Pretty Baby Ch. 05

I guess my thoughts must have been visible on my face. Gary's eyes flickered down, and he gritted his teeth. He was feeling regret, I figured. Or maybe jealousy, since I was so close to Arliss. With a deft step, he slipped back into the crowd.

The rest of the world rushed back into my ears once he was gone, overwhelming me for a moment.

". . . and, so, once again, thank you all for coming," the mayor was saying, finishing his speech. There was more applause, some ever-enthusiastic cheering.

"Yvette?"

I looked up at Arliss, blinking. He looked so alien, inhuman even, with the mask on. I felt light-headed.

He pulled the mask off. "You okay, baby?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

I swallowed dryly. "Um . . . I need to sit down," I said.

"Sure, sure," he said, and guided me with his hand at my back toward one of the wide round tables the sat around the edge of the main floor. He pulled out a chair for me, and I sunk down into it. Arliss took a seat beside me, leaning forward, studying my face. He was genuinely concerned as he touched my forehead.

"You getting sick, Yvette?" He asked. "You feel a little clammy."

I blinked, took a sip of champagne, looking around. I was conscious of the fact that I was looking for Gary. But all I saw was a sea of evening gowns and tuxedos.

"I-I'm fine," I said. I forced an embarrassed smile. "Just, uh . . . it's been a long week. Mid-terms, you know."

Arliss smiled, touched my chin. "I didn't know you were a student," he said. "What are you studying?"

I laughed sharply. "Um . . . I'm still undecided," I said.

His smile remained, all at once so fatherly and sexy. "You'll figure it out," he said. "You're a smart woman."

I gave him an affectionate look, touched his clean-shaven face. "Thanks, baby," I whispered.

He took my hand. "I've got an idea," he said. "Let's get out of here. I put in my appearance, snobbed with the politicos. I hate this kind of shit, to tell the truth. Why don't we go find a greasy spoon diner somewhere, have some fattening food?"

I laughed, letting out the tension. I stared into his eyes. God, what beautiful eyes! "And then . . . can we go back to the hotel and make love?" I asked, conscious of my need to overwhelm my senses through sex, to work out my emotions in the most basic way.

Arliss licked his lips. "Anything you want, baby," he said.

I sighed. Thoughts of Gary began to fade, replaced by carnal desire. "Let me just use the little girl's room," I said. "I wanna freshen up."

Arliss nodded. "I've got a few people to say goodbye to," he said. "Meet me at the doors."

"Okay," I said, then impulsively grabbed his face with both hands, pressing my lips to his, searching for his tongue. He was a little startled at first – public etiquette among high society practically forbade such sensuous kissing – but he didn't stop me.

I pulled back, my arousal spiking. "I'm gonna fuck you all night, Arliss," I whispered hotly.

Arliss shuddered, turned on by my molten sexuality. "Let's get out of here," he said, then fixed his tie. "Before we make the front page news."

I giggled, biting my lip. We stood together, and I excused myself, looking for the ladies' room. A helpful steward told me where to go, and I headed down the hallway he indicated. I passed a few elegant society wives, some of whom recognized what I was and gave me 'tsk, tsk' looks. I ignored the jealous old bats.

I found the bathroom, used one of the stalls, washed my hands and touched up my face. There were a few other women in there, and we chatted casually. For a few moments, at least, I was just another woman, and not a call girl, not a whore.

Finally, I headed out of the bathroom –

"Hi."

I gasped, almost running into him in the hallway. I'd had my head down, stepping quickly, snapping my purse closed, and hadn't been paying attention to where I was going. Gary had appeared, almost literally, out of nowhere.

"H-hi," I said back, staring into his eyes. His face seemed even stronger than before. He looked younger, more fit.

Gary fidgeted a little, shifting on his feet. His eyes darted from mine, wandering over my body, down the hall. The aroma of alcohol was strong on his breath, and his eyes were a little glassy. I wondered how much he'd had to drink. "You got a minute?"

I felt uncomfortable, remembering how upset he had become when he discovered my new profession. I really didn't want to remind him of that, but I couldn't get around it. "Um . . . I'm with someone," I said.

He snorted derisively. "Yeah, I noticed," he said, giving me a disgusted look. But it vanished instantly. "I-I'm sorry," he said. "Look, I . . . I just want a minute. That's all."

