Tyrant Daddy by Isabella Starling

Chapter 23

Willa

Life in New York is different. I'm different.

Some days are good. I eat, I fantasize. I live in a make-believe world where anything I imagine is true in my mind.

But some days are bad. Really fucking bad – with no food but plenty of other things to keep me going.

It's early evening and I've been without a hit for a week. We can't afford it right now, but I've promised myself for the umpteenth time I'm really going to quit this time, and I really don't want to break my promise to myself again.

I shift position on the sofa, looking at the apartment Theo gave us through objective eyes.

Anyone would be able to see Mercy, Scott and I have wrecked this place.

The expensive leather couch has slashes and cigarette burns. The hardwood floors are stained with spilled drinks and there's a broken window through which there's a constant draft. A few months ago, I still cared, but now I don't. I feel utterly, completely numb. Life has won this battle and I've lost, and now there's nowhere left for me to run.

The front door slams and Mercy walks into the room, not even acknowledging me as she starts preparing her next hit with trembling hands. I watch her impassively, barely recognizing my once vivacious best friend.

I think about going home a lot, or maybe tracking down Raphael. But how can I? Dove and Nox would be so disappointed in me. I'd never be able to admit to Raphael I lost my scholarship to Parsons. I can never go back home.

"Can I have some?" I mutter at Mercy, but she vehemently shakes her head. "Greedy. Not even a little?"

"You said you wanted to quit," she reminds me, wrapping a hair band around her forearm. "I'm just trying to help, Wills."

I want to believe that's true, but judging by her hazed expression I'm not even sure she's going to remember this conversation in a few minutes once the H hits her veins.

I watch as she leans back once she does the hit, exhaling slowly and grinning to herself once the drugs start hitting her.

"You got anything else?" I'm feeling greedy now, jealous of her high that I'm not able to share.

"Check in the bathroom," she mutters. "Under the creaky floorboard, there should be some pills left."

I walk into the bathroom, pulling down my T-shirt under which I'm just wearing a pair of panties. I identify the floorboard, choosing not to question how long Mercy's been hiding her stash from me. I pull out a baggy containing three purple pills. I swallow them all, gulping to get them down.

I realize taking all those pills was a mistake almost instantly. I retch but nothing comes up. My conscience lets me down, abandoning me to watch my body from above, as if it's not really me at all. Seconds turn into minutes and the hours tick by painfully slowly yet lightning fast at the same time. At some point the darkness takes over, and I succumb to it. I let it envelope me in its chokingly tight embrace, reminding myself I deserve all of this and worse.

Raphael doesn't want me, and I've abandoned my family. This is the result – a year of misery, drugs and barely-there memories of what happened.

"I deserve it," I whisper to myself as my cheek hits the bathroom tile. "I deserve this."

After that, the world goes mercifully dark.

"Man, they're really fucked up. You sure they're going to be okay?"

"Who the fuck gives a shit? Nobody knows we were here, anyway. They're just disposable whores. Exactly Scott’s type."

There's the sound of laughter and my head feels like it's about to crack open as a broken groan leaves my lips.

"Fuck, that one's waking up. Pass me the phone, I want to get this."

I feel the light of a camera flash in my eyes and force them open. But there's another pain on top of my splitting headache – something coming from a different place, a place I'm afraid of.

It's between my legs. And as I open my eyes, I realize I'm bent over the couch. My panties are around my ankles and someone's crudely pinching my nipples. I try to shriek but no sound comes from my lips. My mouth is dry as fuck and I'm desperate for a drink. But I'm still not completely awake. It's as if a dark veil has set over my vision, making me unable to see through the haze.

The pain between my legs grows worse and worse, like something's pounding into me, determined to break me. I turn my head weakly over my shoulder and come face to face with a camera on somebody's phone.

"Smile," someone laughs out loud. "Fuck man, this is like girls gone wild."

My eyes dance over the cluttered living room. Mercy's on the other side of it, uselessly bent over in a heap over a bean bag chair. There's a tall dude kneeling next to her, his shirt pulled up and his cock hanging out. I watch with confusion as he forces his meaty dick inside my friend.

That's not Scott.

The pain between my legs grows and this time when I shriek, a weak sound comes out.

"Fuck, good girl."

Good girl. Those two little words I still only love to hear from Raphael. But this isn't Raphael. It's a man only a few years older than me, wearing a bandana and filming himself as he bottoms out inside me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I whisper, but I'm too weak to move.

Horror makes my limbs freeze. I can't move, can't crawl away. But the reality of what's happening is starting to dawn on me.

I hear the man groan and then warmth explodes between my legs. He pulls out and I feel his release trickling down the inside of my thighs just as the hot tears make a blazing trail over my flushed cheeks.

"You tell Scott this is what he gets for not paying his debts," the bandana man mutters, roughly grabbing me by the cheeks. "You're still a good fuck, though. Maybe you should be a professional whore. I'll find you again soon, and next time you'll suck my cock."

I let out a whimper, watching the men draw back and leaving Mercy lifeless on the ground.

I don't think she's conscious – perhaps that's lucky for her.

