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SIX

PRETTY EYES

A BOY brUSHED IN RED LIVING IN BLACK AND WHITE—UNDEROATH

DOMINIC (24)

T he same blonde hair and brown eyes that have haunted my dreams ever since I was a teen begin to haunt me all over again the moment I see Calista enter the elegantly dark room. Even though the lights are dim and black silk shades cover the widows, she brightens it up as she walks in.

The guys take notice, looking over at her with their jaws ajar like mine. But she looks away quickly, betrayal gleaming in her pretty eyes.

“How is it fucking possible that she looks even better every time we see her?” I ask over the brim of my glass as I gulp the old-fashioned down, hoping a buzz will help make this event bearable. “Her fucking parents keep her locked up, and yet she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Abusers know the right places to hit—the ones unseen by the naked eye. They wouldn’t dare damage her face or any part of her body that makes them money,” Ash blurts out, hatred lacing his voice.

Killian scoffs. “He isn’t wrong,” he adds, turning his back on her, trying to hide the obvious pain in his eyes.

The darkness surrounding us seems to be closing in, suffocating me with the weight of their words. I feel the anger bubbling up inside of me, listening to them talk about Calista as if she’s just a beautiful object to be owned and controlled. But before I can respond, the door slams shut from Calista rushing out of it, leaving a trail of her addicting essence behind.

I glance at Ash and Killian, seeing the guilt and regret in their eyes.

“We need to fucking do something,” I spit firmly. “I can’t just stand by and watch her suffer at the hands of the people who are supposed to protect her.”

“We have the same fucking talk every year, Dom. There’s nothing we can do. I mean, look around the fucking room,” Killian sneers, reminding me that we are truly powerless when it comes to saving her.

Surrounded by wealthy, high-profile figures of the community—including law enforcement, judges, and senators—nobody would help us help her, not when they’re a huge part of the fucking problem.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper as I walk off, hoping to catch her by herself; it’s a long shot, but I have to at least try.

We were so young when all of this shit began, not knowing the full extent of the hell she was going through. Every time I asked my father about her, I was punished—forced to forget about her and all of the memories that I had of us. Over time, I didn’t forget; I just stopped asking, knowing I’d never get an answer.

I didn’t want to come to any of these parties. I was tricked with the promise of being able to talk to her and see her again. My freedom was dangled over my head like a fucking carrot, and I was the fucking rabbit. I knew what my father was capable of, so I didn’t dare go against him. Seeing him murder a woman in cold blood one night, I was afraid if I said or did something to go against him, that I would be next.

My father literally got away with murder and has been for my entire life.

But I can’t ignore my conscience any longer, and I can’t stand by and watch Calista suffer. I have to do something, even if it means going against my father and risking my own safety.

As I make my way through the crowded room, I finally catch a glimpse of Calista in the hallway through the open door, standing alone near the window, right under the moonlight streaming in.

Without a second thought, I walk up to her and take her hand, speaking softly. “Calista?”

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then soften as she looks at me with a mixture of fear and hope.

“Dom, you shouldn’t be out here,” she whispers, looking around nervously.

“I know, neither should you.” I force a smile through the immense pain, hoping she’ll smile back.

She rips her hand out of mine, as if my touch burned her, and just stares at me, her eyes sweeping the length of my body.

“Look at me, Pretty Eyes ,” I beg, my heart shattering even more.

“Why now, Dom?” Her brown eyes fill with tears, but not a single one falls.

“Calista, I–”

“Calista, what are you doing out here?” Elaine, her mother, hisses, her evil tone echoing around the empty halls as she walks through the doors, rushing over to us.

Immediately, Calista’s guard goes back up, and fear takes over the beautiful features on her face. She’s visibly shaken and afraid, and it’s all my fucking fault. Her mother glares at me, snatching her daughter away without giving me another glance, disappearing back into the room.

It doesn’t take long for my father to storm out of the same room, narrowing his murderous eye in my direction. I know I’m fucked, but I’m more concerned about how much worse I made things for Calista.

“You couldn’t leave shit alone, could you?” he seethes, enraged and radiating anger.

“I didn’t do anything.” He doesn’t listen. Instead, he grabs me by the back of my neck and drags me alongside him out of the mansion.

“You fucked everything up tonight, boy. You’re going to fucking pay for that shit.” He throws me in the back of the limo and slides in close beside me, loosening his tie as the driver very quickly pulls off.

This was the part that I hated the most. I didn’t care about the beatings or the threats to my life. What got to me was all of the times he forced me to my knees or made me lay back with my eyes shut while he took his anger out on me—among other things—and that’s exactly what’s happening tonight.

“Get on the fucking floor,” he snaps, unzipping his pants, then pushing the button that closes the partition. “You cost me Calista again , Dominic, so you’re going to take her fucking place.”

When I don’t move exactly when he wants, he takes out a loaded syringe filled halfway with the poison that makes me do whatever he wants—I fucking hate it. I’m usually quick to react, and I end up dodging it, but tonight, I’m not so lucky. He jabs the needle into the side of my neck and pushes the plunger down, filling my body with the burning chemical that irritates the fuck out of my skin. It only takes seconds before I feel completely numb and less hostile, giving him the opportunity to make me comply with whatever his demands might be.

Shoving me to the floor of the limo, he grabs the back of my neck again and pulls my face into his lap, thrusting his hips one good time so his dick slides right into my mouth.

