When I’m done, he sits back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Am I allowed to move now, Your Majesty?” I ask. “Or are you going to fuck me more?”
“I’m done,” he says, standing and holding out a hand.
I slap it away and stand up, wincing at the pain. My hands shake as I pull up my underwear and fix my skirt, then stomp back across the bridge. The echo of my footfalls on the wooden planks blocks out his in a most satisfying way, so I focus on that instead of the pain lancing through me at each step. When I reach the Range Rover, I turn to find Royal behind me, his face cool and calm, obviously unaffected by my anger.
“I should make you walk home right now,” he says.
Just the thought makes my heart race. Every step is torture. I’d rather crawl under the bridge and sleep in the cold than walk home.
“I hate you,” I say quietly.
“Smart girl,” he says with a smirk, brushing my hair back and planting a quick kiss on my forehead before opening his door and climbing in. He starts the engine, and I’m too scared at the idea of walking home to hold onto my pride. I hurry around and jump up into the passenger seat before he can take off. I’m not sure which is worse—walking or sitting.
Royal doesn’t say anything all the way home. I’m not sure what changed, but I know that whatever little honeymoon phase we were in, it’s over. It’s one thing to fuck a guy who tried to kill me when he’s taking me to get birth control, talking to me while night falls and we lie tangled on his back seat, when he’s giving good head and good dick. It’s another when he’s treating me like shit.
When he pulls up in front of my house, I pull off his jacket and hand it back. “See you, Royal.”
He stares at his jacket before reluctantly taking it. “You’re giving my jacket back?” he asks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he sounds offended. “Because I fucked you in the ass?”
“Because I can’t deal with this Jekyll and Hyde shit anymore,” I say. “One day, you’re fun and sexy, and the next, you’re a fucking monster.”
“I’m always a monster,” he says. “I told you that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired of pretending this is leading somewhere it obviously isn’t. I may not be girlfriend material, but you’re not boyfriend material, either. And wearing your jacket feels too much like we’re dating. I think it’s better if we both remember this can never happen, that we’re enemies and always will be.”
“We always have been,” he says after a moment. “We were losing sight of that. I thought tonight might work to remind you where we both stand, and it looks like it did the job.”
“Well, congratulations,” I say, opening the door. “Message received.”
“You’re still a Dolce girl,” he says. “You’ll come when we call.”
“We?” I ask, my pulse thudding in my ears.
“When I call,” he says. “You’re mine, Harper. Don’t think that’s changed. If anything, you should know better than ever exactly what that means.”
“Got it,” I say, slamming the door and walking up the cracked walkway to the house. I don’t know when I became his property or how to get out of it. Enduring it until he’s done with me seems too cruel.
Inside, I stand under the hot shower until the water runs cold. Then I climb into bed without putting on clothes and lie there staring at the ceiling. It’s only an hour past dark, but I can’t summon the motivation to get up. I’m not about to tell Mr. D about this encounter, and he’s the only friend I tell these things to, as sad as that is. Other people probably assume Royal’s fucking me, but it’s not something I go around advertising. If anything, he’s made it very public, while I haven’t done anything except the posters at the game last month.
But I need someone. I need a friend, and not the fake-ass Dolce girls who accept me because Royal told them to. I’ve spent years cultivating an air of not needing anyone, and it worked too fucking well. Now, when I need a friend, I have no one. After a while, I pick up my phone and open the OnlyWords app. I stare at it a long time, debating what to say. Finally, I send the text.
BadApple: how can u love Royal after he’s done w u?
ThatsLo: oh bless
ThatsLo: He said that?
BadApple: Not yet
ThatsLo: Hang in there. It gets better.
BadApple: Does it tho?
ThatsLo: yes def
BadApple: k