Hard To Get

The Things That Hurt Us Most

Just a warning: This chapter is extremely graphic and filled with violence. (Trigger warning) This was extremely difficult for me to write and might upset some readers. If you are easily upset by abuse, language, degradation, and sexual harassment, PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER. It gets worse before it gets better!

-Jacob-

My father dragged me upstairs by my arm. I was already crying, knowing what was about to happen. He pulled me into his room, throwing me on the bed. His eyes were wild, his face creased in a frown.

"Why do terrible things always happen?" He whispered, taking off his shirt. "Off! Take them off!" He commanded. I shook my head. I wasn't going to make this easy for him. I had lost her too. I wouldn't go along and let him keep hurting me. He loomed over me then, slapping me hard in the face and literally ripping my shirt off. I tried to fight, but he was too strong. He pushed me down, grabbing my wrists in one hand and his belt buckle with the other. I cried out as he wrapped his belt around my wrists, the thick black leather far too tight. He yanked his pants down, then my own. "It's your fault that Michael died. You were there when your mother died, too! Why didn't you make her stay? Why did she have to die?" He was in hysterics, but so was I. I screamed, trying to kick him away from me. This just made him angrier, however, and he grabbed one of the empty beer bottles on his night stand, shaking it at me.

"Get off of me! Let me go!" I shrieked, trying to wriggle away. I yelped as the bottle was smashed next to my head, glass flying.

"Shut up!" He screamed, "Just shut up!"

I shut my mouth, my eyes wide. He grabbed my leg with the hand that wasn't constricting my hands, pushing it up and to the side so that he could better reach my ass. Tears streaked down my face, no doubt matching the blood that dripped down my legs from the cuts his fingernails made.

I could hear my phone going off downstairs, but I didn't think much of it as my father loomed over me, a wicked smile on his face.

-Damien-

My motorcycle glided smoothly over the dark pavement, headed towards Jacob's house. Fear flowered in my stomach, thriving on the anger and panic that threatened to flood my being. The angry clouds rolling with thunder overhead did nothing to help, so full of water I expected the down pour to start at any moment.

I quickly jumped off of my bike, barely even bothering to put the stand down properly before I ran up to the door, pounding on it with a closed fist.

"Jacob!" I screamed, "Jacob!"

Koby opened the door, looking confused, "Damien? What are you doing here?"

"Where's Jacob?" I demanded, no doubt looking like a feral beast.

"Jacob?" Koby sighed softly, "He still hasn't told you yet? He's lived next door to you this whole time."

I stared at him, the pieces all suddenly falling into place. My heart started beating rapidly in my chest, threatening to burst out. He had lived next door to me all this time. The ABConstruction vehicle belonged to his father. The drunk nights, yelling next door, it all made sense. Not even bothering to say anything else, I ran back to my bike, swearing my stupidity, and immediately blazed away, not even bothering with the speed limit.

Something horrible was happening, I knew it.

I sped all the way back to my house, parking the motorcycle in my driveway before running straight for the front door of Jacob's house. I heard something break inside, and didn't even bother knocking, instead just kicking the door down and tearing inside. I could hear noises coming from upstairs. I took the stairs two at a time, going as fast as humanly possible.

There he was. Stark naked, tears running down his face and blood on the bed around him. There was a smaller bottle near his head, and the neck of another in his father's hand. A black belt was wrapped around his wrists, lack of circulation nearly causing his fingers to turn purple. Bruises covered his arms, torso, and  thighs. He was gasping for air, his eyes wide and filled with fear. His father had a gun in his other hand, waving it around in the air as he shouted, unaware of my presence.

"My family is gone," Mr. Anderson sobbed, "There's no point anymore. Not for either of us."

"No! Please, please, no!" Jacob yelled as his father pointed the gun at him.

"Mr. Anderson," I said loudly, "Put the gun down."

Mr. Anderson turned towards me, surprised. Jacob's eyes widened.

"No!" Mr. Anderson shrieked, "You'll ruin everything!"

"Put the gun down," I replied calmly, my anger hidden beneath a mask of impossible indifference. I wanted Mr. Anderson to pay for this, but I knew that wasn't the best way to deal with him. He was a crazed man with a gun. I was unarmed.

He pointed the gun at me, his eyes wild.

Jacob immediately panicked, trying to sit up, "Damien! Damien, no!" He hissed in pain, and I realized quite suddenly that he was injured.

Mr. Anderson's eyes passed between Jacob and me, and he suddenly pointed the gun back at Jacob. Terror and anger pulsed through me, and I took a step forward, "Mr. Anderson! Please!"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking a step back. His back was pressed to the window, "This has to end."

I lunged for him, yelling. The gun went off. There was the sound of glass breaking, and suddenly we were both falling. I heard Jacob scream. My hand caught the windowsill, glass pressing into my palm. The roof was slanted, so I wasn't in immediate danger of falling, but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw Mr. Anderson's naked body on the ground. I turned back to the window, pulling myself up and back through. I immediately went to Jacob. The bullet had hit him in the leg, and he was loosing blood quickly.

"Damien! Damien!" He whimpered, his eyes filled with fear, "Damien..."

"Shh... Shh... It's okay," I whispered, putting pressure on the bullet wound. I pulled my phone from my back pocket, calling 911 and requesting an ambulance right away. I paused and took my shirt off, wrapping the material around his wound. I untied his hands, cradling his body against my own. He cried out in pain at every movement, and my heart hurt to see him this way. After a few moments, I heard the approaching sirens. "It's going to be okay," I whispered. "Everything is going to be okay."