The Edge of Tomorrow

5

"You can say you love me. That I'm your perfect crush. How it hurts to need someone that much. You can swear you mean it, but that ain't good enough. 'Cause when a man loves a woman it is all in his touch."

Chapter Theme Song: 'In His Touch' by Celine Dion.

••

Becca

Moments later, I felt something on my face and jolted awake. I cowered away as Richie withdrew his hand from me. He was holding a red bandana that he seemed to have been cleaning the blood on my nose with.

"I was just..." His eyes were sad and shiny. "Here... hold it to your nose..."

"I'm fine..." I went inside of my bag with shaky hands and retrieved my blue rag, holding it there.

He looked offended. But not angry, just...sad.

"We're here..." he said quietly, squeezing the kerchief back into the top pocket of his letter jacket.

I looked around us. This wasn't my house at all. It was his. No, no, no.

"Take me home, please..." My eyes got glassy; I wanted to be away from him so bad. "Take me home, please..."

"I can't..." His face softened. "I have to get you cleaned up. And I want to talk to you..." He climbed out of the car and came around to where I was, opening the door for me. The wet night air whisked against my face. Too cold.

I hesitated, and he pursed his lips, twisting them to the side, that sadness in his glassy eyes again. "I won't hurt you, Becks." You already did.

I squeezed my toes in my shoes before slowly climbing out. I didn't want to say yes, but I was scared to say no. Afraid he'd hit me again. My face was buzzing, my nose felt bloody, and all the nerves in my body stood alert.

He led me up to his spacious mansion, and I held the rag over my nose as we stepped into the blindingly clean living room. My sneakers squeaked against the marble flooring, the warmth of the house unable to erase the chill coursing down my spine. His father was just making his way down the spiral stairs upon our entry, in his black dress shirt and black trousers.

When he saw us approaching the staircase, his face brightened under the glaring silver lights. "Why, hello, Becca."

I nodded halfheartedly as he came to a stop in front of us. His dark brows rose at the way my head was ducked, the rag squashed over my bleeding nose.

Silence. Nothing came from the two men.

Then Richard's broad shoulders rose in a deep breath, and he tilted his head toward his son.

"Richie, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Richie nodded and pressed his hand on my back. I flinched and shifted away from him. "Sure, Dad. Becks...wait for me in my room, please..."

I turned away without hesitating, happy that I could be somewhere alone to call my mom. I climbed the stairs quickly, two at a time, almost tripping over on the last one. I was already crying thinking of what I would say to her.

"Mom, Richie slapped me, and now my nose is bleeding and my cheek is throbbing..."

She would be so disappointed. She really loved him. He got her that new stove with one of the best ovens just the other day.

I sat on his black-sheet bed, where he'd last forced me to go down on him, and quickly took my phone out of the pocket of my jeans. We were connected, my mom and I, as she'd already sent me a message: