Hi. I'm so extremely sorry it's been over a year since my last update. I honestly don't even know how that happened because I'm always thinking about how I want to give you guys a new chapter. But I feel more excited than ever to be writing again and have every intention of keeping this story going! So please help me out by leaving me reviews. They are my fuel. :)
Warning: This chapter contains a graphic SA scene. Please skip over that section if it is too much.
Nothing But A Lie
Chapter 35
How long had she sat there with her back to the door?
The only clue she had was the angle of the sun in her window changing with the passing of time, the way it eventually sunk down and created stunning colors in the sky. It could have been an hour, maybe more. She didn't remember what time it was when she'd gone downstairs earlier.
Not that it mattered, anyway. The damage was already done. There would be no fixing it.
Trembling, she sat there, staring at nothing. Not crying, though. She had completely run out of tears, let alone the energy to cry. She wasn't sure she would be able to cry ever again after today.
Eventually, her stomach growled. It was getting more and more difficult to ignore her needs, but she was determined to keep doing so. There was no way she could leave her room yet, even though it had been eerily silent for a long while. She couldn't risk it.
Finally, she was able to move, her stiff body protesting with aches. She'd been too still for too long. She needed to stretch, but that wasn't her priority at the moment. She found her old cell phone and held it in her hand, debating.
What was to be done when the one person she'd felt safe with had become the most terrifying person in the universe? Where could she go? Who could she call?
She watched the phone shake with her hand, wondering what would happen if she unblocked the number. Would a call come immediately? If it did, would she answer?
Why was there a part of her that wanted that to happen?
It was an easy number to recognize on the blocked list, even after only seeing it a couple times. The last three digits were all sevens. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she started to taste blood.
Multiple different voices argued back and forth in her mind.
Do it. Don't do it. Are you insane? You actually miss him? God, you're fucked up. Apologize to Erik. He needs to know you still care. Call Sky. He's clearly sorry. Erik is safer. Sky is safer. Stay. Go.
"Shut up," she said out loud, her voice barely audible.
She was truly losing it.
Just as she confirmed the unblock option, the phone slipped from her clammy hand. She let it stay where it fell face down on the floor, staring at it blankly.
What was she doing? There was no way in a million years she could ever reach out to him! She should get rid of the damned phone and forget its—and his—existence. She should go downstairs and beg Erik for forgiveness. Prove to herself and to him that his face didn't matter. That she cared about him, not what he looked like.
But the way he had acted when she saw him had been more frightening than she ever thought he could be, especially with her. For him to behave that way, knowing what she had been through... it was almost worse than the face itself. It wasn't something she could forgive that easily.
How was she supposed to keep staying here with him? The way he'd forcefully handled her...
She wanted to puke. Though it was nothing like that night, not sexual in the least—well, except for the snide way he'd told her to kiss him—it still brought all of those feelings of being completely helpless back.
Since giving the painfully detailed report to the police, she had tried her hardest to push away what had happened into the deepest pit of her mind. Even with her body reminding her with every pang, she'd refused to think of it on purpose. But now, with the way Erik had held her down, his hands on her wrists, force her to be there when she did not want to be... She couldn't help it.
That night came back with a clarity that threatened to break her mind and body with the intensity of it.
She closed her eyes.
The cold knife blade caressed her neck, but she didn't tremble at the feel of it. She was ready to die. She wanted to die. Anything would be better than spending one more second with the man on top of her. Even death. Especially death.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" Sky whispered, and somehow even speaking so low she could hear the strange taunting way in which he spoke. "You want this all to end right here? Right now?"
She didn't answer. She kept her eyes firmly shut, breathing in and out, waiting.
"Baby girl," he said a little louder, his voice a soft murmur. "You don't actually think that I would ever kill you, do you?"
The coldness of the knife disappeared from her throat, and she felt him pull the neckline of her dress upward. The sound of fabric tearing had her eyes flying open. Sky had used the knife to swiftly cut her dress open from top to bottom, and then quickly cut each strap atop her shoulder until the dress lay ruined around her exposed body, covered only by her underwear.
