Boys Club by Selena
four
Harper Apple
Over Thanksgiving break, we meet on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday afternoon before our other obligations. I check in with Mr. D on Friday, though I don’t have much to tell him besides the lurid sex details he wants. I guess telling him about my sex life is better than having to fuck him.
I also slip away to the Slaughter Pen, eager to get my fix after so long without a fight, to feel my fists connect with flesh and the satisfying crunch of bone on bone. Unfortunately, I walk away with nothing, since I take a rare loss. It’s always a gamble to fight Merciless, a masked fighter who obviously didn’t teach herself to box on a bag hanging on in her basement. She has finesse as well as speed and strength and skill, and I’ve heard whispers about a professional career in her future. She always kicks my ass. But I keep gambling because one day, I’ll beat her, and the pot will pay for all the times I haven’t.
At school the following Monday, things are surreal. I’m a Dolce girl, and everyone knows it. I’m treated like the rest of them, and though I never sincerely wanted to be one of them, I can’t pretend to hate it. I could do without the attention, but the protection it affords is priceless. When I walk down the hall, I feel untouchable, even when I’m alone. No one dares trash me for my clothes, no one fucks with my locker, and no one breathes a word about the video.
My main concern now is keeping my grades up and preparing for finals, which is a bit hard since Royal wants to hang out until almost dawn Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the next few weeks. I also struggle to think of something to tell Mr. D. He still wants info on the Dolces, and the longer I’m with Royal, the harder it is to reveal anything to Mr. D without feeling like the scum that I am.
One afternoon Royal hears my stomach growling as I climb into the Rover, and he teases me until I admit I don’t have any food at home. Instead of going to the bridge, he swings onto the road into town and takes me to Cliff’s, a tiny hole-in-the-wall steakhouse. The moment I walk in and see the ambient lighting and white tablecloths, I know I don’t belong.
It’s one of those moments where I’m jerked back to reality, when I remember that although our worlds may have collided for this brief moment, we exist on different sides of the universe. No matter how long this sexy dream lasts, eventually we’ll wake up and return to our homes, far from each other. Girls like me don’t get to stay in the Dolce world for long.
“Don’t be stupid,” Royal says when I protest it’s too nice. Everyone else in is dressed up. Even though we’re not following dress code, Royal strolls in like he owns the place and greets both the hostess and waiter by name. They just about fall over themselves to seat us.
Royal reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Relax,” he says. “Everyone eats.”
“Not everyone eats here,” I whisper. “This must be the fanciest restaurant in Faulkner.”
“Next time I’ll take you to Little Rock,” he says with a smug smile. “More selection.”
I can’t help the painful self-consciousness that sits with me the entire meal. I do not belong here, and everything in the place screams it. However, I can safely say it’s the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life. So good I actually feel guilty about consuming it, like my stomach is unworthy of a steak that juicy. I’m glad the menu doesn’t have prices because I don’t even want to know what it costs. That surreal, Wonderland sensation stays with me through the meal, the one I get every time I step through another door in Royal’s world and am reminded that I don’t understand the universe he exists within.
I have to remind myself that this is all fake. That he’s only playing, no matter how real it feels. He’s already told me he’s going to get tired of toying with me and toss me. I’m his plaything, nothing more than a whore who doesn’t get paid.
After our meal, a handsome Black man in a tie comes to our table to ask how our food was. Royal actually stands, shaking the guy’s hand. “Perfect as always, Mr. Rose.”
I spot it then, the resemblance between him and DeShaun, who must be his son.
“Gotta keep our star fed,” Mr. Rose says. “Last game of the playoffs is coming up.”
It amazes me how rich people operate. They all know each other, like it’s some secret club. Hell, maybe it is. Maybe being a member of the Swans means never having to pay for meals at the most expensive restaurant in town. At least, that’s one of the reasons I give myself for why we don’t have to pay. Maybe he feeds the Dolces any time they come in because they brought his son into their elitist clique, or maybe he owes Mr. Dolce.
Whatever the case, it just makes me feel more like I’ll never understand their world, like I’ll never really know Royal. Our lives have been so different, how can we ever truly know each other?
