Brutal Boy by Selena
twenty-one
Harper Apple
“Fuck,” I whisper, panic slamming into my chest. I shove Royal’s shoulders, and he sits up. I push up on my elbows and look down, as if I might be wrong, as if a condom might magically appear on his long, thick, perfect cock. Damn him and his flawless body. Damn his father and those shots of whiskey last night. Most of all, damn my poor, weak, animal self that lost her mind at the first sign of good dick and did exactly what I’ve always sworn I would never do—exactly what my mother did.
“I’ve never fucked anyone without one before,” Royal says, obviously taking my stricken expression for a question about his reputation. “I should be clean. You?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the spiraling, panicked thoughts. I cannot get pregnant, oh my fucking god, I just can’t. I can’t be stuck with this psycho forever. I don’t even like him. Good dick does not make a good man. I know that for fucking sure.
When I just keep staring at him, shaking my head slowly back and forth, the truth dawns in his eyes. “You’re… Not on birth control?”
He must know before he even asks, because he grabs his hair with both hands. “Fuck,” he yells after a minute, turning and slamming his fist into the pillow beside me.
I jump involuntarily, and his gaze moves to me, angry and calculating, as if he’s trying to think of a way out of this. Of course he fucking is. It’s not his problem, after all. I’m literally living proof that’s how guys think.
“Obviously I’m not on fucking birth control,” I snap, sitting up and yanking the sheet over my body. “I’m a poor piece of trash, remember? I can’t afford birth control, let alone a doctor visit to get a prescription. What’s your excuse?”
He gives me a sour look. “You make me fucking crazy, Harper,” he says. “You make me every kind of stupid. I was so pissed last night, I wasn’t thinking. And this morning, you climbed on me.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” I ask, tossing off the sheet and standing. I can feel his cum still inside me, leaking out of me, a drop trickling down my thigh. Shame and disgust washes over me. It was me. It’s all my fault. He didn’t use one last night, but he also didn’t cum. The chances are slim. This morning, he came inside me twice. Because I fucking climbed on him like the horny bitch I was raised to be. What have I done?
“I didn’t say that,” Royal says, looking up at me from where he’s still sitting on the bed.
“You didn’t have to,” I snap, stalking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. I lock it and sink onto the toilet, my legs shaking.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can feel his cum dripping out of me, and I double over, sure I’ll be sick. All I’ve ever wanted since I was old enough to want anything rational was to get the hell out of this town. Go to college. Not be stuck here like my mother, hopeless and destitute, with a kid I don’t want from a man I never knew. The ache behind my eyes becomes unbearable, and a sob wrenches through me before I even know it’s coming. I bite down on my fist, smothering it. I’m not going to let Royal Dolce hear me cry.
“Harper,” he says from outside the door, his voice sharp. He rattles the knob.
“Go away,” I say, my voice harsh with tears. Another sob wracks my body, and I bury my face in my arms to silence my anguish.
“Let me in, Harper,” he says, a warning edge to his voice now.
“Go the fuck away!” I yell. Tears streak down my cheeks because oh my god, this cannot be happening. What am I going to do? I can’t fucking do this.
A thud sounds as Royal’s shoulder hits the door, and the whole room shakes. With a splintering crash, the lock gives way on his second attempt, and the door flies open. Royal stands in the doorway, breathing hard, staring at me. I turn away, but he’s already seen. I’m not made of titanium. I’m just a human made of flesh and blood, tears and bone. I’m a girl living her worst nightmare.
“Harper,” he says, his voice softer. And then he’s lifting me, pulling me onto his lap as he sinks to the floor and cradles my naked and bruised body that is suddenly a ticking time bomb. I don’t want his pity, his kindness. I want his violence, his sharpness. I understand that better than softness.
