Charles didn’t want to go to an Ivy League school. He wanted to stay in LA, and because of that, he picked some small, but still upper-class college. Most of our friends followed suit too. They wouldn’t risk going to another school and losing their connection to the Davenports. The Davenports are the kind of family you want to stay close to. Old money holds more weight than gold these days.
Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised when all our friends took Charles’ side. They were so quick to turn on me. Not that I was really close with any of them, but they treated me well enough since I was dating Charles.
I missed almost two weeks of classes after what happened. Partly because I was in a lot of pain, but mostly because I looked awful. Even my parents were shocked by the state of my face.
When I finally went back to school, no one talked to me. Even with the stitches still in place and the swelling noticeable, no one said a word. They all just pretended I didn’t exist. Or worse, whispered behind my back.
Charles told everyone that I made up the attack. He claimed I was so upset about his cheating, that I wanted to make his life a living hell. Said I lied about him laying a hand on me.
Even with the evidence of what he did on my body, people bought his story. He spun a story that I did it to myself and people just went along with it.
They know he is lying, but no one wants to call him out. No one cares enough about me to address it. They just go along with whatever he says, because of how powerful his family is.
Which is exactly why I didn’t press charges. That, and my parents told me not to.
I’m pathetic. So desperate not to rock the boat that I don’t even get justice for what he did to me. Not that my parents would’ve let me anyways. They were happy to just cover it all up. It is better that we don’t acknowledge what happened.
I’m not surprised that was their take on it, but it still hurts. They didn’t want to ruin their friendship with his family, even if it meant covering up his abuse of their own daughter.
The sad part is I would’ve stayed with him. He cheated on me and I would’ve stayed. I just wanted him to grovel a little. Beg for forgiveness. At least pretend to feel bad about it.
Instead, he hurt me. I can’t go back to that. I won’t.
When I step into The Mug Life, I groan at the sight of only one person behind the counter and four people waiting in line.
I should just turn around and leave. I risk being late to class if I stay, but if I don’t get some caffeine in my system, I may go insane.
I barely even got buzzed last night, but the vodka messed with my head a little. Mix in the whole conversation with Ben, and I ended up barely getting any sleep.
When the line moves, I take a step forward. Class can wait. I have a full day of them and being five minutes late is better than falling asleep in my seat.
“Prue.” A voice takes me out of my head. “Hello.”
The voice is easy to place. My body is trained to place it. Before, I’d plaster a smile on my face at the sound of it. Now I try not to scream as my heart begins to pound in my chest. My whole body tenses, and my mouth goes dry. I don’t turn to look at him. I don’t plan on acknowledging him at all.
I stand there, feeling every second passing by. My mind knows the person at the counter is talking to the next customer. I can faintly hear the voices that fill the coffee shop, but it’s all background noise.
Somewhere in my mind I hear myself crying as I’m thrown around. The sound of glass crashing and the thud I made when I hit the ground makes tears fill my eyes. I taste bile as I remember the searing pain of him removing my jeans.
“Not going to say hi back? That’s a little rude, isn’t it?” The hint of amusement in his voice makes my blood boil. Charles always did like to rub salt in the wound, I just never expected to be on the receiving end of it.
“Rude?” I snap. “I think rude would be letting you come face to face with the damage you inflicted.” The words spill from my lips in a harsh whisper. My eyes are pinned on the back of the head of the person in front of me.
Causing a scene is not the smartest thing for me to do. If I want to be someone different though, someone new, I can’t just let him get away with talking to me like he didn’t do a thing.
Greasy black hair is all my vision lets me see. It’s what is keeping me from turning around and ripping out Charles’ throat. The nameless head in front of me is enduring my glare as I wait and hope Charles walks away.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Charles’ laugh makes the hair on my neck stand up.
Memories of him laughing as I sobbed underneath him make my knees weak, but I stand firm. I will not let him get to me. Never again will he cause me pain.
My parents are pushing hard for me to take him back. Get the plan back on track. Both our parents have practically been planning the wedding since we turned eighteen. They all think we can just move past this, as does Charles.
I think the fact I have stayed away for almost two months is a surprise to all of them. I highly doubt Charles even considered the possibility I wouldn’t go straight back to him after leaving the hospital. The day I gathered my things from his place, he was stunned. Even so, I saw it on his face.
He believed I’d be back. Everyone believes I will go back.
But I am not going back. I won’t marry Charles. I repeat the line that has been my mantra since the day he assaulted me.
