“Oh,” I said, sitting up abruptly. “Uh . . . where’s Bethie? How long have we been up here?” It felt like hours, time oozing like warm caramel.
“She’s fine,” Chase said. “Come on. Lay back down.”
“Um . . . I don’t want to have sex,” I said, and my mind was a little surprised that my words were so clear. It was definitely true. I did not want to have sex, not like this, when I was stoned and at a party and . . . Well, shit. I was just too young. I’d just had my first kiss this night. I didn’t want every first to happen in an hour. “Yeah. Sorry, Chase. I don’t want to do anything else.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “You were making all sorts of noises a minute ago.”
“Was that me?” I asked. Get up, idiot, the remote sober part of my brain instructed. Get up right now and leave. “I’m gonna go now. Thank you for this party. You have a lovely home.” I laughed again, but it didn’t feel as good as earlier.
“Don’t leave,” Chase said. His voice was gentle and low, coaxing, but his eyes . . . yeah, those weren’t nice eyes.
“No, I need to go. Sorry.”
If only I hadn’t been stoned for the first time in my life. If only I hadn’t had two beers on an empty stomach. I wouldn’t have let this happen sober. I started to stand. Chase shoved me back down.
“Don’t be a tease,” he said, lying on top of me. “You know you like me. I can make you feel really good.”
“Not tonight,” I said. “Sorry.” I was sobering up fast, but the room was still spinny. “Chase, please get off.”
He didn’t move. Kissed me again, shoving his tongue in my mouth.
“Please stop,” I said, hearing the fear in my voice. He didn’t. He ground his groin against me, groaning, and I was helpless and terrified and crying now. I was about to be raped, and it was my own stupid fault.
At least, that’s what my teenage brain told me.
Chase pinned me down, holding my wrists above my head with one hand. He had big hands, I thought distantly. This was easy for him. This was . . . practiced. And, shit, he was strong. His other hand slipped to my bra and smoothly unfastened the front clasp. “Oh, yeah,” he groaned, fondling my breast. “You’re beautiful, Lillie.”
“Chase, please, get off me,” I begged. “I don’t want this.”
He squeezed my breast and kissed me again, licking my lips in a most disgusting way. I turned my head and pressed my lips together, stifling a sob.
He smiled. “Come on, baby. I’ll be gentle if it’s your first time. You want this. You’re built for sex. And you can always tell people your cherry was popped by a Harvard man.”
Those words turned my fear to fury. I wrenched my hand from Chase’s grip and swung my fist, catching him hard in the face. Then I jerked my knee up as hard as I could and connected with his soft parts. He gave a high-pitched yell and rolled off, clutching his balls. In a distant part of my brain, I could hear my mother’s voice. If you’re going to make stupid decisions, at least know where to kick.
Chase wasn’t done. He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him, and I spit in his face and punched him again with my free hand, but it wasn’t hard enough, so I grabbed his ear and twisted it ruthlessly. He swore and let go of my wrist, and I kicked him again, as hard as I could, in the shin. Grabbed a trophy from his nightstand and raised it over my head.
Stop, said my mother’s voice. Do not murder him. Chase’s eyes were wide with fear, and his hands were up in defense.
“How dare you, Chase Freeman!” I hissed. “I said stop, you piece of shit. I’m calling the cops!”
His expression changed from fear to something mean and hard. “Like they’ll believe that a drunk, stoned girl was raped when seventy-five people saw her dance like a whore and willingly come upstairs to my room.”
I held the trophy up a second longer, then threw it on the floor. It broke.
“Get out of my house, Lillie. I’m the one who’s been assaulted here. Maybe I’ll call the cops on you.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
“No, you fuck me,” he said, and his voice was sharp and cruel. He reached up and tried to grab me again, and the terror roared back. Get out, get out, get out, a voice was saying, and I was so certain he would win this time, and this time he wouldn’t coax, he’d just rape me, and it would be brutal, and he’d stick a sock in my mouth and tie me up, and . . .