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“NO, CLAUDE, YOU CAN’T drive Elijah’s bike,” I tried to protest. I was having trouble standing up straight. I had only had a glass of wine that Claude brought me, and I’d been careful to avoid anything else. The “party” turned out to be at Claude’s uncle’s house, not as big as Arnolt mansion, but still impressive. His Uncle, Pierre, was a lawyer for famous people, and my mother was one of his clients. I had known Claude for years, since we started ballet in primary school. There were much older people there, including Claude’s uncle and his third wife, and their clients.
While the party carried on downstairs, Claude and I had our own party upstairs, limply pulled me to the top of the stairs. What was wrong with me? I was still mad at him for dropping me, for costing me everything. But his voice washed over me, so smooth and delicate, and having had been cooped up for nearly a month, I gave in.
But the party around us, of our ballet friends and his uncle’s clients, gave us no privacy. We snuck into the small bathroom and an empty bedroom, only to be interrupted each time.
Eventually, time slipped away. It was past midnight now, but I didn’t care. My mother just left me alone in my room every day, no caring whether I lived or died, just like usual. But as the night word on, and I downed another drink, I started to worry. I could just see my mother’s broad frame, stamping her foot in our open doorway, and Elijah glaring at me from behind her.
That is, if I could see straight by then. What was wrong with me? My head was so clouded that I didn’t protest much when Claude suggested we go back to my mansion instead of his.
“My step-father...” I mumbled weakly, trailing off as I lost my focus.
“Cherie, you know the ricaine won’t mind,” Claude purred. “Plus, my princess has had too much wine, and her head is swimming, no?”
“No, I mean, yes,” I tried to say. My head was pounding. What was in that wine?
“They will be sleeping at this hour,” Claude protested once more. “I haven’t had any wine, and it’s safer this way.”
“Alright,” I conceded, finally. “But we should hurry. I don’t feel so good...”
Claude hopped on my step-father’s motorcycle and patted the seat behind him. “Come, princess.”
How I disliked when he called me that, but I was in no mood to protest. I shoved my good leg over the seat and sat behind him, struggling to get my walking cast up on the bars behind him. We didn’t have far to go, thankfully. I hugged him tight as we roared out of the driveway and down the street.
Immediately exhausted, I barely remembered the ride home. I had enough sense about me to tell him to park around back, so we could sneak through the kitchen, just as I had six hours ago. It was nearly two in the morning, and the house was as dark as could be. I wanted to protest when Claude propped the bike up on its kickstand and ushered me in the house, but my words came out slurred, and I could barely stand.
“Shh!” I turned my key in the grand lock, and tried three times to get the code right on the keypad next to the door. It finally beamed green and let us in.
“Are you alright, my princess?” Claude whispered.
“In here,” I motioned, afraid he couldn’t understand me. We slipped into the office, where my bed and dresser were pushed against the wall. My walking cast hit the corner of the bed and I fell, reaching out for Claude. He tried to pull me upright, but we landed on the bed, and I heard his soft ‘oomph’ as he fell on top of me.
His hand roamed the edge of my skirt—jeans were impossible with this cast—and spread my legs.
I moaned, trying to utter no, but it didn’t come out right. I was too out of it to enjoy this, and I didn’t want it to be this way. Not in my parent’s house. Not like this. What if my mother heard us? Even worse, what if Elijah walked in? I was sure he would yell at me again, as he always did when I irritated him.
Moaning again, I feebly tried to push Claude off, but his hand wrapped around my neck. Gently cutting off my air supply, then releasing and squeezing again, the euphoria flooded my brain, and I gave in. It had been too long since I’d had his rough touches, and he knew just how I wanted it.
“Yes, please,” I begged, pulling my skirt up around my waist and spreading my knees wide.
He slapped my face, hard. “You like?” he whispered.
“Yes!” I screamed, a little louder this time. His face was a blurry mess above me, but there was no mistaking the warm crawl across my belly. “Again!” I cried. Another resounding slap across my other cheek. It was so passionate, and I was quickly losing control.
He moved down the bed, squeezing my thighs hard as he pulled my hips towards him, cast on my leg and all, and began to bite and suckle at the inside of my leg. I ran my hand through his hair, feeling that painful pull of his teeth in such a sensitive zone.
