Where We Left Off (Phoenix Falls Series Book 1)

It’s weird. The building that houses the Gym looks completely deserted, evidently because all of the other students are leaving by the entrance in the front foyer, ushered by teachers saying their goodbyes as we leave for winter break. Maybe that’s why Tate wanted us to meet up at the changing rooms – because there would be no-one else here – but that kind of makes me confused because he has been so openly affectionate with me these past few weeks. I look around the empty yard once more, and then I pull open the doors to enter the Gym.

The entryway is freezing cold and the smell of rubber equipment and aerosol spray lingers in the air. Plus, Tate isn’t standing in the main entrance, which confounds me even further. Naturally upon seeing no-one my eyes subsequently move to the two doors directly in front of me – the girls’ changing room on the left and the boys’ changing room on the right. I glance around at my surroundings again, the building so chilled that my breath mists opaquely in front of my face, and I feel really uneasy now. Why would Tate bring me here?

Tate definitely wouldn’t go into the girls’ changing room, that much I am sure, so I hesitantly take a step closer to the boys’ changing room instead. I haven’t ever been inside of the boys’ locker room. Obviously no-one is going to be in there except for Tate so it should be fine, but I can’t help the uneasy sloshing feeling gurgling around in my gut. I take a long, slow breath of the sharp December air and then I pull open the door to the boys’ room.

The first thing that I notice is that the automatic light is still on, which means that someone is still in here, so I relax a little. I think that the boys’ room is a little bigger than the girls’, bending around a corner where more benches and lockers sit, cleared out for the holidays. I hesitantly round the corner, and I see a Gym bag resting alone on the bench in the centre of the room. I squint at it, assuming that it must be Tate’s, but I swear that I have never seen him wearing it before. Seeing that it’s still unzipped I make my way over to it, wondering if my present is in there and if this is some sort of slightly unnerving treasure hunt, but all that I see is a crumpled football kit, a pair of long-abused trainers, a can of men’s deodorant, and an opened box of-

I immediately spin around and Hudson clamps his hand down on my mouth, his palm so cold that it sends needles prickling across my cheeks. I stare, horrified, into his upturned glinting eyes. I dart my eyes around the room to see if Tate is standing nearby and I try to hold back the wetness that seems to be about to spill down my cheeks. What the hell is going on?

“I’m so glad that you could join us, baby,” Hudson taunts, his mouth grimacing in some sort of satisfied sneer. My eyes shoot back to him and he seems to read the fact that I’m looking for Tate. If this is a joke, I am not getting it. Not at all. “He’s not in here,” Hudson comments, and then he adds, “he’s waiting outside so that I can give you your present alone.”

My eyebrows pinch upwards and then Hudson grips his fingers into my cheeks more tightly, making a pained shriek involuntarily escape my throat and muffle against his palm. So stunned by the turn of events I didn’t notice at what point he had clasped my elbows behind me with his other arm, making my shoulder blades strain and ache from the distorted position.

“I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth River but don’t even think about screaming. I swear, if you even try it-” He digs his nails into my cheeks and I nod my head fiercely, tears now spilling over my skin and onto his fingers, promising him that I won’t scream. I want him to get his hands off my face. I hate the fact that my lips are touching him right now. Why the hell does Tate want me to be here with Hudson?

Contented, Hudson takes his hand away from my mouth and immediately he shoves me backwards, the backsides of my knees bashing into the wood behind me and I fall down on my ass, onto the bench next to his bag.

“What’s going on?” I say, my voice shaking slightly. “I’m meeting Tate-”

Hudson laughs and crosses his arms over his chest, smirking down at me. “First of all, shut up for a minute, I’m doing the talking.” My eyes widen as I stare up at him but I keep my mouth shut. The longer he’s talking, the longer he’s not going to try and… and… “You know how Tate is – so religious and all – and he can’t bear the thought of doing anything to dirty you up.” He looks me up and down, from the top of my jacket zip to the hem of my skirt. “Fuck knows why, you really aren’t anything special. The point is, you really disappointed him at Homecoming on his birthday, so I’m here to give you both a gift and rectify your problem.”

My brow creases together significantly and I glance back towards the bend in the room which leads to the exit, desperate for Tate to come in here and tell me that this was a weird joke. I look up at Hudson and shake my head. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about-”

His hand whips across my cheek and my head snaps to the side, my skin instantly aflame with icy pins and needles, burning their way to the surface of my flesh. My glasses imbed painfully into the side of my nose, but if anything I’m just thankful that they didn’t go flying across the room. I readjust them and will myself to stop the flow of tears. I wish that I wasn’t crying in front of him, but at least my sobs are silent.

“Shut up,” he says again. “Tate won’t do anything with you unless I fix your issue first, so you should be feeling fucking grateful right now.”

I shake my head but I don’t say anything because I don’t want him to hit me again.

