She had wanted him to pick her up at the wine store after her shift, hadn’t wanted her father to see her getting into a car with a man. Now she sat, quiet and wan in the passenger seat of his BMW as it idled outside the precious little shoppe.
“Listen, everything will be allright,” he soothed. “What’s the address?”
She gave him a funny look as he reached to the GPS.
“I guess I don’t really know.” She said haltingly.
“Ok, what’s the name of the place?” He was using his sweetest voice, gentle and kind.
She didn’t say anything and he looked at her. Her eyebrows were raised.
“Is this a joke?”
He blinked a few times and shook his head. “No—“ what the fuck was her problem? “I mean, there are a few different ones, aren’t there?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No, Grey, there’s only one City Hall.”
He stared at her. He quite literally couldn’t make sense of what she’d just said.
“What?”
She looked furious and hurt and scared all at once. “What were you talking about?”
His mouth was suddenly dry. “What are you talking about?” he answered her with a question of his own. A feeling of dread was creeping into his stomach.
“City Hall?” She said, as if he should have understood. “What other place is there?”
He tried to swallow. Holy fuck.
“Oh, no, no, no, no.” He said, sitting back in his seat, dropping his hand from the ready GPS.
“You said you’d take care of everything--“ she began, her pitch climbing, close to shrieking.
“Oh, no.” Was all he managed.
“What did you think I meant?”
“I’m bringing you to a clinic.” He said with finality.
“Absolutely not.” She leveled.
They stared at each other for a long time.
“I’m not going to marry you.” He said at last.
She sucked in her cheeks and nodded her head. She was livid.
“Yes you are.” She gave each syllable equal weight.
Who the fuck did she think she was? “Listen, I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding—“ he began, but she wasn’t listening, just shaking her head. “I’m sorry if we were talking about two different things, but I’m not willing to marry you.”
She was breathing hard. “Grey Delaney, if you don’t take me to city hall and make me your wife I will tell the police that you raped me.”
He jaw fell slack.
“What the fuck?”
“I will go to campus police and then I’ll go to the town police and tell them you raped me.” She held her chin high.
“Lying little cunt, they won’t believe you!” He spat the words at her and was glad she flinched.
“I think they will.” She said quietly. “And I know about a half-dozen other girls who will swear you did the same to them.” She looked out the windshield, followed a few passersby with her eyes and swallowed.
He was stunned. He felt like his head might explode and he needed to piss. What the fuck?
“I have never-“ he said in a low growl, “never raped anyone.”
She lifted her shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. He wanted to throttle her. “Who’s to say?”
He ran a hand through his hair and felt like punching the windshield.
It was her word against his. If she wasn’t bluffing it might be the word of a half-dozen girls against his. He’d been a real asshole to a fair few young women—it was distinctly possible that they could be convinced to accuse him of this crime out of hurt pride and spite. He didn’t really know if he stood a chance in hell.
“Get out.” He growled, gripping the steering wheel.
“If I get out I am walking straight to campus security to report date rape- is that what you want? I’ll insist on a paternity test.”
He huffed. He had the strongest urge to slap her across the face. He kept his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.
“How much do you want?” He asked sharply.
“How much what?”
What a stupid fucking cunt. “How much money do you want?”
She had the grace to look insulted and he hated her all the more for it.
“It isn’t about the money you bastard.” She breathed, blinking back tears.
He pressed his lips into a firm line. “Get the abortion, take the money and move the fuck on with your life.” He said coldly. “No one would ever know.” She looked stricken.
“I’d know.”
He pressed on, “You’re father won’t know and you’ll have enough money to live off for years.”
She grimaced. “I’m not a whore.” She whispered.
“Well, you spread your legs like one sweetheart.” It had hardly left his mouth when her slap cracked across his jaw.
“You son-of-a-bitch.” She was crying now, but she looked more angry than anything else.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and put her hand on the door, then paused. Swallowing hard and taking a breath she said: “You have three days to decide.” She looked him square in the face “And then I go to the police.” She opened the car door and was gone.
His ear was ringing and his face stung.
Motherfucker.
No comments:
Post a Comment