I keep reminding myself it doesn’t matter. We’re just fucking. He’s still going to throw me away when he finds another plaything. I’m still planning to take down his family if I ever get the information I need. At least… I think I am.
“So, that just happened,” I say as we climb in the car. The usual hazy lust of going to the river with him has been disrupted, bringing me crashing down into reality.
“It’s just dinner,” he says, handing me a mint he snagged from the bowl near the door on the way out. “Everyone eats it. Don’t worry, Cherry Pie. I’ll still eat you when we get there.”
“So, we sit together at lunch, I go to your games, and I go to parties with you even though apparently girls don’t get to ride with you,” I say, counting off on my fingers. “After the parties, I’m the only girl you leave with. We’re fucking three or four times a week, and now you’re taking me out to dinner at fancy restaurants.”
“I can take you to shitty restaurants if you’d rather,” he says, smirking at me from the driver’s seat.
I unwrap the little clear hard candy, recognizing the lozenge shape as one of Dolce Sweets’ candies. Rich people and their fucking connections. “I’m just wondering at what point you’re going to admit you like me, and that I’m not just a plaything to you,” I say, popping the mint in my mouth.
“When hell freezes over,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, turning to the window and smiling to myself. “Just making sure we’re still clear on that.”
“I’ll fuck you in the ass tonight,” he says. “That’ll remind you exactly what you’re here for.”
“Hell no. You’re way too big for anal.”
He smirks and squeezes my knee. “It wasn’t a question.”
“Still has an answer.”
“An ass like that is built for pounding,” he says. “Otherwise, it’s a waste.”
“Sorry that to your warped mind, the way a girl’s body is built somehow leads you to misinterpret it as wanting a dick in the ass,” I say. “But it’s not happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening,” he says. “Sorry that to your tiny mind, the way I’ve treated you somehow leads you to believe you get a say in when and where and how I fuck you. You’re a Dolce girl. Your one purpose is to bend over and let me use whichever of your three holes I feel like filling with cum. I don’t give a fuck if you want it, or like it, or get down on your knees and beg for it. You’re my plaything. Every inch of your body, inside and out, is mine to do whatever I want with. And tonight, I’m going to cum balls deep in that big, beautiful ass.”
“Then I guess I’m resigning.”
Royal laughs at that, but it’s a cold, bitter sound. “You can’t resign from being a Dolce girl any more than you can choose to become one.”
I swallow hard, considering what he’ll do if I jump out of the moving car. “And if I fight?” I ask.
“Then you know what happens,” he says, his voice casual, almost bored. He’s not threatening. He’s stating a fact.
“So, because you’re bigger and stronger, you’ll take what you want by force if I won’t give it?”
“No, see, I don’t have to take anything,” he says. “I already have it. I own you, Apple. Your ass is mine every night. I can do whatever I want to it, and tonight, I’m going to fuck it. How much you enjoy it is up to you.”
Maybe I do have a tiny mind, like he said, because instead of obediently rolling over, the moment the car pulls to a stop at the bridge, I jump out and run. I’m a fighter. It’s in my blood. I don’t have it in me to submit to what I don’t want without even trying.
I run for the bridge. I know the water’s deep enough to jump.
But Royal’s faster. I hear his heavy footfalls on the wooden planks behind me, and then his hand is in my hair. I jerk to a halt, my scalp burning where his hand wrenched my hair. He wraps his other arm around my middle, pulling my head back against his shoulder. “That was really fucking stupid, Harper,” he growls in my ear.
I try to stomp his arch, but he picks me up, carrying me forward across the bridge as I kick and claw and spit, adrenaline fueling me. When we reach the other side, he releases me, shoving me forward onto the bank where old tire tracks gouged the mud, now covered in dead grass for winter. I fall intentionally, rolling down the bank instead of trying to keep my feet and pick my way down. I hear Royal cursing above me, but a second later, he bounds down and grabs me, dragging me to a stop again.