I try to push away, but he holds me tighter, his arms cradling me. “It’s going to be okay,” he says, pressing his forehead to my damp hair. For a long time, I can’t do anything but sob helplessly in his arms. He doesn’t speak, just sits and holds me tight as if he could hold me together while I’m being ripped apart inside. When at last I stop, he kisses my bare shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
“How is this going to be okay?” I ask, lifting my head, not caring that my face must be an ugly mess. I don’t care. I want him to see all the ugliness inside me. To hate me as much as I hate him right now. “You think I want to be here, Royal? You think I like what you do to me? You don’t think I’d leave this town the second I get the chance? I can’t do this, Royal. I’ll fucking die before I’ll be the kind of mom my mother is.”
“Don’t you dare say that,” he snaps, grabbing my chin and forcing my gaze to his. His fingers cut into my cheeks, and his eyes blaze with emotion I’ve never seen in him.
“What am I going to do?” I ask, the fight draining out of me. I’m too desperate to fight him now. The enemy isn’t in him anymore. It’s inside me.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says.
“How are you going to take care of it?” I ask. “You think we’re going to have a baby together? Or are you going to give me money for an abortion? That’s what people in your world do when they don’t want a baby, right?”
“No,” he says slowly. “I’m going to take you to get a morning-after pill. And then we’re going to get you an appointment to get on birth control.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask, pulling back and narrowing my eyes. If he’s going to hand me a pill, it’s probably cyanide.
“Because Harper,” he says, still speaking to me as if I might not understand the most basic explanation. “I may be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”
“Just so I know, for future reference, out of the million ways to be an asshole, which one isn’t covered?”
“The one where I walk away and act like this is your problem.”
“It is my problem.” I glare at him, willing him to contradict me.
He sighs. “You know, it won’t kill you to let someone help you once in a while.”
“I know you think you’re all that because you’re richer than god, but you can’t just go around throwing money at every problem and thinking it’ll go away.”
“Not every problem,” he says. “But this one? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“You want to raise a kid with me, then? Because those are the options right now.”
I hate that he’s right, but this time, I’m going to have to give him the win.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go wash down our mistake with a pill, and then we can forget this ever happened.”
“Fine by me,” he says, roughly pushing me off his lap and standing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I hurt him. If I thought he possessed a heart and the ability to feel, I might be fooled into thinking that look on his face was exactly what it looks like—the bewildered expression of a lost little boy who saw only indifference when he looked to the very ones who were supposed to love him. Suddenly, my throat is tight again, and I have to turn away from him.
It’s stupid to read my own lack into his expression. Not just stupid but dangerous.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Royal says. “For once in your life, will you just stay put because I asked you to?”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll wait in your room like a good little girl.”
While he showers, I put on my clothes from yesterday—no use pretending I’m not doing the walk of shame today—and sit in the chair at his desk. After a minute, I pull open one of the drawers I didn’t go through last night. It’s filled with hotel receipts and betting slips and loose cash. My heart nearly stops. There must be a few thousand dollars in there, twenties and hundreds and a couple fifties, just thrown in there like trash. Guess that pill isn’t going to hurt him any.
A picture frame lies halfway buried under other stuff, the kind that folds in half and has two pictures in the middle, facing each other. I pull it out and open it without thinking. My throat squeezes when I see that one side holds a picture of him and the girl from the tattoo, both of them smiling in a way Royal never smiles at me, their cheeks squished together as they grin at the camera. For a second, it breaks my heart. I’m not sure what hurts worse—that he was happy with another girl, or that he’ll never smile that way again. That boy is dead.
Royal steps out of the bathroom, and my first instinct is to shove the picture back, but he’s already seen me looking. I won’t be one of those dumb bitches who assume shit and get pissed about it, running off in a jealous huff because he liked some other girl. I’m a big girl, so I used my words. “Who’s this?” I ask, staring at the two of them, both of them so painfully beautiful I don’t know who to look at.
Royal’s at my side in a second, yanking the frame from my hand and shoving it back into the drawer, which he pushes closed with his thigh. “Keep your sticky fingers out of my business,” he snaps.