The next thing that I feel is Hudson grabbing my head and smashing his face into mine. It’s one of the most painful things that I have ever experienced, and I have literally just been whacked across the face. His mouth is so hard that it makes me squeeze my eyes shut to try and relieve the suction. He bites his teeth into my top lip and I think that I’m going to scream from the pain piercing through my nerves.

He pulls back and looks at my face, crumpled in confusion and agony. I want to cry out to Tate but then I remember that he wanted me here, so really what I need to do is escape, quickly, and as soon as possible.

Is this really what Tate wanted? Is this what he expected to happen right now?

“Why are you being so weird?” Hudson says, a disgruntled look on his face as he hitches up a pale eyebrow.

I literally can’t believe what is happening so I just continue to stare at him as I try to think of how I can remove myself from Hudson’s grasp and flee the building before he catches me. Hudson takes his hands off my face, making me almost shudder with relief, and he puts them on his hips instead. I look at his wavy blond hair and golden eyes and I consider how, were he a completely different person, Hudson could have been a beautiful boy. But the reality is that I can see the thoughts leaking out of his brain and seeping into every crevice of his face, the actuality of who he is unable to stay truly hidden. He’s like one of those jump-scare portraits that people decorate their houses with at Halloween – from one angle it’s a reputable gentleman, but from the other it’s a hideous zombie with evil eyes and a blood-smothered grin. There is no disintegrating portrait hidden in Hudson’s attic. I can see the cracks just fine from here.

“It’s what he wants, River,” Hudson says, bringing me back to the present. “Surely you’re not so selfish as to deprive him of that before he leaves.”

He raises his eyebrows as if prompting me to respond so, shuffling back a little, I say quietly, “Tate wouldn’t want this,” although now I’m not so sure. Everything is adding up.

I wish that it wasn’t.

Hudson blows out a breath as if exasperated, shooting it upwards and making a few of his blond tendrils flutter above his forehead. “This is exactly what he wants. He wants me to help you, and by doing this you’re helping him, so stop being a bitch about it. It’s what was always going to happen. Me and Tate… we share everything.”

And just like that, the last dime drops.

We share everything.

The exact same words that Tate said to me not that long ago, almost as if it were a blood-pact motto. Tate hadn’t sounded so happy about it at the time, but then what do I really know about Tate? What do I really know about anything? So what if I’ve been pining for him from my bedroom window since the day that he first moved in? That doesn’t mean jack shit. Obviously boys lie, and they’re damn good at doing it.

I’ve been played, and I need to exit this game now.

But before I can rise to my feet Hudson shoves his hand into my clavicle and my head smashes down against the bench underneath me, whacking with a horrible loud thudding sound. The back of my head is throbbing, and my blood is pumping so wildly that I can hear it in my ears.

I lift up onto my elbows but it’s too late because Hudson has already ripped a gash in the fabric of my tights and his hand is now clawing at the material around my crotch.

My entire face blanches of any colour as I lift one hand to my mouth, shaking uncontrollably at the sight of what he’s about to do, what he is doing, what he has done-

I feel one finger push into my body and I squeeze my eyes shut at the burn and the sting. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, no, no, no-

No good feeling comes from the intrusion, and instead I feel sore, dry, and then totally numb. It doesn’t feel like how I expected, and it is nothing like what they say in the books that I have read. I think about the steamy dark romances that I have stacked up in my bedroom and how I’m going to bin every single one of them as soon as I get home. There is no joy in this moment. There is no desire, there is no lust. All that I feel is dead inside.

I’m paralysed in shock and fear for an immeasurable amount of moments before my brain starts to re-register what is happening to me.

I risk a glance at Hudson’s hand and clamp my mouth down to stifle my sob.

No more. No. More.

I look to the side to see if there’s something that I can smash against Hudson’s temple and my eyes instantly land on his canister deodorant. Thank God.

I grab the can and immediately spray it in the direction of his face, aiming for his eyes or his mouth but my own vision is too blurry right now to make the situation out clearly.

Hudson instantly jerks away, cursing wildly as he covers his eyes, and I raise my feet up, shoving him hard in the ribs and sending him toppling backwards. I pelt the can at his body like a shot-put and lunge off the bench, streaking around the corner and crashing myself straight into the door. As soon as I breach the exit of the boys’ changing rooms I thunder towards the doors marking the entrance to the Gym, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for always running track with Kit.

I push through the entrance and almost topple over the tiny step that I’ve never really noticed before, but I manage to keep my footing and I sprint across the yard, leaving the Gym building behind me and heading directly for the now deserted car park.

A sweat that I don’t remember releasing is making the hairs around my face stick to my temples and my forehead. I swipe at it with my shaking hands and the icy air laps at the tear-streaks completely covering my cheeks. I hurtle towards the end of the emptied lot, desperate to get out of here as quickly as I can.

I should never have believed him, I think to myself. I knew that this was too good to be true.

My trust.

My faith.

My fault.

As soon as I turn the corner I crash into the solid planes of Tate’s chest.

At first he smiles down at me, a wondrous look in his eyes, but then his face quickly drops and his forehead contorts into confusion, fear, pain.