She looked down at her bare chest in confusion, her cheeks getting hot as she remembered her decision not to wear a bra with the dress. It had provided enough support on its own.
With a sharp gasp, she snapped out of her state of freeze and covered her breasts with her arms. Panic was beginning to set in. She could feel the intensity of her heart pounding beneath her arms.
Oh. Oh, no. No no no. Oh, God, what have I done?
Sky easily yanked the ruined dress out from under her, tossing it aside carelessly and putting the knife back into his pocket. "Oh no you don't," he scolded, not even seeming to struggle as he somehow got both of her wrists clasped into one of his hands. He held them down above her head. "That's much better. Holy shit, Christine."
She hated how excited he sounded, hated the way he stared hungrily down at her breasts. "Don't you dare!" she tried to scream as he bent his head down, but all that came out was a breathless sort of cry. He didn't listen, of course, and his hot mouth closed around her right nipple.
Trying not to make it easy for him, she writhed and twisted, even though she still hurt from his earlier roughness with her. She grunted with the exertion, and soon lost her breath and had to lie still to catch it, endure his tongue's assault of her breast.
It did not hurt, she realized. He did not use his teeth, did not suck hard. After a few moments, she emitted a sound that horrified and embarrassed her. She hoped with a fierce desperation that he thought it was one of disgust.
She sprung back into action, kicking her legs wildly underneath him since trying to squirm away had not worked. Her efforts paused him for just a moment, her now wet, hard nipple freed from his mouth as he used his weight to keep her legs from doing any damage. He brought her ensnared wrists down to her waist, and she realized it was because he would not have been able to reach her legs with his free hand if he had not done so. But he could now, and he roughly took her left calf and crossed that leg over the other. Before she could uncross them, he adjusted his own legs, using a kneeling position to tighten both of his knees around either side of her legs until she could hardly budge.
Grinning, his brow glistening with sweat, he returned her wrists to their earlier prison above her head. "Good effort, baby," he said, nodding his head in mock appreciation.
"Fuck you," she growled.
He laughed. "Oh, I'm going to fuck you, alright."
"No!" she shouted, furiously trying to remove herself from his grasp, get out from under him.
He ignored her, his mouth coming down over her left breast, giving it the same attention as he'd done the other. No matter how hard she twisted, how much she tried to get her hands and legs free, nothing worked. He was too strong and didn't even seem to struggle one bit. His tongue swirled around her nipple and he made obnoxious sounds of appreciation that she could only take as him teasing her.
"Stop," she said breathlessly, her efforts exhausting her. "I fucking hate you."
Sky only stopped enough to say, "Well I love you. You're the one who's making me do this. You might as well enjoy it."
She wanted to scream until she had no voice left, but couldn't catch her breath with how hard she fought him... and how his mouth on her nipples made her traitorous body feel. She was concentrating so hard on trying not to moan in pleasure that she didn't notice him pulling out the knife again.
"N-no!" she gasped. "Don't do it! Sky!"
He released her nipple from his lips, watching his work as he carefully slipped the knife underneath the left side of her panties at her hip. He cut that side with ease, set the knife down to switch her wrists to his left hand, and then did the same to the right side.
Tears came as he put the knife back in his pocket, her torn underwear discarded. He freed her legs enough to position himself between them, and she could hear him fumbling with his belt and pants.
"No no no no please. Sky no. Please don't do this. I'm sorry. I swear I'll be good. I swear."
"I know you will, baby," he crooned, kissing her cheek with surprising tenderness.
She exhaled in relief, even kissing him back when his lips met hers. She knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He wouldn't...
And then, she felt him, hard and terrifying, rubbing threateningly against her slick, sensitive skin.
"This will make sure of it."
The first thing he'd done when she left him was fall to his knees again.
It had taken every bit of strength he had to calm himself down in front of her, keep his voice steady as he ordered her to leave. He could not have her know what he was really thinking, really feeling. How he wanted to scream at her for ruining everything. How he wanted to make her suffer for doing this to him.
No, she could not know.
