Lacey

Chapter 22 - Lacey

I wake up hot, the morning sun beading down on me. Where am I? The last thing I remember...Oh my god, I think I am going to be sick. Memories of last night come flooding back, and I gag on the bile rising up my throat. Mr Marone raped me, and that bitch Lyndsay filmed it. I can't help it, I double over and vomit the meagre contents of my stomach. When the heaving stops I finally, I take stock of my surroundings; I am on top of food scraps and trash. Standing up, I realise why. I have been dumped into an industrial dumpster like garbage. The thought has tears streaming down my face. How much more shit could life throw at me, I wondered, hadn't I endured enough in my short life? Wiping the tears angrily from my face, I swung my leg over the side of the dumpster and forced myself over the side. Unfortunately, my balance was still off from whatever Mr Marone had spiked my drink with and instead of landing on my feet as I intended, I instead landed hard on my hip. My left wrist took the brunt of the fall, bending back awkwardly. "Fuck", I scream in pain, rolling over to cradle it with my good hand.

Gingerly sitting up, because my head pounded like a bitch, I realise I am at the back of the school. Looking around, I spot my purse lying several feet away. Thankfully everything is still inside, so I grab my phone. I don't hesitate when I dial Dane. He answers on the second ring. "Hey baby, what's up?" he asks with a smile in his voice. I choke up hearing it, and suddenly my tongue feels too thick to speak. I knew I didn't fit in here, that one day one of these stuck-up assholes was going to put me in what they thought was my place. Lyndsay had certainly done that. I could feel myself slipping back into my old self, the depressed and hurt one that wanted nothing to do with anyone because they continued to prove time and time again just how much they could, and would, hurt me.

"Dane", I sob, unable to get anything else out. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you ok? If those fuckers have hurt you, I will gut them," he seethes down the phone line. "I need you", I whisper. I can't deal with the hurt anymore, and as much as I have pushed Dane, I know he will always be my rock. "I'm leaving now, babe", he replies, the sound of his motorbike starting and tyres screeching before he hangs up. That was just like him, no questions asked. And as much as I wanted him to move on, I would always do whatever he needed without question also.

I take my broken heels off and throw them in the trash. Looking down, I realise that my dress is in no better shape, but it will have to do. I'd rather wear a torn gown than walk home dishevelled with only my underwear and bra on. I didn't have to see my hair and makeup to know how I looked. Looking at my phone, I wondered if I should call Ryder or one of the other guys but noted that even though I had been missing overnight from the prom, none of them had attempted to call me. The only missed call was from Matt.

Weird, but I was too lost in my own head to care right now. All I wanted to do was get home and then call the police to report the rape. I wasn't stupid. I knew not to wash any evidence away before they arrived. No matter how disgusting I felt, I would nail that bastard. Walking wasn't easy, my entire body and backside hurt, and I had what I assumed was blood and cum crusted to my inner thighs. The horrible revelation had me stopping and gagging again. The thought of that creep touching me, violating my body was disgusting. It made me feel as if I was thirteen again with zero control over who and how my body was used. I felt like dying.

When I finally made it up the driveway of my father's mansion and into the house, I noted with relief that no one was home. I didn't want anyone to see me in this state. Walking into my room, I locked the door behind me, wanting nothing more than privacy and the feeling of being safe while I sorted myself out. Before I did anything, I noticed that my laptop was open and sitting on my bed. A YouTube channel paused on the screen. My heart sunk. It was paused on a picture of me. Facedown on one of the metal desks in the science lab with Mr Marone, his face conveniently cropped so that only his lower half was in view. With shaking fingers, I forced myself to press play and watched in horror as fake moans filled the room, overlapped with the doctored video of my rape. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. My body shook with every heave of my chest. As I was closing the laptop, a text popped up on messenger.