I instantly stumble backwards, refusing to become trapped in his arms, and I meet his eyes with some confusion, fear, and pain of my own.

But also rage. Mainly rage.

“River,” he says, in a hushed but urgent tone, his hands reaching for me. “What’s wrong? Baby, what happened? Where have you been?”

He’s distractedly running his eyes all over me, perhaps checking for clues that what almost just happened actually did happen, so I take the opportunity to throw back my arm and smack him across the face.

His eyes widen momentarily but he takes the hit, a soft pink glow instantly spreading across his cheekbone and jaw. He meets my eyes, seeming even more desperate than before, and clasps my shoulders in both of his hands.

“Ugh!” I groan disgustedly and I shove at his chest, trying to get him off me, but he holds me firm. “Get away from me, Tate! Get your hands off me right now!”

He doesn’t take his hands off me. Instead he dips his head down to mine so that our eyes are level and he gazes at me with a worried look on his face. “What happened, baby? I’ve been waiting for you. Tell me what I need to do.”

Rifling through my bag I slap the note from my locker into the centre of his chest and he catches it in the splay of his palm so that it doesn’t fall onto the frosted concrete.

“You’ve done enough,” I spit out, and I wriggle myself free from his grasp on my shoulder.

Tate brings the paper between us so that he can look down at it and his eyebrows pinch together. His eyes don’t even run over the lines, and why should they? He wrote them. They more swirl around the page, his desperation and frustration increasing by the second, until he shoots his eyes back to me, then back to the page, and up to me again. Is he shocked that I’m calling him out? Is he experiencing some form of delayed guilt? I don’t know and, right now, I don’t care. He inhales deeply, like he has the audacity to be hurt and irritated, and he crumples up the note, tossing it to the gutter as he reaches for me again.

“If you want to say something to me, I don’t want it in a letter, I want you to say it to my face,” he says, momentarily confusing me. I can’t help the startled laugh that bursts out of me because technically I wish that that had been my line, but my laughter seems to anger him further. “River, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Tell you what’s going on?” I shriek, my whole body quivering with shock and cold and hate. “If only you had told me what was going on. That… that shit with Hudson? Unforgiveable,” I say and I go to move past him, absolutely done with this, but he blocks me. I slash my nails across his bicep, attempting to claw him out of the way, but he’s actually backing me into the side of the wall now.

“This has something to do with Hudson?” he asks, his tone so low that I almost don’t hear it.

“This has everything to do with Hudson!” I growl. “You’re a monster and I can’t believe that I trusted you! I should never have trusted you!” My eyes overflow as my mind suddenly fills with the image of my mom, the wants that she tried to instil into me for my whole life. I went along with her but I never truly agreed with her, obviously thinking that I had some deeper, more enlightened understanding of the twenty-first century than she did. Why can’t I date a handsome jock? Why do I have to pick a ‘sensible’ job?

Now I know. If I had just listened to her, this would never have happened to me.

Tate’s eyes are shimmering and I choke up a half-laugh half-sob. Did he think that I would have been okay with this? With him and Hudson sharing me? I don’t care about whatever dumb-ass bro-code they have together, I want absolutely nothing to do with it.

“River, please,” he whispers, his voice stifled and thick in his throat. “I can be better, I can do more. I thought that you wanted me too.” He shakes his head as he tries to lace his fingers into my hair. With my back pressed against the wall, all that I can do is turn my head away from his mouth, endless streams of tears flowing silently from my eyes. He buries his nose into my neck, inhaling deeply as his chest shakes against me. “River, I’m in lo-”

I pull my elbows up and ram them as hard as I can into his chest. Although the force of it doesn’t make him move, he gets the hint and backs up, pushing one hand into his pocket as he rubs his other wrist across his dampened cheeks. I notice that the crucifix chain that he always wears is wrapped around his fist instead of hanging on his neck, and I wonder why he took it off. Then he puts that hand into his other pocket.

My voice is flat and cold when I speak again. “You’re nothing to me, Tate. This? This was all nothing. You’re the biggest fraud that I’ve ever met and I never want to see you again, ever. I thank God that you’re not going to be living anywhere near me anymore, and I hope that you never do again.”

Without a second glance I turn and bolt, my tears gushing noisily now as they fall down my face and neck. My throat feels tight and strangled, and my lungs are aching with the pressure of my heaving cries. I would fumble in my bag for my inhaler, but I can barely feel my fingers anymore.

As I run through the school gate I feel the wintry air gust up my legs, piercing the now bare area underneath my skirt where my tights were pulled and torn. I cry anew as I recall what just happened and I pull my skirt down as far as I can, to ensure that my legs are as invisible as possible.

My feet pound the pavement and I look down at my tights, a long ladder stretching all the way down from the inside of my thigh, trailing off into a snake’s-tail point just below my knee.

I look back up and swallow painfully, my chest so tight that I think I could die.

No more skirts, I think to myself as I round the next corner, clutching onto my bag for dear life. No more skirts.