Page 30 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

TWENTY-FOUR

ADALENE

I’ve been here before, running from a man.

Only this time instead of man—singular—there are three after me.

This time I’m alone, when before I had a savior, and I was running more from my choices than my circumstances.

And instead of knowing vaguely where I’m at, I’m running blind, into a forest that looks like it should be used exclusively for scary movies.

The grass, frozen and brown beneath my feet, crunches, and if I wasn’t so desperate to get away, I might be concerned that they could hear me. But I don’t have the luxury of worrying about such things. I simply have to run. And to pray.

May 24th, 2014

I fucking hate him. I hate that he looked at me like I was crazy—the one person I thought would have my back and understand my insatiable need to do something that might just be for me.

I hate the shock and disappointment that contorted his expression when I implied that he should take me home and “take care of me” .

I especially hate that now that I’m seconds away from getting what I thought I wanted, I no longer want it because I don’t want him disappointed in me.

And fuck that’s annoying.

Kevin, a guy I’ve seen in my math class every day for the last four years, typically being the loudest, rudest, and most annoying guy in there, is latched to my neck like I’m an oxygen tube a mile under water.

He’s even slurping, and I fight off a shiver of disgust. I don’t want to piss him off—he has a reputation for being the guy to get into fights when he’s drinking. Guy or girl, I don’t think it matters.

But I also don’t want to do the no pants dance with him anymore.

At first I thought I did, because well, I wanted to do it with whoever might take me.

Get rid of this pesky virginity that everyone thinks is a big fucking deal, when really it’s just a flashing light and siren announcing how “innocent” I really am.

Then I wanted to because I was so mad at Mateo for acting like I was beneath him— too pure to ruin, or too innocent to defile —and I wanted to prove him wrong.

But now I just want out of here. The question is how.

“Hey, can…can we talk a second?” My voice wobbles and I hate it. I’ve had more to drink than I’ve ever had—considering I’ve never been drunk in my life, it’s a pathetic threshold, but still—and my emotions are all over the place.

I’d never admit it, but I’m scared of what comes “after” . Having no experience means I don’t know what to expect.

Which is why I wanted it to be Mateo.

We could have remained friends, nothing had to change. I just wanted help with a problem, and I trusted him to be there for me like he’s always been. Except not this time apparently.

I push at his chest, giggling in an effort to cover a sob crawling up my throat. I push the panic down— I won’t cry. I won’t be the girl who gets drunk at a party and cries. Especially with a guy trying to get lucky.

That’ll only intensify my reputation as the naive, innocent, prude girl everyone thinks I am. And even if they’re right, I don’t fucking need them to know as much.

“Hey—” I try again, when his hand gropes at my left boob, grabbing it hard enough I know it’ll bruise. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even lift his giant head. So I shove again, harder. “Listen, I need you to stop.”

This makes him pause, for a second, and then he laughs into the crook of my neck. The sound is mean, and hateful, making the hairs on my arms and neck stand up. “Everyone told me you’d be like this. They told me to not waste my time on you.”

His words ignite a boiling vat of fear and irritation in my stomach.

I didn’t know people truly talked about me like that.

I hate it— and I hate them . “I don’t know who they are, or what you’re talking about, but slobbery lame hickies, and elementary-level groping is not exactly what I had in mind. ”

I suck in a breath, my regret instant. If pissing him off was my goal, I know I’ve succeeded when he fists my boob harder.

I cry out, pushing at his chest, trying to crawl out from beneath him.

He sinks onto me, pinning me with his entire body's dead weight. It’s a losing battle, and that previously restrained panic is spearing through me like hot bullets.

They tear through my remaining composure.

Is he going to rape me? Is it rape if I said yes, before I changed my mind?

A screech rips from my throat as I shove harder. If my parents weren’t so fucking prude, maybe I’d know what consent is. I’d know how to get in and out of sexual situations that I want or don’t want. I’d know what the fuck to do right now.

“Let me up, right now.”

“Or what? What are you going to do?”

“I’ll scream.”

He laughs at that, and I tip my head back, looking for anything within reach that I can hit him with if it comes to that.

After leaving Mateo standing in the middle of the party, looking like a beat dog, Kevin wasted no time herding me up the stairs of his parents house, and locking me behind his bedroom door.