He jumps onto me, straddling my hips, his knees caging my ribs the way they did Colt before he beat him nearly to death. I got complacent, got comfortable, for just a minute. I let my guard down, let myself believe all the blissful evenings of orgasms meant something to him just because they meant something to me. I’m just like my mother, addicted to the high of a man, drunk on the orgasms. And now I pay for that weakness.
Adrenaline spikes through my blood, and I get in one good left hook before Royal grabs both my hands in one of his.
“Guess my little whore doesn’t want to enjoy it at all,” he growls, leaning over me, breathing hard, his eyes flashing. I can already see his cheek darkening where I clocked him, and I’m fucking glad it’ll leave a mark.
“Get off me,” I growl, trying to wrench my hands free.
He spits a mouthful of blood into my face. It sprays over my cheeks and into my mouth and eyes, and for a second, I’m too shocked to react.
“Now,” he says, his hand tightening on my wrists until my fingers start to go numb. He reaches down and drags his cock out the front of his pants. “I’ll give you one chance to get it wet before I put it in dry. I think you can guess what happens if I feel your teeth.”
“I’ll end up a toothless whore?” I shoot back at him, an edge of taunting in my voice.
“See, you’re smart enough to know that, but you couldn’t figure out that fighting back would only make it worse for you. It makes no difference to me. Fucking your virgin ass will feel just as good whether you’re begging for more or begging me to stop.”
“I don’t beg.”
“Good,” he says, kneeling up over me. “Pathetic bitches do nothing for me. Now use that mouth for something that’s going to help you, not hurt you.”
He pushes his cock against my lips, and it’s all I can do not to bite the fuck out of it. But I know I can’t bite it off before he knocks me out, and I’m not about being thrown in the river to drown while I’m unconscious. I open my lips, and he pumps into my mouth a few times, his hand around the base of his cock so he can pull back fast if I get any ideas.
When he’s nice and wet from my mouth, he sits back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not hard at all,” I say with a smirk. “Almost flaccid.”
“Judging from your reaction, I’m going to guess you’ve never taken it in the ass before,” he says. “Be a good girl, and I’ll be gentle. Be a brat, and I’ll fuck you like one. Got it?”
I clench my teeth and glare up at him, wanting nothing more than to knock his fucking teeth out.
“Now, turn over, pull up your skirt, and spread that juicy ass for me the way you spread your pussy.”
When I don’t move, he flips me over and sits on the back of my thighs, yanking my skirt up and my underwear down. “Okay,” I say, finally breaking as terror reams through me. I’ve never done this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know it’s going to hurt. “I’ll obey if you don’t hurt me on purpose.”
“Just look at this ass,” he says, running his fingers over my bare skin so gently it makes me shudder. I know his gentleness is a lie. “This one’s made to be fucked if I’ve ever seen one.”
He grabs my ass with both hands, squeezing so hard my whole body tenses, and I know I’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingerprints tomorrow.
“I said I’d obey,” I gasp. I told myself I’d do anything to get in with the Dolces, to gain their secrets. I didn’t draw a line somewhere in my mind, somewhere that went too far. And this isn’t too far. It’s something normal couples do.
Royal chuckles and loosens his grip on my flesh. “Now put your hands back here and hold it open for me to play with.”
When I do, my face burning with hatred and humiliation, he wets his fingers in his mouth and forces one inside, past the clenched muscles. It only hurts a little—but it’s only a finger.
“Such a dirty little toy,” he purrs. “A slut should know how to take it up the ass, now shouldn’t she?”
I grit my teeth as he adds a second finger, stretching me out. I know it’ll make it hurt less, but the humiliation isn’t worth it. I’d rather have the pain. I bite my tongue and seethe, vowing that when I find out what will break him, I’m going to fucking enjoy doing it as much as he’s enjoying this. After a minute, he spits on his hand and wets his cock again before kneeling up and pushing it against my entrance. “Just relax,” he coaxes, bracing a hand on my shoulder to pin me to the ground before forcing himself inside.
I gasp at the sharp, stinging pain, worse than I expected. Tears blur my vision, and I tense up even though I’m trying not to. “Royal,” I gasp. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he says as he pushes deeper, kneeling up to watch his cock sink into me. “Be good and keep holding it open for me, and I’ll be good to you, my dirty little slut.”