I had this feeling, a sharp stab of fear that sprouted in my chest, felt the instinct to just leave, but . . . it was Gary. I felt I owed him the chance to explain himself, and to hear my side of things, if that was what he wanted.

I nodded. "Okay," I said.

Gary grinned, like a schoolboy, and I smiled back, that momentary fear disappearing. Gently, he took my hand, lead me down the hall. We didn't say anything as we walked, and I didn't think anything of where he was taking me . . . in hindsight, I should have recognized that there was something different about him. Something . . . dangerous.

We went through a couple of doors, ended up on a large breezeway that overlooked the parking lot two stories below. The lights of the city glimmered and glowed around us, clouds obscured the moon overhead. There was a welcome, warm breeze that countered the clammy feel of the air conditioning inside.

Gary and I took out our cigarettes at the same time. We shared a smile at the serendipity of our actions. We lit up, exhaled, and stared at each other. My heart fluttered. He was still so handsome; I knew I would always have feelings for Gary.

"You know," he said. "I keep thinking about that very first night we met. You remember that?"

"Of course I do, Gary."

He smiled sheepishly, pulled on his cigarette. "Honestly, that whole night, I thought you were, like, sixteen," he said. "I mean, you were just so . . . sweet."

I blushed.

His next words were caustic: "What happened to you?"

My smile faded. I met his gaze. "You know what happened, Gary," I said. "After all, you helped make it happen."

He gritted his teeth. "Y-you . . ." he paused, controlling himself. "You told me you didn't want me to be your first. Because you didn't you want to fall in love with me."

I nodded, averting my eyes, smoking. "Yeah. I said that."

"Did you fall in love with him?"

I swallowed. "Gary—"

"I-I mean, I'm willing to bet you didn't, 'cause otherwise you wouldn't have become a whore—" he cut himself off with a rude laugh, knowing he had said too much.

My emotions flared. I was barely keeping it together. I flicked my cigarette and turned sharply to the door. "I'm leaving."

"Wait!" he shouted, and rushed up to intercept me. His hand grabbed my arm, a little too roughly. "Alyssa, I'm sorry! I've just been going crazy—"

I tore my arm away and glared at him. "You wanna know the truth, Gary?"

He blinked profusely. "Yes," he said simply.

"I was in love with you," I snapped, feeling my eyes swell. "Even before you came back, before you told me your wife had left, before I started thinking I wanted a life with you. I loved you, you asshole!"

Gary stared at me, gape-mouthed. "I-I love you too, baby. I always have."

I laughed sharply. "You don't get it," I said, stepping away, gathering my shawl about my shoulders. "I loved you. Past-tense. When you came back . . . I was taking a break from it. From this. And when we were together, I was ready to just walk away, and be with you. I wanted to."

I faced him. "But you couldn't handle it," I said directly. "And I knew, after that day you walked out, that even if you did come back again, it would never be the same. Because I wasn't your girl anymore. It was all right when I was your whore. You could handle that. But I'm not your Sunday-afternoon cocksucker anymore."

I left him stunned by my words, heading to the door, my heels click-clacking on the cement. "Good-bye, Gary."

"Fine," he said darkly. "Go back to your trick, your john. Go fuck your rich nigger."

I stopped at the door, bristling. His words, the way he spoke them, the way he degraded me down to the lowest common denominator . . . I knew I should have left, should have just thrown open the door and disappeared. But my anger, my pride, wouldn't let me. And that proved to be the costliest mistake I had ever made.

I whirled back around, marched up to Gary, and slapped him. Hard. It made him flinch, stagger on his feet. His cigarette flew from his mouth.

He slowly looked back at me, stunned, surprised . . . and angry. No, it wasn't anger. It was rage. Pure, primal, careless, reckless rage that destroys everything before it. Gary's eyes settled on mine with a dark, hollow look, and I realized then that I was in trouble. The reason for the fear I had felt before now became clear to me, and it flooded back in spades. And I realized, chillingly: this isn't Gary anymore.

"You bitch," he whispered harshly. Blood trickled from his lip.

I gasped, frightened by the look on his face, that expression of total darkness, of evil. I stumbled back, wobbling on heels that suddenly seemed too cumbersome. My hands shook as I fumbled with my purse, trying to open it. Grab your phone, call James, and run, Alyssa. Run for your life.