“Be a good boy for your father,” he says softly, breathing heavily with a smile twisting on his lips as he looks at me.

Even not in my right mind, I know this isn’t what I want. I know it’s fucking wrong and twisted. But I do what I have to in order to survive, especially when I feel the familiar cold metal press against my temple, the click of the gun echoing loudly in my eardrum.

There has to be a better life out there than the one I’m living—than the one Cali is living—but I haven’t seen any sign of it. Maybe we were meant to live like this—to be used, abused, and mistreated. Where no one would help or believe us. And, fuck, I might as well just fucking accept it.

So I’ll take whatever punishment he gives me and endure whatever he inflicts on me. He has already broken my spirit, and without that, I don’t see any hope for a better future.

* * *

Waking up sometime later, my jaw cracks as I yawn, feeling like I’d been punched in it a few times. Sitting up, I look around the room, the glow of the blue neon sign above the door reminding me of where I am. And then I remember what happened.

My father.

I cringe and fly out of bed, stumbling around my room in the dark, desperate to get to the door. Once I find the knob, I twist it and fling the door open, bolting to the bathroom across the hall.

No matter how much I scrub my teeth and tongue with my toothbrush or how much mouthwash I gargle with and end up swallowing, nothing can get rid of the vile taste in my mouth. Taking the bottle of hand sanitizer, I pump it into my mouth and swish it around, frantically trying to feel clean. But I still don’t. No matter how much disinfecting I do or how much I swallow, my OCD becomes worse, leaving me shaking in a heap on the bathroom floor.

The door opens, and without a word, Ash and Kill hold onto me and lift me, bringing me out to the living room of our grungy apartment we share together. They know why I’m like this—why I’m fucked up. They’re the ones who pick up the pieces every fucking time.

We all deal with our share of trauma and abuse, each one more sinister than the next. Maybe it’s why we’re so close to each other—always there for one another. They don’t make me talk about it, and for that, I’m fucking grateful. I don’t need to tell them the shit my father does because they’ve seen it—they’ve watched it happen with their own eyes. Just like I’ve seen what their fathers do to them. We don’t judge each other, never have, never will. But we never speak about it. Why relive the nightmares when they continue to happen regardless? Moving out of our houses wasn’t even enough to stop their predatory behavior.

The only reason we haven’t left Boston yet is because of Cali. We already feel responsible for allowing shit to go on for this long; we couldn’t leave her now, knowing no one would ever fucking help her.

As we sit in the dimly lit living room, I can’t help but feel the weight of our shared burdens bearing down on all of us. I know that we’re just a bunch of kids living in a fucked-up world, but we can’t just stand by and let shit keep happening. In our mid-20s, we’ve never had serious relationships before. We’re too damaged, too fucked up to know what’s right and wrong—in a sense.

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. What can I possibly say to make things better? Less awkward? To free Calista from the life of abuse and pain she’s been subjected to for so long? To free ourselves?

I glance at Ash and Killian, seeing the pain and determination in their eyes. That’s when I realized that we’re not alone in this. We may feel helpless, but we’re in this shit together. We've got each other’s backs, and we’re going to find a way to help save Calista. But how? How can a group of broken kids take on such a powerful force? How can we face the people who are responsible for so much pain and suffering, including our own?

As the questions swirl in my mind, I know one thing for sure—we can’t wait for someone else to come to our rescue. We know that there is no one coming to fucking save us; we need to rescue ourselves. We need to rescue Calista.

“I need a fucking drink,” I finally manage to say.

Killian gets up and heads to the kitchen while Ash reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little baggie of white powder. Dumping it onto the coffee table, he pulls a credit card out of his wallet and begins cutting up lines of coke, making my mouth water just knowing how much better I’ll feel after sniffing one.

Dumping a few pain pills onto the table as well, he uses the same card to break them up, crushing them into a thin blue powder that he mixes with the coke, making the lines even fatter.

He hands me the cut-up straw first, nodding toward the messy tabletop. “All yours,” he says in a hushed tone, afraid to speak normally in case he breaks down.

Killian comes back with a bottle of vodka and drinks straight from it before passing it to me. “Drink up,” he says, chuckling, trying to lighten the somber mood.

And so I do. I take a swig from the bottle, welcoming the burn gratefully. Lowering my head, I put the straw at the base of my nostril and the other end at the start of the line on the table and sniff, feeling the drugs numb my insides as they drip in a thick, bitter drop down the back of my throat.

We know that drugs aren’t the answer, but they’re the fucking answer for tonight.

The comfort of temporary relief washes over me, clouding my mind and dulling the pain for now. But as I look over at my best friends, I can see that they’re also struggling to find solace in this temporary escape. The numbness doesn’t last long, and the weight of our reality comes crashing back down on us quickly. So I do another line, and another, and another, then another.

As I lie back and let the rush of drugs take me over, I know that when the high fades, our determination and resilience will still be there. All of the pain and shame will hit us even harder. The regret. The fear. The disgust.

We may be damaged, but we’re not fully broken, and together we’re stronger than we could ever be alone, even if we don’t believe it.

So I close my eyes, letting the drugs take me deeper into a temporary escape from the pain and the darkness I’ve grown so comfortable living in. But in the back of my mind, the fire of determination burns, and I know that no matter how hard it may be, we won’t ever give the fuck up.