Tears drip into the grass, and I’m glad my hair is over my face and he can’t see. I’m not crying. My eyes are watering from the pain, that’s all.
He pushes in deeper with each pass until he’s fully inside me. The sting dissipates once he’s buried impossibly deep, and he starts moving inside me, coaxing me with fake niceties and praise, as if I agreed to this. If I thought his promise of gentleness was sincere, I’d have been in for a rude awakening, but I know better than to believe a word that comes out of Royal Dolce’s mouth. He’s patient only until he’s buried to the hilt inside me. Then he fucks me rough and hard, his balls slapping my pussy with each deep thrust.
I bite down on my lip and try not to cry, try to relax and breathe deep and admit that it does feel a little bit good, too, along with the pain. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray for him to just fucking finish already. The spit didn’t last nearly long enough, and I’d rather him cum quickly than keep going without more lube. He moves faster, grunting as his hips slam against my ass, and I know he won’t notice my discomfort, that I’m not here to him, not human. I’m just something to pound into submission, something to bury his dick in. He’s using me for his own pleasure, and right now, mine is irrelevant to him.
I’m sure if I could see his eyes, I’d see that he’s not here, either, that it’s not the Royal I know and love doing this to me. But that’s the problem. Everyone’s told me he’s complicated, and he is, but it’s more than that. None of him is bright and happy and light. He’s dark through and through. But even in darkness, his humanity shines through only sometimes. One side of him is passionate and possessive and protective, and I can love and understand that side. The other side… Is none of those things. The other side is cruel and cold and vindictive. And there’s no separating that from him. He is who he is, and this is part of him. The part that likes hurting people.
I know that if I truly love and accept him, I can’t love only one side. And yet, if I love myself, I can’t love the other side of him. It’s impossible to love him without giving up myself.
And I’m not far gone enough to do that.
“You know why you’re not girlfriend material?” he asks, lowering himself onto his elbow and sweeping my hair aside, tracing a finger over the tattoo on my shoulder. “Because you wanted to be a Dolce girl. You wanted to be my little whore, and now you are. A girlfriend wouldn’t let me fuck her in the ass on the side of the road.”
“I didn’t let you,” I growl, glad my eyes are dry again so he won’t see me cry.
He pushes up onto his hands and answers with a series of brutal thrusts that brings the tears back. Then he pulls out and rolls me over, putting himself away while he kneels over me. He didn’t cum, but he’s still hard, and he’s making sure I know he’s sparing me more torment. As if I should be grateful for that small mercy.
“Now, I said I’d eat you out, so spread your legs and I’ll give you what you came for.”
“Fuck you,” I say, sitting up.
“I’m going to,” he says, pushing me back, his eyes eerily empty. “With my tongue. So open your legs, and let me see that pretty little pussy I like to lick so much.”
“I’d rather blow you after you’ve been in my ass than let you between my legs right now.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’d rather do,” he says, his hand on my chest, holding me down. “Open your legs, or I’ll open them for you.”
I swallow hard, so creeped out by his hollow eyes and toneless voice that I’m not sure how to react. When he’s like this, he’s unpredictable and strange, a monster with no morals, no feelings. I’m too scared of what he’ll do if I disobey. I don’t think I can take much more pain tonight, and I know this side of him will go beyond hurting me. He’ll kill me.
Maybe no one else would understand why, but I like my life. Or at least value it. I have something to live for. So I open my legs, and he sinks down between them. Though I’m still in pain, and I’d rather hold onto that and my anger than give in, his tongue feels good as it wets me. I’m too spiteful to give in easily, and I hold back, trying to think of something else as I lie there staring up at the first stars dotting the twilight sky.
I think of the secrets that he hasn’t told me, the ones he shared with Gloria instead. What does she have that I don’t? She was his Dolce girl, and now I am. When do I get the secrets?
If he won’t tell me, I need to start looking. I got caught up in his world for a moment, the whirlwind and drama and danger of being his fuck toy. But that is a dream. This is reality.
