming around her face, and her brown eyes full of pain.
She leans down and wraps her arms around me, her Dior scent filling my nostrils.
"It's okay, baby, I'm here. No one's going to hurt you. Not ever again." I cuddle deep into her open arms, taking great comfort in her words. I drift off into a dreamless sleep, lulled to sleep by her singing "My Little Sunshine" and the refreshing feel of a cold rag against my forehead.
/
I'll never forgive Chris for that day. They found me at the edge of the woods. I don't know how I got there; maybe Chris came back or maybe he didn't. Whatever the case, he's ruined me. And I know that if we ever meet again, I won't hesitate to hurt him (Mentally or physically? I've yet to decide.), even more than he's hurt me.
He moved shortly after the… incident and never looked back. I never accused him. I kept my mouth shut. I couldn't let my reputation go down as the girl that got raped. I wasn't going to be the fallen alpha.
So instead, I insisted on moving; I love my friends, always will, but I'm not that same girl anymore, and I never will be.
I look at life with a different perspective. Tears are useless; they didn't take my pain away. They are droplets of evil helplessness; useless, liquid salt that brings nothing but more heartache.
To me, the only thing that is comforting is my mom and Bean.
I shake out of my thoughts. My mom is gone; probably sleeping, knowing that in a few hours she'll awake to her daughter's hoarse screams, echoing throughout the house.
I push away the plush, dark comforter and head down to the three door garage, making my way through the hall and down the carpeted stairs. I rifle through a thick, metallic cabinet and withdraw a can of black paint that I saved just for the occasion.
I pad back up to my room and pick up the lone paintbrush on my settee; the can has already been opened, and I sigh in relief at such a convenient advantage. I dip the brush in and take my position square with the wall.
My wrist flicks back-and-forth across the powdery white wall, splattering the paint in little, dark polka dots across the expanse of the room. I lift the can, and douse my bed with the thick substance, cloaking it. The paint pours in a thin rivulet on the floor from the bed.
On the walls I compose with neat print:
"You deserve to die Chris Abeley. And you will pay for what you did to me."
I slide into my bed, paint lathering my cheeks as I curl up into a contented ball. I feel more at peace somehow. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe.
A/N: Okay so did you like it? Press that beautiful link below and drop me a review on this one-shot! I did warn you of what it contained..
~Livie