Much to my dismay, he stopped. I begged him to continue. I could barely make out his shaking head, and mumbling about our limited time.
Despite the rough foreplay, I wasn’t ready for him. Pain shot through me when he roughly entered my waiting sex. At first, I panicked. I always, always insisted on protection. In fact, I kept a pile in a locked drawer in my dressing room at the academy, and even more in my dorm room, including our other tools of the trade, like the whips, floggers, and riding crops.
In the end, I found forgetting protection was necessary and giving in to him.
He slapped me once, twice, the stinging sending a fire through my stomach and below my waist. His thrusts were so hard and rough that the bed hit the dresser with an awful crack.
In the back of my mind I knew someone was going to find us.
But as his fist closed around my neck once more, I fought to stay conscious as waves of pleasure rushed over me.
“I knew it would calm you down,” he whispered, both hands around my neck now. “You like what I give you, Princess? You can’t fight me away this time.”
Too hard, he was squeezing too hard this time. I couldn’t even focus on the fact he’d drugged me, somehow. I scratched feebly at his hands, trying to pry him off, but I was too weak. I felt myself going, slipping slowly away.
He was going to kill me and there was nothing I could do.
I didn’t know how long I was out, but the next thing I knew, someone was shouting and pulling Claude off me by the back of his shirt.
“What are you doing?” The familiar voice was screaming. “Get off her!”
I came to, coughing and struggling to sit up as I pulled my skirt down. My cast hit the side of the bed, sending shooting pains up my leg, making me immediately alert.
“I’ll teach you to take advantage of innocent young girls, you ballet motherfucker piece of shit!”
Who was yelling? I blinked, and the scene at the end of the bed came into focus.
Elijah, wearing only a pair of his favorite basketball shorts, was standing at the end of my bed over a prostrate Claude. He cocked his arm back and punched Claude in the face. I watched in horror as Claude threw his arms up to protect himself, but with blinding speed Elijah kicked them out of the way, grabbed the front of his shirt, and socked him square in the jaw once more.
Jesus, my step-father was some kind of Van Damme bad ass. If I hadn’t had been so foggy, I would have half expected a head butt follow up.
Claude, although muscular and built for the art of dance, was no match for my six-foot-five step-father who worked out daily. Elijah dropped him and continued a flurry of punches until blood flew from Claude’s nose and mouth, and trickled from a cut by his eye.
“Elijah! No!” My mother rushed into the room and wrapped her arms around his wide torso, pulling him back. His face was red with rage, and his chest heaved.
“Let me go!” he yelled at my mother, pushing her back so hard she stumbled and caught herself on the door frame.
Claude was on his knees now, covering his face. I shrieked to see there was blood everywhere – on my step-father’s chest and hands, the floor, and the front of Claude’s formerly white shirt.
My mother was still struggling to grab Elijah and screaming for our security detail and our driver, who both lived above the garage. “Sean! Jacques!”
Not a minute passed before Sean arrived with the slender, older Jacques in tow. Elijah was no match for Sean, who had spent twenty years as our head of security. He wrestled Elijah to the ground, but by then my step father had calmed down, as Sean talked him out of his rage. My mother fell to her knees next to her husband.
“Elijah, it’s okay, she’s not hurt,” my mother was saying.
“Sir, what is going on here?” Sean’s stern voice boomed across the room.
While Elijah talked to them, his voice’s rumbling was now a mostly quiet, but still slightly angry growl. I jumped out of bed and hobbled to Claude, trying to help him up. My step-father had beat him bad. Claude pushed me away, holding a hand to catch the blood running from his face in every direction.
I wanted to yell at Elijah, but I was still dizzy as hell, and my limbs felt week. I scooted on my ass to the foot of my rumbled bed. Blinking, thoughts tumbled through my brain like a tumbler for a martini. Elijah had just saved my life. I was scared and shocked at the same time. Who knew my quiet, shy step-father had this in him?
“Get him out of here,” my mother barked at Sean, pointing to Claude.
Sean tore Claude up from the floor and hauled him out of the office. Claude was sobbing now, protesting, as I heard the oak door open and Sean shove him out.
“If you come here again, I’ll have you arrested!” Sean shouted at him, and I heard the huge doors shut with a bang.
