Pregnant For My Bully

Jason Davenport

As I banged the door behind me, I rested my back against it. My palms were very sweaty and I was breathing hard.

Shit.

What did I just do?

There was a shitload of blood on the sheets.

I swallowed.

What if something had happened to her? What if I’d killed her?Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

I’d be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out. . .

Guilt poked me hard in my chest. But I hurriedly brushed it aside, shaking my head vigorously.

This was Amelia Forbes here. Whatever happens to her, she deserves it. After all it’s her fault that my mother wasn’t here today.

So who the fuck cares if she dies anyway?

Brushing my fingers through my hair, I smoothened it out. I was only overthinking all of this.

I just needed a smoke to calm myself down. Then relax and enjoy the party. Amelia would take care of herself. After all this was her mess.

Casting the unnecessary guilt aside, I got into my car, heading to Rory’s to discuss the party.

Amelia Forbes

My head was spinning as I sat in the cab I had hailed. I remembered blubbering out the address to the driver. But I wasn’t sure whether he’d heard me or not.

My tears had dried on my cheeks but now I was even more aware of the hole forming in my chest.

My mind wandered to different things all at once until I began to feel dizzy. Only then did I realize that the taxi had stopped, and the driver was reaching into the open backseat, shaking me back to reality.

I let out a scream, withdrawing sharply from his touch.

I began to feel suffocated, banging on the left window for help.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” He said, a look of alarm on his face. “You asked me to drop you off here, remember? Home?”

“Move away from the door please,” I blurted, feeling suffocated and uncomfortable. After making sure he’d moved a good distance away from the door, I looked around to survey the environment.

And Nana’s small home stood right there, like it always had. The taxi was parked right next to it.

I had blanked out.

Tears stung my eyes as I glanced at the horrified looking taxi driver.

“I’m-I’m really sorry,” I whimpered as I handed him money and jumped out of the taxi.

My hands shook as I struggled with the lock. Finally getting it open, I rushed it and secured the lock behind me.

I didn’t know what I was doing, what I was feeling. But I knew I needed to take off this dress.

I walked to the bathroom and shut the door. Taking my dress off, I was suddenly aware that I didn’t have any panties on. Anguish enveloped me as I remembered that Jason had. . .

Breathing in sharply, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, ashamed of myself for what I saw.

Tear stains, puffy eyes and a red nose. I splashed my face with cold water from the tap.

I felt filthy, violated. Like trash; useless and forgotten.

I shook my head as I stared at myself. This couldn’t have happened to me. Maybe if I shut my eyes tightly enough, I’d wake up. And realize it had all been a dream.

I clutched the sides of the sink, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare.

Wake up, Mel. Wake up. Please. It’s just a dream.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not-it can’t be. . .

“Please,” I whispered, my voice coming out as a croak. My throat was sore. Sore because I’d been screaming.

I’d been screaming less than an hour ago. It had all been real. All of it.

Shaking, I blasted the shower open, letting out lukewarm water. I grabbed my sponge, lathering until it was soapy enough.

And I scrubbed. My face, my arms, my thighs. Desperate to erase the marks, the memories, the feeling of Jason’s hands on me.

The thought of having to live with this for the rest of my life flooded my head.

No. No. No.

I scrubbed harder. I needed to remove every trace. Wash them away.

A burning pain in my thigh prompted me to look down, and I saw that I’d scrubbed so vigorously I’d started bleeding.

Good. Yes, I’ll scrub all of it away. Till I feel clean. Till it’s all gone.

I clutched my sponge tighter, squeezing more soap into it. I scrubbed my arms, meticulously washing away the memory of him grabbing my arms. Pushing me onto the bed.

A feeling of helplessness attacked me once more and I slumped to the floor, still scrubbing.

Tears blurred my vision as I reached out to lather on more soap. Pain bubbled in my chest as I let out a cry.

I raised my head sharply, renewed energy bursting through me. “Go away!” I screamed as I scrubbed harder. From my head down to my toes.

By the time I walked out of the shower, I was red and bruised all over. But I didn’t feel any pain. I was just. . . numb.

I slowly changed into a long sleeved hoodie and joggers.

Sleeves. I should’ve worn long sleeves today. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe.

I collapsed onto my bed, burying myself deep into the duvet. I shut my eyes, willing sleep to come as an escape. But all I could see was white sheets stained with blood.

I shut them tighter, clasping my hands over my ears to block out the screaming that wouldn’t stop ringing in my head.

Then the tears came. Wetting my face and the sheets. I lay in a foetal position, hands on my ankles, rocking back and forth to a rhythm that contrasted to the beating of my heart. Hoping the irregular motion would distract me.

I forced my eyes open, trying to remember what date it was. What day, what month, but nothing came. I shook my head, trying again.

Giving up, I continued my back and forth motion, unaware of the time, till I finally cried myself to sleep.