What a stupid, stupid girl. He knew the second the words left her mouth how delusional she was; for thinking she could see his face and nothing would change. For thinking she could possibly have feelings for a pathetic corpse of a man. That pretty head of hers was clearly incapable of imagining such an awful sight. Her imagination was simply not creative enough, he supposed.
But the poor thing would not give up, he could tell. If he did not allow her to do it now, it would have to happen later no matter how hard he tried to prolong it. And so, he'd done the only thing that would show her just how naïve she was. He allowed her to take off his mask and ruin everything.
Though loathe to admit it, the cruel girl had instilled a shred of hope in him for a moment. Her sweet confession of feelings for him, the genuine affection her eyes had held... for him. It was something he had never experienced in his entire life, and to get it from her was too much for him to bear. He truly believed for a second that she could possibly care for him as she'd said. That she could possibly handle seeing his face.
It made him sick to his stomach to think about the way she'd paled completely the very first moment she saw it. The way her eyes turned to nothing but pure shock, horror, and disgust. How she could not get away from him fast enough. How she could not even stand to look for longer than a few seconds.
Erik tried to recall what happened after, but it was all a blur of hurt he had never felt before. The sting on his face let him know that he had been wounded somehow. Perhaps he had gotten too close and the girl had defended herself. He could not blame her for turning violent.
Sasha whined next to him, and Erik could do nothing to reassure him that he was all right. He did not know how to after what had just transpired. Plus, he was simply not all right. He doubted he ever would be again.
In a trance like state, Erik left the music room in favor of his bedroom, leaving Sasha out as he shut the door. Somewhere deep inside he felt guilty for doing so, but knew it would be safer if the dog were not near him for now.
Erik flicked on the light, which did little to illuminate his dark bedroom. He preferred it that way. Such a creature deserved to dwell in darkness.
There was one standing mirror in his room, which he kept covered with a thick quilt when he was not checking the way his clothing looked over his skeletal form. He grabbed the fabric and tore it off the mirror. Erik never looked at his face if he could avoid it. He could not even recall the last time he had seen it. But there was a sick need to see it now, look on it the way Christine just had, see what she had seen.
He took off the mask and looked.
The poor thing. Her reaction had been completely justified. In fact, he was surprised she did not vomit or scream or faint. The dear girl was much stronger than he thought. Even he could not stand to look for longer than a few seconds.
His vision blurred, his pounding head becoming a wind tunnel.
Later, he found himself sitting on the floor, surrounded by broken glass with bloody hands. He mechanically went into his bathroom and washed away the sticky redness, finding a pair of tweezers to pick out shards of glass from his skin. After he was bandaged, he took a swab of alcohol to the cuts on his face. Blindly, of course. When the stinging went numb, he replaced his mask.
He would never take it off again.
Taking out his cell, he sent two texts. One to Nadir, letting him know he was coming over, and one to Christine, letting her know he was leaving. It was clear she wanted him as far away from her as possible, and he would give her anything she wanted.
Even now. Even after what she'd done.
A sudden noise made her jump, freeing her from the paralyzing memories. The phone Erik had gotten her chimed with a notification.
Thankful for the distraction, she took the phone from where it rested on the nightstand and warily looked at the message, knowing it was from him. He was her only contact.
I am going to step out for a while. I will return later.
A fresh wave of hurt washed over her. That's all? No apology? No reassurance that she was still safe here with him? That he would never hurt her or handle her that way again?
Maybe things were worse than she thought.
The sound of the garage door opening underneath her suddenly made her heart pump a little faster. He was really leaving. She almost raced downstairs to stop him, demand an explanation. But she knew she wasn't ready to see him again. And it was clear he didn't want to see her either.
Was he leaving because he didn't want to even be near her?
That thought put a nervous twist in her stomach, and she wondered if she even had a single right to be mad at him, or afraid of him. Erik had done so much for her. And how had she repaid him? By living under his roof and offering nothing in return. By making him trust her so that she could see his face, only to react inexcusably. And then by running away from him the very second she could, rather than stay by his side and make sure he was okay. Make sure he knew she was sorry.
Was she sorry, though?