It’s a simple room, small but covered in sports shit like your typical teenage boy.

I also remember seeing some baseball stuff in the corner—a bat.

A bat would work wonders to keep him off me, right?

Is that assault with a deadly weapon? When does “self-defense” come into play? Does he have to rape me first and then it can be considered self-defense?

Fuck!

“Just relax. I’m not going to do anything you don’t like. Sorry it hasn’t lived up to your fucking imaginary expectations so far, but this is the real world. This is how real people have sex. If you’d ever had any, you’d know.”

I freeze at that, my eyes snapping back to him. The room’s dark, only a small baseball shaped night-light providing anything beyond shadows. But I see his face, and even though his tone is joking, his face is not.

“I’ve had a lot of sex, thank you very much. And no one has ever done as shit of a job at turning me on as you’re currently doing.” The words barely leave my lips before his fist hits my face. The pain blooms like a firework across my skin, my eyes instantly watering.

Did I spur him on? Yes. Did I deserve to be hit? I might be naive, but I know the answer is always a resounding no.

I scream, the sound so shrill it rattles the sports posters littering his walls.

To hell with someone finding us and the shame I’ve created for myself.

I’m getting out of here now. I’m only able to scream for a handful of seconds before his meaty hand clamps over my mouth and nose, his other wrapping around my throat.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch. You made me hit you, you fucking dumb cunt. Everyone was right. You’re not worth this. Your ass is definitely not worth my fucking time.”

I can feel his chest pushing into my own, his heart racing.

Snot and tears coat the inside of his hand, and I struggle to breath. He shifts his weight, looking over his shoulder, for what I don’t know, and that’s all I need to move my leg, driving my knees into his precious balls.

He groans, rolling away from me, and I scramble off the bed. I wobble towards the door, but don’t make it two steps before it splinters. I scream again, both from terror and pain as the wood bits bite into my exposed flesh.

I fall into a ball on the floor, shielding my head with my hands.

“Dale! Adalene!” The familiar voice, although different from its normal calm, nonchalant tone, hits me, and I look up. Mateo’s giant frame stands over me, the light in the hallway making it hard to make out his face. I can see his hand extended out though, and I shakily take it in my own.

“She fucking begged me dude. She’s a slut, likes getting slapped around when she’s getting railed. She’s so loose too, little miss innocent act is actually the biggest whore of them all. Real original.”

Mateo’s hand squeezes around my own, and I cry out, trying to pull away. “Don’t say another fucking word.” His voice is nearly silent.

“Mateo, you’re hurting me.”

He releases his hold instantly, pulling me into his chest instead. He whispers into my hair, and I can’t fight off a sob, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, can…can we go now?”

“Dude seriously? You want sloppy seconds? There’s so many better pieces of ass here—take it from me—” Kevin rambles, standing closer to us now, and I can hear Mateo’s heart pounding wildly in his chest. He squeezes me a second, before he pulls me behind his body.

He advances at Kevin, who’s words sputter out. “If you ever look at her, if you ever speak to her again, I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll kill your family. I’ll kill your fucking dog, I don’t care. But hear me when I say it. You. Will. Not. Exist.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Mateo say such violent things. For someone whose family no doubt thrives on some level of violence, Mateo’s anything but. Like Ferdinand the Bull, he prefers kindness, thoughtfulness, listening, and giving. He’s not a dominant, aggressive man.

At least, I never knew him to be.

“Geez man, I promise she’s not worth it. Church trash—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his train of thought before Mateo’s giant fist connects with his face, a sickening crunch filling the room.

I’m terrified, my heart feeling fit to burst.

But why am I also all of a sudden horny?

Kevin crumples, a hoarse cry accompanying his descent, and Mateo turns to face me once more. He doesn’t look down at me, or at the faces now congregating in the hallway, but grabs my wrist in a firm, but gentle grip, leading me down the stairs.

I watch his shoulders vibrating through the fabric of his shirt, so tight I’m afraid the muscles will rip in half, his head hung low like he’s ashamed.

We reach the driveway where the party’s still alive and well, the news of its patron not yet being passed around like the juicy gossip it will undoubtedly be. I stop, digging my heels into the gravel, and tug on my wrist. Mateo reluctantly stops, but doesn’t turn around.

I reach out my free hand, and touch his back, only for him to stiffen farther, pulling away from me. “Mateo, thank you. I’m…I’m sorry that happened. I shouldn’t have?—”

“No. You fucking shouldn’t have. And now I’ve beat someone up for what?

For talking shit like he always does? I don’t agree with what he said about you, but fuck.

” He sucks in several breaths, his shoulders rising and falling.

I can’t stop the tears from falling again, his disappointment in me is the greatest blow I’ve suffered tonight.

“You put yourself in that position, Dale. You should know better.”

I tug at my wrist, harder this time, and he reluctantly releases it, turning to face me. His face is angry and dark, a scowl pulling at every line in his face. And then it shifts, darkening farther, and I step back.

I pull my arms across my chest, suddenly afraid of him too.

“What the fuck is that?” It’s a growl, and I cower away from him.

“What is what?” I whisper.

“Your face. What the fuck happened to it?”

I reach up, wincing when I trace the swollen lump forming beneath my eye. “Like you said, I should’ve known better.”

“Fuck, Dale. Did he hit you?”

“I deserved it.” I don’t know if I believe the words wholeheartedly, but now that two people have basically told me I put myself in this position and shouldn’t be surprised at what happened next, I’m not so certain.

Maybe I did deserve it. If Mateo—the fairest, kindest person I know thinks it—how untrue can it really be? I know nothing about relationships like this, so maybe?

“Dale, I didn’t know. You definitely didn’t—”I put my hand up, cutting him off. I don’t need his pity now. Not when he was being honest with me before. I understand. I’m learning, and sometimes we fall down on our faces when we learn.

I turn on my heel, not listening to whatever Mateo starts to say. I can’t. The ugly crying is about to commence and I want nothing more than to be alone. I walk down the driveway, and toward the direction of my house.

This was a lesson. One I’ll never forget.

February 18th, 2025

I’m still not sure what woke me up, but I couldn’t believe it when I found my hands and feet free of my bindings or the pile of supplies in the corner like a small beacon of hope.

I didn’t question it as I slinked across the room, hazy evening light dancing shadows across the walls as night closed in.

I didn’t think about it as I climbed out the window in the corner, the lock magically missing.

I didn’t think about any of this as I sprinted into the woods, not sparing a second look behind me, as I raced into the darkness—into the unknown.

But I’m thinking about it now.

They talked about a trap. What if this is me, running right into their trap? What if they’ve set the bait free, to reel in the real catch, and then they kill us both? Whoever “us” is.

I don’t stop, even as the fears wrap like vines around my stomach, tugging and pulling at me. My arms pump, my feet aching but nearly numb beneath me.

I feel like I’ve been running forever, and I still don’t know where I’m going. I haven’t heard anyone after me, but I’m not so sure I would anyways. With the roar of blood in my ears and the buzz of oxygen racing through my lungs, I can barely hear anything.

Don’t fall apart now. I know in my bones this is my only chance to escape—if I don’t reach safety today, I’ll die here. And as miserable as I might be, I’m not ready to die.

I stop, hand resting at the base of my throat, as I try desperately to catch my breath. My heart feels fit to burst, fear coursing through me like a live wire in open water. My skin pricks, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at full attention, and I begin to stumble forward once more.

I feel like I’m being hunted, and that’s scarier than just being abused.

I look around me, desperate for any sign of some kind of direction. The sky’s so dark now, and I’m becoming aware of just how late into the night it’s become. How long have I been running? It has to be the dead of night; the trees are so thick I can barely see even a sprinkling of stars.

Tears stream down my face, freezing before they even drip from my chin. I spin around once more, looking for my foot prints to make sure I don’t accidentally take off in the way I came, when I spot a light.

It’s bouncing slightly, like a flashlight in a person's hand as they walk, and I want to scream, but bite my tongue instead. It’s either someone who can save me, or it’s someone here to kill me.

My nerves are fried, but I have to at least try to get away.

It’s not coming at me from the way I came, so I’m praying it’s someone new. Someone who can help me.

God, protect me.

And then I run towards the light. As I get closer, the large frame of a man, darker than the night around him, comes into view and I push my legs harder—I don’t know how or why he’s here.

But I’d know that outline anywhere.