Playtime is over. It’s time to start looking, time to bring this dangerous man to his knees, time to destroy his family the way he’s destroying me.
Royal knows my body well after only a few weeks, knows how to make me cum even when I don’t want to. Unlike his usual sessions, he doesn’t writhe around and drive his face into me and moan while he goes down on me. He’s still and quiet, so quiet I can hear the wet sounds of his tongue eating me out. He has the moves down, though, and after a while, I can’t hold back. He forces my shame and humiliation as I lose control against my will, fuming with fury as I do. I cum, but my heart’s not in it. It’s only physical, a pleasure that’s in my body alone.
When I’m done, he sits back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Am I allowed to move now, Your Majesty?” I ask. “Or are you going to fuck me more?”
“I’m done,” he says, standing and holding out a hand.
I slap it away and stand up, wincing at the pain. My hands shake as I pull up my underwear and fix my skirt, then stomp back across the bridge. The echo of my footfalls on the wooden planks blocks out his in a most satisfying way, so I focus on that instead of the pain lancing through me at each step. When I reach the Range Rover, I turn to find Royal behind me, his face cool and calm, obviously unaffected by my anger.
“I should make you walk home right now,” he says.
Just the thought makes my heart race. Every step is torture. I’d rather crawl under the bridge and sleep in the cold than walk home.
“I hate you,” I say quietly.
“Smart girl,” he says with a smirk, brushing my hair back and planting a quick kiss on my forehead before opening his door and climbing in. He starts the engine, and I’m too scared at the idea of walking home to hold onto my pride. I hurry around and jump up into the passenger seat before he can take off. I’m not sure which is worse—walking or sitting.
Royal doesn’t say anything all the way home. I’m not sure what changed, but I know that whatever little honeymoon phase we were in, it’s over. It’s one thing to fuck a guy who tried to kill me when he’s taking me to get birth control, talking to me while night falls and we lie tangled on his back seat, when he’s giving good head and good dick. It’s another when he’s treating me like shit.
When he pulls up in front of my house, I pull off his jacket and hand it back. “See you, Royal.”
He stares at his jacket before reluctantly taking it. “You’re giving my jacket back?” he asks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he sounds offended. “Because I fucked you in the ass?”
“Because I can’t deal with this Jekyll and Hyde shit anymore,” I say. “One day, you’re fun and sexy, and the next, you’re a fucking monster.”
“I’m always a monster,” he says. “I told you that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired of pretending this is leading somewhere it obviously isn’t. I may not be girlfriend material, but you’re not boyfriend material, either. And wearing your jacket feels too much like we’re dating. I think it’s better if we both remember this can never happen, that we’re enemies and always will be.”
“We always have been,” he says after a moment. “We were losing sight of that. I thought tonight might work to remind you where we both stand, and it looks like it did the job.”
“Well, congratulations,” I say, opening the door. “Message received.”
“You’re still a Dolce girl,” he says. “You’ll come when we call.”
“We?” I ask, my pulse thudding in my ears.
“When I call,” he says. “You’re mine, Harper. Don’t think that’s changed. If anything, you should know better than ever exactly what that means.”
“Got it,” I say, slamming the door and walking up the cracked walkway to the house. I don’t know when I became his property or how to get out of it. Enduring it until he’s done with me seems too cruel.
Inside, I stand under the hot shower until the water runs cold. Then I climb into bed without putting on clothes and lie there staring at the ceiling. It’s only an hour past dark, but I can’t summon the motivation to get up. I’m not about to tell Mr. D about this encounter, and he’s the only friend I tell these things to, as sad as that is. Other people probably assume Royal’s fucking me, but it’s not something I go around advertising. If anything, he’s made it very public, while I haven’t done anything except the posters at the game last month.
But I need someone. I need a friend, and not the fake-ass Dolce girls who accept me because Royal told them to. I’ve spent years cultivating an air of not needing anyone, and it worked too fucking well. Now, when I need a friend, I have no one. After a while, I pick up my phone and open the OnlyWords app. I stare at it a long time, debating what to say. Finally, I send the text.
BadApple: how can u love Royal after he’s done w u?
