The End

Part II: Chapter 3

            “Duke,” I whispered carefully, drawing the attention of the boy that lay atop of me, breathlessly kissing every inch of skin he could find. His lips continued on their trail to mine, ghosting over sensitive flesh as they approached. With renewed fervor, he looked down at me. The hunger in his eyes, his earlier desperation to show me how he felt—it left me nervous and reminded of similar times I’d tried to forget. “Please, stop,” I whimpered.

            His face fell in disappointment, the want still evident in his eyes. “Why? I thought you wanted me to show you how I felt. I thought—”

            “I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I can’t let—it’s too much like—I’m sorry,” I mumbled, ashamed. I shouldn’t have said anything, just dealt with it like before.

            “No, Florence,” he spoke, “tell me. Let me help you.”

            “I just—Stephens—”

            Without another word, Duke rolled away. His eyes now wild, feral, his movements controlled and swift.

            “What about Stephens?” he questioned abruptly.

            “He—when I was younger—I’m sorry—I didn’t want to, but—”

            “Florence,” he interrupted softly, “tell me what happened.”

            Drawing as much air as my lungs could hold, I fought the tears that had begun to stream down my cheeks, cutting watery lines in my composure, cracking the wall that had held so much for so long.

            “When I was fifteen, I-I was raped.” Duke’s eyes widened as he reached to comfort me, though I instinctively pulled away. “By Stephens.”

            He silently rose from the bed, grabbing a previously discarded shirt and quickly slipping on shoes. No words passed his lips; no looks were given to me.

Desperation flooded me, horror slowly sinking in. For so long, I’d hidden that. For so long, I’d wanted to tell someone. For so long, I’d hoped to not be hurt again, left alone after being defiled—whether by another person, or by myself.

“Where are you going?”

“To kill that son of a bitch,” Duke growled, every word of his threat meant.

The door was opened and the boy in front of me parted, his eyes not his own, his words crazed, spoken by the animalistic force that had taken over him. I hurtled down the stairs behind him, willing my gangly legs to carry me faster, to beat him, to stop him. His name bounced off of the high ceiling as I shrieked, pleaded, begged. Just as Duke reached the door, I caught him, using every ounce of strength I could muster to shove him away from the front door.

“No,” I demanded. “You’re staying here.”

“Florence,” he exclaimed, trying to break free of my grasp, “get off of me!”

“No.”

His hand escaped mine, clamping around the golden doorknob, threatening to exit.

“I swear to God, Duke, if you leave, I will, too.”

He stood rigidly, his motion halted, frozen by my threat, my promise.

“What?” he asked, his voice barely audible, yet seething.

“If you go over there, I’m done.”

“Florence, he raped you,” Duke shouted. “That bastard raped you, and you’re just going to let him go?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I whispered, tears once again filling my eyes.

“What do you mean, you don’t have a choice? I’m going over, and I’m going to kill him.”

“Duke, if you do, he’ll send someone, and I’ll die.”

“What?”

“He told me, that if I tell anyone, he would kill me, and he means it,” I whispered.

“How many times, Florence? How many times did he do this to you?” he asked angrily, the door still open. “Once? Twice? How many?”

“Please, Duke. Stop.”

“How many?”

“I-I don’t know,” I whispered, the tears finally escaping. The door slammed shut as Duke slid onto the floor, a crumpled heap of anger.

“Why?” he asked. “Why did he do it?” Raising his head, I watched as his face mirrored mine, trails of disgust, disappointment and fear being carved by each individual droplet of water that escaped his eye unwillingly.

“I-I disobeyed him.”

Caught between a cry and a laugh, Duke’s shoulders shook as he slumped forward, his head in his hands.

His name escaped my lips once more, his body shaking softly.

“Let me go,” he begged. “Please, Florence, let me go.”

“No.”

“Let me go—”

A curt cough echoed through the foyer, silencing Duke’s pleas. Jason marched down the stairs and stood before us, his eyes observant and guarded, his mouth a thin line.

“What is going on?” he questioned.

“Dad, let me—”

“Duke,” he hissed. “Tell me what is going on.”

“Stephens raped her,” Duke exclaimed, shuddering. “Let me go and show hi—”

“No,” Jason demanded. “Is this true, Florence?”

His forehead creased as I nodded, confirming the truth to Duke’s statement. Wordlessly, his strong arms slipped around me, drawing me into his chest as gentle reassurances fell from his lips. Duke stood from the floor, wiping his eyes as his father motioned him forward, enfolding his son into our embrace. Arms tangled and tears fell, a grown man cradling two broken children.

Finally pulling away, he led us to the couch, where Duke lay and pulled me onto his lap, gentle apologies being shared. I curled against his hard chest, the steady beat within soothing me. Jason observed us from the couch, his gaze watchful and cautious.

“What happened this afternoon when you went over there?” Duke’s father asked.

“He made four more,” I responded quietly. “They’re not like us.”

He sighed. “I should’ve stopped him when I had the chance.” The room was silent as Jason processed the information, his brow furrowed and jaw tight. “What do you mean he raped you?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t know how else to explain it, “ I answered as Duke’s arms tightened around me.

“How many times, Florence?”

“I lost count,” I mumbled. “It went on for a year.”

“Oh my god,” Jason muttered.

“I’m going to murder that bastard,” Duke growled.

“No.”

“Duke, please, stay here,” I begged.

“But—”

“Stay with me,” I whispered.

“Always,” he mumbled.