“Oh, so you can be balls deep in my business whenever you want, but I can’t ask about your dead sister?”
“Now you’re catching on,” he says, smirking down at me. He hasn’t stepped away, and his penis is way too close to my face. I swallow hard, trying to keep from salivating at the thought of taking him into my mouth again.
“No deal,” I say, forcing myself to sound normal and not like my brain is a scrambled egg. “Tell me who that was.”
“You know who it is,” he says. “You just said it.”
I open the drawer, even though I know I’m playing with fire by pissing him off. I pull out the picture again and flip it open. Instead of ripping it away, he shakes his head and walks away, choosing to get dressed instead of engage with my bratty ass.
I should have known it was his sister. I suspected when I saw his chest, but I wasn’t sure. They’re both gorgeous, both with the same dark hair and luminous dark eyes, the same thick, dark lashes.
In the other frame is a picture from further away, and I spot the girl in that picture, too. There are five of them in that one, all standing on the grass in front of a church made of stone and stained glass instead of white siding like the ones around here. Their arms are around each other’s shoulders, their bodies forming a chain. I recognize Royal to the left of center, looking smaller than now, not as muscular or tall, his hair curling around his ears. To one side of him is one of the twins, though I can’t tell which one, as neither are wearing glasses and their hair is cut the same. In the center is a guy who looks almost just like Royal but taller, and then the girl again, and then the other twin. They’re all smiling, squinting into the sun, wearing white shirts with ties and dress pants, except for the girl, who’s in a modest dress.
His family.
Now my chest tightens for another reason. I wonder what it must be like to have that much love just built into your life. That many people who have your back, who make it their job to keep you alive, people ready to ride or fucking die for you.
“Ready?” Royal asks, snagging his keys from the pocket of last night’s jeans. “Or you want to keep digging through the past like it matters?”
We head downstairs, where Royal drags me into the kitchen. The twins are sitting in a breakfast nook, both of them in pajama pants and nothing else, both looking nearly as gorgeous as Royal. They’re both wearing glasses, and for a second, I can’t tell them apart. Then one of them looks up and holds up a hand like he’s expecting a high-five. I spot a swan tattoo on the underside of his arm and automatically check the other. I can only see the edge of his, but it’s there.
Royal doesn’t have one. Interesting.
“You finally tapped that,” Duke crows, a sloppy grin on his face.
It’s in the expression. That’s how you know the difference. Duke’s the clown. Baron’s… I’m not sure what. The serious side, I guess. I remember that scene on the football field, the way Royal held onto him like he was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
Ignoring Duke’s hand, Royal plucks a couple bagels from the platter in the middle of the round table and hands me one. “We’re going out,” he says. “Everything go okay last night?”
“Not as okay as it went here,” Duke says, wiggling his brows at me.
“How would you know?” I ask. “You weren’t here.”
“Because I’m not still with my girl,” he says. “You’re still here, so by default, your night was better.”
If he knew the reason I was still here, and what we’re about to do, he’d change his mind. But I’m not about to tell him.
“You done with that?” he asks, turning to Royal. “Because I’m dying to dip my dick in her when you are.”
Royal lays a casual arm over my shoulder. “You want to take this one?” he asks, cocking a brow at me.
“You know, I’m good,” I say, leaning into him and hooking an arm around his hips. “I’m going to take a page from your book and not engage.”
“Damn,” Baron says, speaking for the first time, though he’s been watching with keen interest all along. “You fucked the brattitude out of her.”
“Let’s go,” Royal says, a little smile tugging at his lips. We turn and head for the door, and despite my earlier freak out, I’m actually smiling.
And then their dad steps in the back door just as we reach it.
“Leaving so soon?” he asks, pulling off his cheesy but expensive mirrored shades.
“I’m taking Harper home,” Royal says, his arm tightening around me.
“You know, I can do that for you,” Mr. Dolce says. “If you want to have breakfast with your brothers.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, giving him a tight smile.
