Dating Richie wasn’t everything I had
imagined it might be. It fell short of filling the hole left by my mysterious
visitor, but it did occupy my time; it was also nice to feel wanted, though I
was realizing that didn’t matter if the feeling wasn’t sincerely mutual. However,
I didn’t want to end it and be accused of not trying hard enough to make it
work.
He often showered me with gifts of
candy and flowers, which my mother cooed over when she was home. Only one of
our dates was ever just to relax at his house. It was very awkward, considering
he had no shame admitting he was expecting entertainment from me. I provided no
such entertainment; I wasn’t sure what kind of girl he assumed me to be, but I
definitely wasn’t of that variety.
The next couple of months resembled
the rest of my life, except my friends saw me as a traitor—meaning I spent
considerably less time shopping and more time reading, which was fine by me. Mostly,
they were jealous because he wasn’t cheating on me. How did I know? There were
no mysterious calls and he insisted we do something together practically every
night, unless one of us had a club function to attend. I was beginning to think
he suspected I would cheat on him—which again made me question what kind of
girl he thought I was.
As Valentine’s Day drew closer, the
atmosphere at school grew chaotic as girls rushed to entice the cutest guys to
take them to the Winter Love Dance. My only escape was my bedroom, though even
that haven was breached when Mother brought designers in to showcase possible
dresses. To please her, I chose a strawberry-pink Cinderella dress with a bead
embroidered bodice. She loved the fact it was strapless and insisted Richie
wouldn’t be able to leave me cold any longer—as if I wanted him to make me
warm. Part of me wondered if he even knew my birthday was that same day.
The dance was unspectacular, though
my friends deemed me worthy of their presence based solely on my gorgeous
apparel—their words, albeit paraphrased. Richie never let me out of his sight
and pampered me the entire night as if we were already engaged and at some
political event. I knew dating someone from the Politician and Lawyer
neighborhood would come back to bite me. It was horrible having him so clingy.
I lived in the unofficial Doctor and
Entrepreneur (DE) community—deemed such as those tended to be the dominant
careers in the area. There was no segregation between the professions; it was
just like attracting like, I suppose. Because the DE community was closest to
the school, we hosted most of the parties, including post-dance parites. Richie
and I made our appearance and danced a little before leaving to drive across
town to his house.
Richie ensured I was comfortable in
his mansion-sized suite before leaving to retrieve champagne for us to
celebrate. What exactly we were celebrating, I was unsure of, and it made me a
little uncomfortable.
Slipping out of my pink heels, I
paced in the sunken sitting area, gazing past the plasma television, numerous
game systems, classy white and beige furniture and trophy cases to the rest of
the room. The double doors stared menacingly at me as I took in the huge
special-ordered bed (the kind you might see in movie scenes) armoires—designated
by engravings—for various sports equipment and attire, a maze of bookshelves,
and the walk-in closet. His room was much larger than mine, but that didn’t
bother me; honestly, it felt too large. However, something else did, though—probably
whatever surprise he had up his sleeve. My stomach felt as though it was
dropping through a hole in the floor, anticipating some disaster. It didn’t
improve as I walked unseeingly along the trophy cases.
“That one is my newest treasure,”
Richie said from behind me, as I forced myself not to jump in surprise. I
hadn’t heard him return.
My eyes focused on the trophy they
hadn’t actually seen. Junior Golf Tournament: 2nd Place. “Congratulations,”
I said, turning to face him, knowing my father would be impressed, having
placed in some when he was younger.
Richie stood a step behind me,
holding a chilled champagne bottle in one hand and two flutes in the other. A
curl of orange hair fell into his secretive, once again dangerous, green eyes. He
smiled warmly towards me, but his smile hinted to something sinister beneath
the warmth. His bowtie and jacket had already been removed and the first few
buttons of his shirt were undone.
“Let’s sit down,” he offered,
motioning toward the couches.
We sat next to each other on a love
seat; I watched as he opened the champagne, not wanting any but knowing he’d
pour me some even if I objected. He handed me a flute and toasted, “To us. May
we be together for a long time.”
I smiled weakly—I wasn’t sure if I could
handle being with him for a long time if this was what he was like after only a
few months—accepting the toast. My muscles tensed as I pretended to take a sip
and I knew instinctively something was going to happen; something I wouldn’t
like.
Our lips engaged in a kiss, his loose
and wanting, mine more resistant. When he pulled away, he attempted small talk
as he rubbed my lower back, easing tension from me. He asked how my day was,
and if I enjoyed the dance. My answers were generic, revealing little about
either one as my opinions on both weren’t necessarily polite or what he wanted
to hear.
At some point I found myself saying,
“Today is my birthday.” Then realizing it was past midnight, I corrected
myself, “Was my birthday.”
“Really?” he questioned as he
motioned for me to sit with more of my back to him. “Seventeenth?”
I nodded, starting to relax as he massaged
my shoulders. Was all of this tension from apprehension? If so, I wasn’t sure
if I should stop him or if I should stop worrying and relax already.
“Happy Birthday,” he whispered into
my ear and I felt the hair on my neck rise. “I have the best birthday present
for you.”
“What’s that?” I asked
half-heartedly, turning to face him. Had he known? I was reluctant to let my
hopes out of my control.
“I’m going to make you mine;” he
smirked, his stunning green eyes glinting sinisterly. “You lucky girl.”
My eyes widened and I tensed again as
he nibbled at my neck and bare shoulders. Some gift. I stood up, slipping back
into my shoes and heading toward the door. Richie grabbed my arm and pulled me
back into him.
“No one leaves me without giving me
what I want,” he growled, starting to unzip my dress and kissing me forcefully.
His other arm pinned my body against his.
“No,” I managed despite his
insistence on keeping my lips otherwise occupied, feeling helpless as he picked
me up.
My fists pounded against him, but it
made no difference. He carried me to the bed, keeping a fast grip around my
writhing body. Feeling my weight hit the bed, I screamed no at him, trying to scramble
off the other side. He grabbed my ankle this time and slid me across the silk
bedspread toward him.
“No!” I yelled as vehemently as I
could when he lifted me to face him. Richie flew across the room and crumpled
into a small heap at the base of a wall as though propelled by a
superhero-strength punch. The force with which he hit the wall sent a crack
echoing through the room.
I sat crouched on the bed, numb and
horrified, unable to comprehend what had happened. When he moaned from his
heap, I jumped off the bed and ran out of his house, snatching my jacket out of
the foyer closet before leaving.
Nothing penetrated my adrenaline
driven thoughts. Not even the fact my birthday had gone from boring to nightmarish.
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