But Gary was too quick, and I was too scared. He smacked the purse from my hand, making me yelp in pain and fear, then back-handed me. Pain exploded across my face. I cried out, falling to the floor, knocked away from him. I felt warm liquid trickling out of my nose, over my lip.

Blood. My blood.

Then Gary was upon me, grabbing my hair, making me cry out as he hauled me to my feet. He dragged me around, away from the door, making me stumble. I clawed for his hand, yelling at him, my fear mitigated by primal anger. I tried to kick him, and only graced his leg.

He spun me around, and for a moment, all I saw was the most evil, terrible, sneering face. And then his closed fist, just before it smashed into my nose.

I fell back against the railing with a grunt, shocked, my eyes blurry. More blood poured down my face. The sickly-sweet aroma was all I could smell. I gripped the railing for support. My knees were weak; I could barely stand. My entire body shook with pain, fear, and the shock at what Gary was doing.

"P-please," I begged him.

But he was gone, the Gary I knew hidden away, replaced by the dark-hearted brute who now grabbed me. He grabbed a handful of my gown, ripped it down, exposing me. "That's right, bitch, beg me!" he roared.

I was crying now, trying to get away, but I lacked the strength. I couldn't see, couldn't stand, couldn't fight back.

I felt the fabric of my dress rip as he tore it away. I felt even more humiliated and vulnerable now that I was nude. His hands grabbed my body roughly, turning me about, bending me over the railing. The metal was cold against the undersides of my breasts. I cried and begged him to stop, shrieking and screaming. I saw people in the parking lot below, standing around, talking, smoking, oblivious to the violence happening above them.

Why aren't they doing anything? Can't they hear me?

Gary was leaning over me, his body pressed to mine, the stench of alcohol on his breath blasting in my ear as he grabbed my naked hip and jerked me against him. His hand worked between us, and I knew he was unzipping his slacks. I could feel him prodding at my pussy, his cock hard – how can he be turned on? – and trying to get in.

"Don't pretend you don't want it, baby," he sneered. "You're just a fucking whore, after all." He grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back. It reminded me, suddenly, of that first night, after he had come back. I had liked the way he had been rough, then.

But this was different. This was pain. Rape.

"No, Gary, don't!" I screamed. "Oh, God, please, don't!"

"Shut up, whore," he growled, and dug his fingers into my hip. He shoved forward, his cock rudely pushing inside me. It was so rough, and I was so dry—

I screamed. Louder than before, louder than I ever had in my life. The pain was more intense than when I had lost my virginity. It stabbed through me like a knife shoved into my belly. I couldn't believe Gary was doing this. I couldn't believe . . . .

He was raping me.

But he was, pounding against me, his cock digging like a serpent through my garden. My body betrayed me as my natural wetness flowed. Gary groped, clawed, and scratched at me, leaving welts and bruises. I gripped the railing, shocked in disbelief at what was happening. The man I had once professed to love was raping me. I could barely see through the haze of blood and tears to the parking lot below. Figures scurried like ants, running toward the building.

Oh, sure, now you fucking come to my rescue! Now, when he's already--

Gary jerked on my head, sucked wetly on my neck. His vile cock invaded me again and again as he panted and grunted and moaned. I felt every humiliating thrust of his cock, the cool fabric of his slacks against my naked cheeks and the backs of my thighs.

And then he stopped, shaking against me. And I felt it. The hot rush of liquid inside me, which I had always loved yet which now was the most disgusting thing I had ever felt in my life. I cried again at feeling it. I had never felt more defiled in my life.

Gary pushed back abruptly, pulling out of me, letting go of my body. I collapsed, crying, against the railing, feeling his seed trickling out from between my legs. I curled up into a ball, wanting to protect myself, to stop any further debasement and pain.

I don't know how long I lay like that, shaking and sobbing, feeling cheap and abused. I kept thinking, over and over, that it had not really happened, that it had not been Gary, but maybe someone else. Someone I could hate.

I heard a door slam, and hands reaching for me. I screamed, flailing with my arms, beating back those hands.

"Hey, baby, don't be like that!"

"Yeah, we just wanna help!"

"Damn, check out that bod . . . ."

"Dude, she's already naked . . . ."

I sobbed uncontrollably, trying to pull myself in even more, wanting to find a little hole to crawl into, to disappear. No, not again, I thought. Please not again . . . .

And then, he was there.