“It’s not a problem. I’m already heading out,” he says, holding up his keys. He drops his voice and gives me a conspiratorial wink. “I’m used to cleaning up my boys’ messes.”
“Yeah, I’m not anyone’s mess to clean up,” I say. “But thanks.”
Royal chuckles and squeezes me against him, pulling me past his father and out the back door. We climb into the Rover and head down the gravel drive. I cross my arms and stare out the window. “Have you ever had a girlfriend?” I ask.
He sighs and pulls up to the gate. “You’re not my girlfriend, Harper.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s just… You seem to know exactly what to do in this situation. And your dad said he’s cleaned up your messes…”
“I told you I’ve never fucked a girl without a condom before.”
“You’ve never had a pregnancy scare?”
“No.” We pull out onto the winding, two-lane road. “Have you?”
“No, and I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I say. “If you wondered.”
“I didn’t.” We drive in silence for a few minutes.
“I had a girlfriend once, for like a month,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure she just wanted guys to think she was a hot lesbian, because if no one was watching, she wasn’t really interested in making out.”
“What about Maverick?” he asks.
“Not a boyfriend.”
“You know how fucked up it is that I have to look at some other guy’s ink all over your body every time I fuck you? Knowing his hands were on you, that he was inside you… It’s right there every time I look down at you.”
“You know how fucked up it is that I have to look at your dead sister’s face every time I fuck you?” I shoot back. “Seeing her big, haunted eyes staring back at me every time I look up at you.”
He smirks, his jaw rising in that asshole way of his. “Who says she’s my sister?”
I snort and give him a look like, please, boy. I wasn’t born yesterday. “You’re not the kind of guy who gets a girlfriend’s face tattooed on his chest. And you told me.”
Didn’t he? Or did he skirt around the question and let me assume?
He shakes his head and shifts gears, speeding up. “I’ve never had a real girlfriend,” he says after a minute. “But that doesn’t mean I’m looking. So stop trying to get me to say something stupid.”
“What does ‘real girlfriend’ mean?” I ask. “Like, not a fuck buddy?”
“Is that what Maverick was to you?”
I shrug. “We didn’t really define it. It wasn’t the sort of thing that needs a label. It was what it was. Casual. No big deal.”
He shifts around in his seat. “Look, Harper. I don’t date. I have a lot of shit in my life that has nothing to do with you, or other girls, but it means I can’t have a girlfriend. Understand?”
“No,” I say. “But I’m guessing you’re not going to answer questions about it.”
“That is correct,” he says, pulling up to a stoplight. “You’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you that I’m not fit to be anyone’s boyfriend. You don’t have to know all my shit to know that.”
“True,” I say. “And I’m not asking you out, so stop thinking that’s what I meant. I just wanted to know why you’re Mr. Pregnancy Scare Action Hero right now. It’s so unlike you. I thought you must have experience.”
He shakes his head. “Just because you made me cum, don’t go thinking you’re special. And just because I made you cum, don’t get attached. Okay? I’m not taking you to the doctor because I’m a decent guy, but I am telling you this because maybe I’m not totally hopeless yet.”
“And why are you taking me again? You could have just handed me cash. You know, I think you’re a lot more decent than you let on.”
“I don’t trust you,” he says, his voice hardening. “You’re poor and desperate. You could have taken that cash and told me you went to the doctor. I wouldn’t put it past you to trap me in this, so you’ll be set for life. That’s why I’m taking you.”
I swallow hard, turning back to the window, all the flirty fun gone from the car. “Got it,” I say, my throat tight. He really thinks I’m that kind of person?
But why wouldn’t he? That’s exactly what my mother would’ve done if she could find a rich guy to have unprotected sex with. Instead, she had my deadbeat dad to run off on her, and I guess he wasn’t even worth chasing down for child support. At least she got her tubes tied so she didn’t have to worry about any more kids ruining her life.