What could she have done differently? His...face had been such a shock that her instincts had fully taken over. Even if she had properly prepared herself—somehow pictured that in her mind beforehand—she wasn't sure she would have been able to fake a pleasant reaction. Just remembering his face was enough to make her shudder.
But his admissions about how his mother had treated him, how he'd never received any sort of affection from her had been heartbreaking. She thought of her own mother, her heart giving a painful squeeze. Her warmth, her goodness, her soft voice and hands... A mother's love is one of the most powerful things in the world, and she could not imagine what it would be like for someone to experience the opposite from their caregiver.
She would not hold him? She never kissed him?
Not even my own mother loved me, you know.
"Erik," she whispered. "Oh, God, why... What am I doing?"
On shaky legs that ached from being on the floor for so long, she rose and raced out her bedroom door and down the stairs, nearly tripping on the way. She quickly slipped on her shoes and exited the house, slamming the front door shut behind her.
"Erik!" she yelled, running down the driveway and watching his car disappear around the corner of the street with despair. "Wait! God damn it!"
Too late. He was gone. Where? For how long?
Anxiety twisted her stomach. It was getting darker, and he had left her alone at his house without a backward glance. He had terrified her with no apology and then left her alone.
She couldn't decide whether she wanted to call him and beg him to come back immediately or tell him she never wanted to see him again.
Dizzy from exhaustion and lack of food, she dragged herself back inside the house. She knew she had to eat before doing anything else, or she might pass out. She prepared a sandwich and grabbed a banana, knowing she wouldn't be able to stomach much else. She could hardly even get it all down, but she was able to with small bites and lots of sips of water in between.
As she cleaned up the kitchen, the silence around her filled her with dread. Even Sasha was quiet as he followed Christine around, his mood somber. He seemed to know it was a rough day all around.
As she climbed the stairs back up to her room, her movements still felt shaky and weak. The food and water hadn't done much to restore her energy yet. The trauma of the day had been too much. A part of her just wanted to collapse into bed and never wake. But she wasn't sure sleep would come that easily tonight.
Especially knowing she was alone.
Christine saw her old phone lying face down on the carpet, and her stomach twisted as she remembered how she'd unblocked Sky's number.
God, she was probably as sick as he was. Even with the fresh wounds the vivid memory had brought, she still wanted to...
What? What did she want to do? What could she do?
She was almost too afraid to pick it up, check the screen. But she did. She had to.
A missed call. From him. Five minutes ago. She wanted to throw up, and yet a part of her was disappointed she'd missed it. Why? What could she possibly say to him?
Why would she possibly want to hear from him?
The truth was that not every moment with him had been horrible. Some moments had been nice. Some had been warm and affectionate and comfortable. Some had brought her intense pleasure that she'd never known were possible.
Was it so wrong that she missed those moments? That she craved them in her life again?
She wasn't sure her and Erik could get there. Not after today...
But that night... with Sky. That night ruined everything, not to mention all of the other times he'd hurt her or treated her badly. Just remembering it all made her want to jump out of the second story window without a second thought.
How badly she wanted to explain it to him, though! If only he knew. If he did, could he understand? Would he even care?
Surely he had the capacity to. Otherwise he wouldn't be sending her things back, texting or calling her... Right?
"Oh my god," she whimpered as another call came, her body shaking so hard her teeth chattered.
What are you doing, you idiot?! Block the number again! Are you insane? Don't answer!
It happened in a strange, surreal blur. Her actions didn't feel like her own. The phone was at her ear, the hello caught in her tight throat.
"Hello? Christine?"
"Sky," she whispered so quiet there was no way he could hear.
"Christine? Are you there? I'm so sorry. Please, talk to me."
His agonized voice filled her with so many different emotions that her head spun. Everything she had been planning to say to him was stuck inside. All she could do was begin to cry. Within seconds, she was audibly sobbing into the phone. So much for never crying again. How pathetic of her to actually think that was possible.
"Please don't cry. God, I'm so, so sorry, Christine. I wish I could take it all back. I do. I swear."