ThatsLo: oh bless
ThatsLo: He said that?
BadApple: Not yet
ThatsLo: Hang in there. It gets better.
BadApple: Does it tho?
ThatsLo: yes def
BadApple: k
ThatsLo: What did he do?
BadApple: Basically wudnt take no 4 an answer
ThatsLo: oh yeah. They never do, do they?
BadApple: have u fucked them all?
ThatsLo: off the record?
BadApple: I’m not Dixie. Lips r sealed.
ThatsLo: yes
I try not to care about that, not to feel the stab of jealousy and betrayal. Royal and Lo are friends, and they live in the same neighborhood, and they fucked. Or still fuck, I don’t know. Not like he told me we were exclusive or anything. In fact, the opposite. He told me he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Even when I told him we’d be safe if we weren’t with other people, he didn’t really answer. Even if he had, I don’t trust that asshole in the slightest.
ThatsLo: u ok? I thot u knew
BadApple: I did. Assumed anyway
ThatsLo: they were pretty savage 2 us when we started last year. But then it just stopped 1 day, no explanation, nothing.
BadApple: did they apologize?
ThatsLo: lol
ThatsLo: no
ThatsLo: not their style. They’ll never apologize, so don’t expect it
BadApple: u 4gave anyway?
ThatsLo: yeah
ThatsLo: we were in their crowd, y’know? At the top. Worth it 2 us. They never rly got done and kicked us 2 the curb, so don’t b afraid he’ll do that when he’s done messing w u. The twins still do the booty call thing every now n then, but it’s not the same as it was. Like, they were strait up barbarians 2 us at 1st
BadApple: u said no?
ThatsLo: tbh don’t remember. But u can’t do that. It doesn’t work. They take what they want. Better 2 just have fun n don’t expect anything.
I swallow hard, my throat aching. A tremor goes through my thumb as I type an answer.
BadApple: idk how 2 do that
ThatsLo: idk maybe it was different 4 us
BadApple: how?
ThatsLo: idk it just was. Royal is like… fixated on u.
BadApple: lucky me
ThatsLo: it is lucky. He doesn’t do that. Ever. Be careful, k? of both of u.
BadApple: thx
ThatsLo: Speak of the devil… gg. He’s here.
BadApple: at ur house?
ThatsLo: yeah gg
BadApple: r u still fucking?
I curse myself as soon as I send that text, squeezing my eyes closed and wishing I could unsend it. What the fuck am I thinking? I sound like a jealous bitch girlfriend, which he’s made abundantly clear I am not, nor will I ever be. And of course Gloria doesn’t answer. She’s with Royal, who apparently had to stop by her house after fucking me on the side of the road, probably to remind himself what girls with class and golden pussy are like.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I am a complete psycho for even caring. I hate that I do. I hate that I’m jealous as fuck, and all I want to do is drive to Gloria’s and beat her face in for letting him come over with his dick still wet. And from what she said, she’ll just do whatever the fuck he wants because it’s better than fighting him. So if he goes over there and wants to fuck, she’ll bend right over.
Is that what I have to do to get his secrets? To be worthy of them? Just stop fighting and be a pathetic bitch?
But that’s not fair. Gloria isn’t pathetic. Somehow, she manages to be classy as fuck while still letting them all fuck her. I don’t know how she does that.
And the better question, how does she keep from loving him? From getting attached, expecting more, wanting more?
I jump up and pace my room, relishing the pain in each step. I fucking hate myself right now. I hate Royal, too, and Gloria, and the twins, and everyone in the whole fucking world. When my room is too small to contain my turmoil, I pull on some sweats and head to the basement to punch the bag in the corner until my knuckles are raw and throbbing. Even then, my head is still fucked six ways from Sunday.
*
The Queen
No one had ever seen her,
There were rumors she didn’t exist,
When a stranger picked up the crown,
And placed it on her own head.
The kingdom’s subjects exhaled,
Pacified by the idea
That the addition of a queen
Made their king somehow human.
So the royals allowed her
Not because they believed her worthy
But because she had cajones,
And they had no one better.