Royal goes on because apparently he has to really drive home the point that he still thinks I’m shit, despite what happened this weekend. “I’m putting you on birth control because I’m going to fuck you again, and I like fucking you raw,” he says. “And by not a real girlfriend, I mean not since I was in middle school. Once I was old enough to fuck a girl, I didn’t want to be tied down. That’s never changed, and it never will. Are we clear now?”
I turn to him and smile, staring him straight in the eyes. “Crystal,” I say, biting the word out, my vindictive little heart relishing the way it makes him flinch.
He pulls up and jerks to a stop in the lot of a walk-in clinic, the only ones open on a Saturday afternoon. He leans toward me, his expression almost tender as he lifts my chin and skims his thumb across my lower lip. “Remind me to stop by a sex shop and buy you a gag before I fuck you again,” he says, chucking me under the chin. “That should shut you up.”
He hops out of the car and heads into the clinic without bothering to check if I’ll follow. He knows the limits to my stupidity.
Whatever happened between us, it hasn’t changed what we are to each other—enemies. That much is clear. He still thinks of me as trash, and I still know he’s a monster who needs to be taken down.
I’m such an idiot. I’m the one who got carried away, who forgot that for a minute. I’m the one who fell under his spell and thought we could be on the same side for once just because he’s taking me to the doctor. It’s all my fault. He didn’t even cum when he fucked me last night. He lost control first, for a minute, but he managed to pull back in time, to keep from finishing and losing himself to me completely.
Was he pissed about giving in first, and that’s why he insisted on giving back, to level the playing field? For a moment, I had the advantage. He’d lost control, and I hadn’t. He’d hurt me. He owed me. And I didn’t even fucking see it.
Instead, I let him have the upper hand again, let him give me half a dozen orgasms, so he has nothing to feel bad about, even after the brutal way he took me against the wall. After all, I enjoyed last night, climaxing over and over, and he didn’t. Sure, maybe he broke his rules for me and ate pussy, but I broke mine and let him. I lost control, and he didn’t. I gave in, and he didn’t. I let Royal control me, let him make me his plaything, a slave to the pleasure he can give me.
So much so that I lost my head this morning. He said I made him all kinds of stupid, but I’m the one who climbed on his dick without a condom. He was barely awake. And thirsty bitch that I am, I just wanted more, not thinking about the consequences. And here I am the next morning, just like my mother, paying for a mistake because I let my body rule me.
That’s why we’re here. Not because I was trying to tip the scales back and make him lose control, but because I wanted him with me while I came, wanted the intimacy and connection. That’s what made him cum. The realization makes something funny twist inside me, happiness and guilt and triumph all rolled into one. I know how to make him cum. And he wants to do it again. He wants to be with me again, without a condom, enough times that he’s putting me on birth control and not just saying he’ll pull out.
Could this be the way in I’ve been looking for? I’m almost afraid to hope as I follow Royal into the clinic. But I do hope. I hope because he’s still here. Surprisingly, he didn’t kick me out of bed this morning and tell me to get lost. He didn’t even hand me off and let his smarmy father take care of this. He’s here, and whether he’d admit it or not, he’s taking care of me. Could it be that the monster has met his match in the one girl who fights back, a control freak just like him who made him lose control at last? All those people who say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach are full of shit. The way to a man’s heart is through his dick. I think I’ve arrived there at last.
*
Crystal (#396)
She uses your name
As a weapon
Goading me
Daring me
To reach across the seat
And wrap my hand around her neck
And squeeze
Until she’s as lifeless as you.
She doesn’t say your name
Like a taboo
Like she’s the first person
To speak that one word
To my face
Without flinching
Since I walked away
And let the river take you.
She doesn’t know your name
Falling from her lips
Is a gift
That brings equal parts
Agony and relief.
Whatever the intent,
Hearing her blaspheme to speak it aloud
Makes me want to silence her forever
But also command her to say it again
And again
Treasuring even the sweet agony
In the bone-crushing relief.