As they file out of the apartment, I start to feel the burn of whatever they did to me. I can't admit to myself what just happened – it's easier to pretend they weren't here at all. But when I pick myself up, a blinding pain shoots through my body. I wince and crawl to Mercy on the ground, gently shaking her. I still feel high on the pills, but my first thought is to help my friend.

"Mercy," I whisper. "Mercy, please wake up."

She whimpers in response but doesn't move. I see pools of cum on the floor. We've been used. We've been... raped by the men Scott owes money too. And both of us were too drugged up to even realize what was happening.

Stifling a sob, I grab my phone from the couch and dial 911 with shaky fingers.

"What are you doing?" Mercy manages to get out.

"Calling the cops."

"No!" She roars to life, turning her pleading eyes filled with tears to mine. "Please, don't do this, Willa. They'll take us both away, they'll lock us up. Just look at this place, it's a mess."

"Those men r-raped us," I stutter. "I need to get help."

But she takes the phone from my hand and I don't fight her. Shame burns in the pit of my stomach threatening to swallow me up whole.

"It's too late now," Mercy mutters. "And Scott will get in trouble. I'm begging you, Wills, don't do this."

In that moment, I can't see her as anything but my childhood friend, my bestie. The one I swapped friendship bracelets with, the one who stood by my side no matter what, the one who mended my heart every single time it hurt. But then I remember what just happened. What those men did to us.

"Please," Mercy begs again. "Don't tell anybody what happened."

"You want me to keep this secret?"

She nods eagerly. "Please. I'll owe you."

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at how far we've come. My best friend is begging me not to turn in our rapists and I'm actually fucking considering it because I love Mercy more than I love myself.

"If you make me keep quiet, we're done," I whisper.

"You can't..." She wheezes and coughs, weakly pulling herself into a sitting position. "Fuck, Willa, don't. Don't do that. Don't make me pick between you and Scott."

"I have to." I jut my chin out, ignoring the pain emanating from between my legs. "You've let it get this far. Look at us, Mercy. What the fuck is happening to us? This isn't how our story was supposed to end."

I can tell tears are burning Mercy's eyes just like they are mine. I want to sob because I already know she isn't going to pick me. It's clear she's already made her choice.

"Don't call the cops," she repeats weakly.

"So, you pick him."

"I don't pick anyone, I –"

"Don't feed me that bullshit." I get up, even though every inch of my body hurts like fucking hell. "If this is your choice, I never want to see you again, Mercy."

She stares at me stubbornly, muttering, "You're supposed to be my best friend."

"You're supposed to be my best friend!" I scream at her in frustration, a sob ripping itself from my lips. "Look what we did to ourselves, Mercy. But it's not too late. One call and we can still get out. I can get you out."

But I already know she doesn't want out.

For a moment, I see my best friend underneath the layers she's built up over the last year. But she's gone faster than she appeared.

"Fine, leave," she hisses. "Just do it already. You've wanted to abandon me all along. Just go, Willa. Fucking go."

I don't say a word in response.

I don't tell her I got us this apartment in the first place by bartering with Theo.

I don't tell her she and Scott are the ones who should leave.

I merely nod and walk to my bedroom on shaky legs, haphazardly throwing my things in a beaten-up suitcase. I'm leaving. There's no way I can stay here.

Sending a message to TyrantDaddy, I beg him for some money, just so I can find a place to sleep. I'm broke as fuck.

But no message comes back. He must be busy.

Desperate, I scroll through my other messages which I have been studiously ignoring since TyrantDaddy has been my only client. Now, I find myself desperate, and I fire off a few replies hoping to get somebody's attention and a couple hundred bucks to my name.

I get out of the apartment without throwing one last look at my former best friend. I stand in the street with nowhere to go and no money to my name when a message finally comes through.

It's not from TyrantDaddy – it's from one of the others I finally replied to. The app tells me he's in New York, and in his text, he's asking me to meet up. I reply with shaky fingers, telling him to get me a hotel room near where I am and meet me there.

I take another moment before I move from the sidewalk.

Memories of my life before New York rush through my mind.

Dove, Nox, the boys. Mercy, before Scott did this to her – to us!

And Raphael.

Raphael, whom I've forced myself never to think about. Raphael, who would surely know a way out of this situation, who would make me feel better, who would kill the men who hurt me tonight.

But Raphael doesn't want me. He made that clear a year ago.

Picking up my suitcase, I start my trek to the hotel where I agreed to meet the guy from the sugar baby app.

Mentally, I've completely checked out already. I know I'm going to have to sleep with this guy, when I haven't slept with anybody in a year.

Well, I suppose that's not true now.

I remember the flash of the camera, that stranger's dirty words, the way he violated me. He turned me into a whore. A piece of meat used for pleasure and to get off.

I don't have a choice now. I picked the wrong path at a crossroads, and there's no going back.

Maybe I deserve this, for doubting Nox, for leaving my loving family. They'd never take me back now if they knew everything I've done. Everything that's been done to me. I'm dirty now. A slut.

And a good girl.

My bottom lip trembles as I continue my trek to the hotel, but I walk with resolution. There's only one goal ahead of me now, and that's survival.

No matter what I have to do to make it happen, I'm going to survive.