I struggled to stand, but fell back to sit on the edge of my bed, trying to assess what had just fucking happened. Pain washed over me, as I realized my ankle’s throbbing, that had disappeared during Claude’s assault, returned.
“Jaqui,” Elijah said in an even voice. He was sitting with his back against the door frame, where Sean had finally calmed him down. He was still breathing heavy, with his arms dangling over his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. “How bad did he hurt you?” he pointed to my face.
I touched my cheek gingerly, which still stung from where Claude had slapped me. “He didn’t, he was ...” I tried to get the words out. The room tilted, and I gave up, flinging myself backwards on the bed. “He was only doing what I asked him to.”
“You ...” Elijah blinked at me, then looked up at my mother, who was calmly watching us from just outside the door. “What exactly was going on here?”
“What did it look like?” I was mad at him, thought I wasn’t sure why anymore.
“Well, it looked like a man was straddling my daughter and my daughter appeared unconscious. What was I supposed to think?”
“We were having sex.”
I expected my mother to gasp, but instead she just shook her head. “Jaqui, how could you? In our house? He could have hurt you ...” My mother’s questions all tumbled out at once as she frowned at me.
Nothing hurt worse than the sadness and disappointment in her voice.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” was all I could say, sitting up, but refusing to look at them. There would be hell to pay, I knew it. They hadn’t even found out about the bike yet. But before I could stop my brain, the rest of it all fell out. “We were at a party, and Claude put something in my drink...”
“Wait, he what?” Elijah exploded, pushing himself to his feet. He rolled the plaid sleeves of his button-up pajama shirt up his arms. “I’ll kill that son of a—”
My mother touched his arm. She shook her head, and a silent moment passed between them. He reached up and touched her face. “I’m sorry, Rochelle, my love. It was Christmas all over again, our first year in college, and I was too late to stop Gerry. I don’t know what came over me.”
My mother’s face twisted and a shadow passed over her eyes — an ancient memory. What were they talking about? College was before I was born — over twenty years ago. What history did they have that I didn’t know about? I suddenly saw my mother in a different light. Maybe she was just as damaged as I was, once upon a time.
Seeing their tender moment, and the way she calmed him down so quickly, with just her touch, after he was ready to almost kill Claude, I realized their relationship was a lot deeper than I had originally thought.
Instead, my mother said softly, “let’s hope the boy won’t press charges. I will call Pierre tomorrow and explain what happened here.”
“Mother, don’t,” I said. I felt the tears seep out of my eyes. “No one knows about us. Please. You can’t tell his uncle.” I put my head in my hands and sobbed.
My mother looked at Elijah. He sighed and spoke for her. “Needless to say, I believe your business with Pierre is done.”
“Agreed,” Mother nodded. She stood and offered Elijah her hand. “I’m sure the children heard it. We should go talk to them.”
“It’s a wonder they didn’t come down stairs,” Elijah said with a sigh. “But I should go, uh,” he trailed off, motioning to the blood all over him. He looked at me. “Jaqui.”
I was too ashamed to look at him. “Yes?”
“We will talk about this tomorrow, after the others go to school.”
I could only nod.
“I’ll send in Jean to clean this up,” my mother said.
“Father,” I called after them as they left the room.
He turned, shock plastered on his face. “Yes, daughter?”
“He was going to kill me. I know it. You saved me. Merci beaucoup.”
He beamed at me, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, producing a blood-colored smear near his hairline. “I would do it again, Jaqui, in a heartbeat. No one hurts my family.”
I smiled, but more tears started pouring out of my eyes. This time, for a completely different reason. For four years I’d hated him, thought he didn’t care about me the way he did Elise and Renee. But I’d been wrong. So wrong. I’d misjudged him completely.
“Come here,” he held out his arms.
I stood and hobbled into them and cried against his shoulder. My mother’s hand landed heavy around me as she pulled us toward her. After a minute or two, they released me, and my mother bid me good night and shut the door.
On the other side, I heard Elijah remark to my mother, “That’s the first time she’s called me that.”
“What, my love?”
“Father.”
“I’m sorry it had to be after ... all that,” my mother said, their voices growing fainter as I knew they were headed up stairs.
Elijah didn’t respond.
I had surprised myself, too.