“Fuck. You’re taking me so well.”
“You’re such a perfect slut.”
“Your slutty pussy is so wet for my cock.”
“I knew you’d fucking love this.”
I grab the edge of the sink and slowly pull myself up. Staring at myreflection, my hair is a tangled mess of knots. My eye makeup streaked down my cheeks.He knew I was crying, but he didn’t stop.
Finally, my bright red lipstick is smudged all over my mouth, chin and cheeks. That’s the first place I scrub clean.
I fucking hate red lipstick.
25
JON
Anger isnotan emotion I experience regularly. In fact, I’ve surpassed anger. I wish I were only feeling angry right now. I’m one more sentence away from exploding with white hot rage.
“I found my phone, and it had enough battery left for me to call a ride share back to the dorms,” Margeaux says. She’s telling me everything like she’s reading a fucking recipe. She’s barely showing emotion. “I showered for a long time. Threw out my clothes from that night. I cancelled brunch with Jacky. Told him I was sick. I spent the next week in my dorm, skipped classes. Becca wasn’t returning my calls.”
Every instinct in my body is telling me to reach out and hold this woman who has been so strong for longer than she should have been. I keep my hands at my sides. I won’t touch her again until she tells me to.
“I survived finals. Went home for Winter break. My parents and Jacky kept asking why I was acting off and being so quiet.”
“What’d you tell them?” I ask. I’ve been silent since she started telling me this story.
She shrugs, flopping onto her back on the bed. “That I was just burnt out from playing volleyball and being in school full time. That Ijust needed some time to rest. It was a total lie,obviously,” she says looking up at me.
Her dark hair is in a messy bun; loose pieces are falling around her face and the small piercing above her upper lip is reflecting the low lamp light in the room.
“I went back to campus in January. The first thing I did was schedule a meeting with my volleyball coach. I quit the team. There was no way I could keep playing. I couldn’t look my teammates in the eye after what happened. And Becca was ignoring me like I had the plague. I got sick just walking through the courts to speak with my coach.”
“Margeaux…” She holds her hand up, not letting me finish my sentence.
“I went into town to find someone to talk to. I found the name of a support group for women who were assaulted. As I was walking around trying to find the address, I stumbled across a gym where men and women were slamming into each other, flying over the ring, and just owning life. I signed up for a membership the next day. Wrestling’s been my life ever since.” Her smile is so bright and genuine. She’s not pretending to be happy. Sheishappy.
I nod, taking in everything she said. “So, you never told anyone about what happened?” I ask, needing to confirm this.
“Nah. I tried telling Becca a few times, but she ghosted me. And after I quit the team, none of the other girls bothered to check in with me. So, I saw their true colors. If they were really concerned about me they would have asked me what was wrong, not make me feel worse about quitting a sport I used to live and breathe.”
She’s got a point there. It’s tough being in your early twenties and navigating social circles. That doesn’t excuse how her teammates dismissed her and left her in the hands of a psychopath. Speaking of…
“What happened to that asshole?” I feel my jaw bones ready to crack from how hard I’m clenching my teeth. I can’t even bring myself to say his name.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. That chapter of my life is over. I have no interest in revisiting it,” she says as she rolls onto her side to face mefor the first time since she started talking about this awful part of her past.
I relax a little knowing she doesn’t have contact with that guy anymore. Some serious feral, protective emotions are building up inside me; I’m getting overheated just picturing a younger Margeaux, feeling helpless, and out of control. I understand why wrestling is so important to her. She reclaimed control of her life through the sport. She was an amazing athlete when she played volleyball, and now, she’s even more impressive. She’s strong, and inspiring. She’s a role model for young girls.
“You’re truly amazing,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says playfully.
“What else do you know?” I ask, feeling a little playful myself.
She presses up to her knees; the small sleep shorts she’s wearing show off her leg tattoo beautifully. The bright colors and shapes on her arms draw me in more. It’s like watching a fire, fighting the urge to wave my hand over it, knowing it will burn, and I’m too curious to find out how hot it is.Margeaux is the hottest of fires.
“I know you’re not going to be here for very long. When do you have to fly back to Paramount?”