I heard grunts, cries, exclamations. The hard impacts of flesh on flesh. I managed to open my eyes, looking through the film of pain. And there he was: my guardian, my protector. Beating back a couple of men in white chef's coats. His moves were quick and brutal, powerful. The two men fell to the floor, unconscious . . . or dead. I really didn't care which at the moment.

James knelt down beside me, his hard face registering vicarious pain. He slowly offered me his hand.

"Come on, Alyssa," he said softly. "I won't let anything else happen to you. I promise."

I was trembling, shaking like a frightened kitten. I tried to speak, but I couldn't.

"Come on," he said, more firmly.

I reached out with a shaking hand, took his. Immediately, James gathered me up, his strong arms around me, holding me close. He rose, surrounding me with his arms, protecting me, and took me away.

***

Ian and Cleo met us at my apartment. Upon seeing me, Cleo took me into the bathroom to clean me up. I did a lot of crying, and Cleo held me, soothing me with her words. I winced when she touched my face with the washcloth, cried some more when I saw the blood. I didn't want to look in the mirror. I didn't want to see what Gary had done to me.

A numbness finally set in, for which I was thankful. Cleo applied a bandage to my nose, said something about it needing to be 'set.' I would have to go the hospital, but I didn't want to. I didn't want the additional humiliation of admitting that I had been raped.

Ian and James were talking, standing toward the end of my living room, by the patio door. I kept staring at Ian, not knowing what I was telling him with my eyes, not knowing what he was reading. He gritted his teeth at what James told him.

Finally, Ian took out his phone, started dialing.

"Who are you calling?" Cleo asked as she sat beside me. There was something about the way she asked that. A sense of dread . . . of fear, even.

Ian shot her a look, lifted the phone to his ear. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Stone," he said.

Cleo jumped up. "Ian—"

He raised a hand, glared at her. His eyes flickered to mine for a moment. Cleo stopped, then sighed. She came back and sat down next to me on the couch, holding me again. Ian talked quietly into the phone, turning his face away.

"Wh-who's he calling?" I asked Cleo. My own voice sounded so alien to me, so quiet and whimpering.

"Shh, baby, don't worry about it," she said, petting my damp hair, kissing my temple.

"Who's he calling?" I asked again, more forcefully, looking to Ian as he opened the sliding glass door to my balcony and stepped out. I found Cleo's eyes.

She stared back. "You don't wanna know," she said gravely.

I shuddered as I cried again.

***

I did go to the emergency room, about an hour later. I suffered the indignities of their questions and the clinical procedure of a rape kit. The nurse made the comment that I should not have cleaned up, since the soap 'tainted the sample.' I glared at her and told her to get the fuck out.

A female police officer came to take my statement. I didn't give her Gary's name and really didn't feel like talking. I guess she had seen more than a few rape victims, because she didn't push the issue and gave me a business card. In case I felt like talking later, she told me.

There was some 'vaginal tearing,' as the doctor who came in a couple of hours later put it. My nose was broken, which I pretty much figured. I winced when he shifted the septum back into place and applied a fresh bandage. At least I hadn't lost any teeth, although one of them felt a little loose. The doctor assured me that it would reset itself.

They took some blood, telling me they were going to run some tests. Another nurse came in to the harshly-lit ER room where I sat and gave me some pills. Cleo held my hand as I finally passed out.

Cleo drove me home the following afternoon. I asked her where Ian was. Cleo just gave me a look that told me I shouldn't ask too many questions about his whereabouts.

She ordered a pizza, and mixed me a cocktail of strawberry vodka and Diet Coke. I really didn't want to drink, but the alcohol helped me relax a little. We watched TV, smoked some cigarettes. I don't think either of us said more than a handful of words to each other.

"Has it ever happened to you?" I asked her after a while, as we sat watching Oprah.

Cleo looked to me, tapping ash off her cigarette. She nodded. "A couple times," she said.

A couple? I sniffed. "Does it ever go away?"

Cleo took a deep breath. "Most of it," she said. "Look, Alyssa . . . you're gonna have to deal with this. I don't want to sound harsh about it, but . . . you have two choices. You can curl up into a little ball and be afraid of people for the rest of your life, or you can accept that you were raped and go on."

I didn't say anything. I just stared at my cigarette, watching the smoke drift up and disappear. I reached for my cocktail and took a hefty gulp. I was suddenly glad Cleo had mixed it for me.

"I can't believe he . . . he could do that," I said at last. I rubbed my eyes, trying not to cry.