twenty-one
Harper Apple
“Fuck,” I whisper, panic slamming into my chest. I shove Royal’s shoulders, and he sits up. I push up on my elbows and look down, as if I might be wrong, as if a condom might magically appear on his long, thick, perfect cock. Damn him and his flawless body. Damn his father and those shots of whiskey last night. Most of all, damn my poor, weak, animal self that lost her mind at the first sign of good dick and did exactly what I’ve always sworn I would never do—exactly what my mother did.
“I’ve never fucked anyone without one before,” Royal says, obviously taking my stricken expression for a question about his reputation. “I should be clean. You?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the spiraling, panicked thoughts. I cannot get pregnant, oh my fucking god, I just can’t. I can’t be stuck with this psycho forever. I don’t even like him. Good dick does not make a good man. I know that for fucking sure.
When I just keep staring at him, shaking my head slowly back and forth, the truth dawns in his eyes. “You’re… Not on birth control?”
He must know before he even asks, because he grabs his hair with both hands. “Fuck,” he yells after a minute, turning and slamming his fist into the pillow beside me.
I jump involuntarily, and his gaze moves to me, angry and calculating, as if he’s trying to think of a way out of this. Of course he fucking is. It’s not his problem, after all. I’m literally living proof that’s how guys think.
“Obviously I’m not on fucking birth control,” I snap, sitting up and yanking the sheet over my body. “I’m a poor piece of trash, remember? I can’t afford birth control, let alone a doctor visit to get a prescription. What’s your excuse?”
He gives me a sour look. “You make me fucking crazy, Harper,” he says. “You make me every kind of stupid. I was so pissed last night, I wasn’t thinking. And this morning, you climbed on me.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” I ask, tossing off the sheet and standing. I can feel his cum still inside me, leaking out of me, a drop trickling down my thigh. Shame and disgust washes over me. It was me. It’s all my fault. He didn’t use one last night, but he also didn’t cum. The chances are slim. This morning, he came inside me twice. Because I fucking climbed on him like the horny bitch I was raised to be. What have I done?
“I didn’t say that,” Royal says, looking up at me from where he’s still sitting on the bed.
“You didn’t have to,” I snap, stalking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. I lock it and sink onto the toilet, my legs shaking.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can feel his cum dripping out of me, and I double over, sure I’ll be sick. All I’ve ever wanted since I was old enough to want anything rational was to get the hell out of this town. Go to college. Not be stuck here like my mother, hopeless and destitute, with a kid I don’t want from a man I never knew. The ache behind my eyes becomes unbearable, and a sob wrenches through me before I even know it’s coming. I bite down on my fist, smothering it. I’m not going to let Royal Dolce hear me cry.
“Harper,” he says from outside the door, his voice sharp. He rattles the knob.
“Go away,” I say, my voice harsh with tears. Another sob wracks my body, and I bury my face in my arms to silence my anguish.
“Let me in, Harper,” he says, a warning edge to his voice now.
“Go the fuck away!” I yell. Tears streak down my cheeks because oh my god, this cannot be happening. What am I going to do? I can’t fucking do this.
A thud sounds as Royal’s shoulder hits the door, and the whole room shakes. With a splintering crash, the lock gives way on his second attempt, and the door flies open. Royal stands in the doorway, breathing hard, staring at me. I turn away, but he’s already seen. I’m not made of titanium. I’m just a human made of flesh and blood, tears and bone. I’m a girl living her worst nightmare.
“Harper,” he says, his voice softer. And then he’s lifting me, pulling me onto his lap as he sinks to the floor and cradles my naked and bruised body that is suddenly a ticking time bomb. I don’t want his pity, his kindness. I want his violence, his sharpness. I understand that better than softness.
I try to push away, but he holds me tighter, his arms cradling me. “It’s going to be okay,” he says, pressing his forehead to my damp hair. For a long time, I can’t do anything but sob helplessly in his arms. He doesn’t speak, just sits and holds me tight as if he could hold me together while I’m being ripped apart inside. When at last I stop, he kisses my bare shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
“How is this going to be okay?” I ask, lifting my head, not caring that my face must be an ugly mess. I don’t care. I want him to see all the ugliness inside me. To hate me as much as I hate him right now. “You think I want to be here, Royal? You think I like what you do to me? You don’t think I’d leave this town the second I get the chance? I can’t do this, Royal. I’ll fucking die before I’ll be the kind of mom my mother is.”
“Don’t you dare say that,” he snaps, grabbing my chin and forcing my gaze to his. His fingers cut into my cheeks, and his eyes blaze with emotion I’ve never seen in him.
“What am I going to do?” I ask, the fight draining out of me. I’m too desperate to fight him now. The enemy isn’t in him anymore. It’s inside me.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says.
“How are you going to take care of it?” I ask. “You think we’re going to have a baby together? Or are you going to give me money for an abortion? That’s what people in your world do when they don’t want a baby, right?”
“No,” he says slowly. “I’m going to take you to get a morning-after pill. And then we’re going to get you an appointment to get on birth control.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask, pulling back and narrowing my eyes. If he’s going to hand me a pill, it’s probably cyanide.
“Because Harper,” he says, still speaking to me as if I might not understand the most basic explanation. “I may be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”
“Just so I know, for future reference, out of the million ways to be an asshole, which one isn’t covered?”