"I j-just—" she blubbered. "I can't... I d-don't... We could have—" She'd never hated herself more in her entire life. All she had wanted was to be brave. Be strong. And here she was, ruining her chance to be those things by crying like a little baby. "God, damn it!"
With the phone pressed to her ear, her vision blurry with tears, she stumbled downstairs and used her free hand to fill a glass with water while Sky begged her to stop crying. Apologizing over and over again.
She drank deeply, and finally felt able to breathe after. She set down the empty glass and grabbed a paper towel, sniffling hard as she wiped her nose.
"Okay," she said, voice steadier now. "Okay. You can stop talking now."
"Yes. Of course, whatever you want. I—"
"I said stop!" she snapped. "God."
"Right. Sorry."
It was quiet for a while. He had actually listened. For some reason, that helped to calm her even more. She did wish Erik were still here, just in case Sky said or did something bad. But she couldn't think about that right now. She had to focus.
"Sorry?" Christine said bitterly. "You're sorry, Sky?"
She heard his heavy sigh. "Yes. I am. I wish none of it had ever happened."
"Yeah? Me neither."
"I know I have no right to ask, but I need to know you're okay. Please. Just tell me you're alright?"
"Okay? Sure. I'm okay. You know, except for the fact that I was brutally raped. Oh, and then I tried to kill myself. That didn't work."
"Wait. Wait, you what? Christine..."
"Yeah. After you raped me, I tried to bash my own head in." She fingered the still healing scar on her head. "I wasn't strong enough. I could have saved myself a lot of extra pain. But no. I just wanted to die."
On the other line, Sky's breath became ragged, otherwise silent.
She took advantage of it. "You should have just killed me. I wish you had."
"I... I couldn't. I would never—" his voice broke. He was the one crying, now, it seemed. "Fuck. I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I should be the one who's dead."
As Sky cried into the phone, Christine chewed on her lip. She always thought his suffering would make her feel better. It didn't, she realized.
Focus, Christine. Remember what you wanted to say.
"Sky, stop. Just listen to me," she said, making her voice soft but serious. "I don't want you dead. Okay? I want you to get the help you need."
"I am! I swear." His next words came fast, his voice thick with emotion. "I've already been to a psychiatry appointment and have another one scheduled. After I get a diagnosis, I swear I'll take whatever meds they prescribe me. And I'll get therapy. I will. I swear."
Her mind raced, wanting to believe him but afraid to. "You need to. For your daughter's sake. If she ever knew what you've done... if Meg knew, you'd never see Peyton again. You know you wouldn't."
He exhaled a shaky breath. "I know. I get to see her tomorrow, you know. We're meeting at a splash pad. It's the only thing getting me through since you've been gone. I miss you so much. It's all I ever think about. That's why I had to call you. I needed to hear your voice again..."
She let him ramble on for a minute, not really listening. Her mind raced through all the other things she wanted to say, but couldn't seem to figure out how to say them.
"Christine? Did you hear me?"
"Hmm?"
"I said when can I see you?"
Her stomach dropped. "You're... you're not serious?"
"Of course I'm serious. I told you I miss you. I'm dying without you. Please, Christine."
"Sky... I—I don't think that's possible..."
"Even if it's just for an hour? Half an hour? In a public place with witnesses? Oh! You should come tomorrow. Peyton and Meg will be there. They'd be happy to see you, too. Please, Christine?"
"Fuck, I don't know! Okay?" she yelled into the phone. "I need to think about it!"
"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. Whatever you need, Christine. Okay?"
She took a deep breath. "Okay."
"If you decide to come, we're meeting at noon. I'll have to text you the location because Meg picked it and I didn't memorize the place. Or I could pick you up, if you need me to...?"
"No. No. Just..." She paused, groaning in frustration at the turn the conversation had gone. "I have to go. I'm... I'm tired. I want to go to sleep."
"This early?" he laughed. "Sounds about right."
She grinded her teeth but said nothing.
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I don't mean to tease. I just... I miss you. Everything about you. Excessive sleep habits and all."
New tears welled up in her eyes. "Yeah," she whispered. "I miss me too."
And then she hung up.