THE BAD BOY AND THE CHEERLEADER

THE BAD BOY AND THE CHEERLEADER - CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 44:

GIANNA’S  POV:

Well, this blows.  Expecting a rendezvous with your current boyfriend, only to run into your ex-boyfriend.  And, oh yeah, get thrown against a wall by him.  Thankfully, my head doesn’t bang against the concrete wall, but my back takes quite a hit.  I land on the cafeteria floor, but am panicked enough about the situation to be in a sitting position within seconds.  My eyes are squeezed shut in pain until a light is shining on my face.  I open them and look into the glare of the flashlight shining on my face.  I scramble to my feet as the light moves closer.  

Putting on a brave front, I ask Josh, “What do you want?”

“You.”

Well, that doesn’t sound good.  

“Listen,” psycho, “Josh, I really can’t hang out with you right now.  I’m supposed to be meeting the other girls in the parking lot.”  Thinking quickly, I add, “Do you want to walk me there?”

“No.”  

Crap.

When he is just inches away, and the flashlight is pointed down, I can make out his face in the soft glow.  I used to find him attractive?  All I see now is the ugliness of his personality.  “Whatever you think is going to happen, you’re delusional Josh.”

“Am I?”  

Well, duh.

Okay, enough of this.  I very calmly turn to walk away and the hell out of here.  His grip on my arm stops me.  Not wanting to show my fear, I try to pull my arm away, “Let me go.”

He just shakes his head, “No, that was my mistake before, letting you go.”

Now I’m starting to get annoyed, “You didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s all his fault.” Josh says in a distracted tone.  

I don’t have to ask who he means.  Caleb.  Who should be wondering where I’m at about right now.  The original plan was to meet out in the parking lot, until I fell for that fake note like a crappy actress in a bad movie plot and ended up in the empty cafeteria with my psycho-ex.  Is this the part where I get stabbed to death?  

Hell, the freak, no.

Tired of playing this game, I push into him with my free arm and shoulder.  He stumbles backwards a couple of steps, losing his grip on me, and I spin around to sprint towards the double doors.  

Not fast enough, though, because within three seconds, he’s tackling me to the ground.  We land gracelessly on the cold linoleum floor, his arms wrapped around me from behind and me face-first against the floor.  “Get off me!” I scream at the top of my lungs, hoping someone will hear.  Isn’t there supposed to be a janitor here late at night?  A teacher who practically lives here?  Not about to give up on that idea, I scream, “Help!” before Josh has the chance to clap a hand over my mouth.  

Which I promptly bite.  

He yelps in pain, yanks the meat of his hand out of the lock my teeth have on it and uses the same hand to grab me by the hair on the back of my head.  Now I’m really getting freaked.  I start fumbling for the phone in my school windbreaker pocket.  I hit the send button twice to re-dial my last call.  Cece, I think.  

“What do you have there?” Josh asks and rips the phone from my hand, then throws it against the nearest wall.  The sound of plastic cracking is discouraging.  I doubt it even rang long enough for Cece to pick up the other line.  

Using his grip on my hair and around my waist, he slowly turns me over.  The dropped flashlight is still rolling back and forth from the scuffle a couple feet away and as it slows down, I can see the demented smile on his face.  A school psychologist would be real handy right about now.  And a taser gun.  Maybe a straight-jacket.

“Just say what you have to say, Josh.  I need to get going.  My mom is expecting me home soon,”  I bluff.  

His grip on my hair tightens, “Liar.  You’re meeting up with your stepbrother.  The one you dumped me for.”

“I didn’t--” I begin, only to cut off when he starts shaking me.  

“Shut up!”  He yells.  “I’ll win you back.  I’ll show you how much I love you.”  When he starts fumbling around at the waist of his football pants, I realize his intent.  Something I’d only acknowledged in the back of my mind.  Hell, freaking, no.  With his grip in my hair and his weight on me, I can’t mange to get away, but my arms are free.  I start hitting and punching him wherever I can, with no real skill, but the determination of a girl who refuses to be violated by some bastard who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.  

“Stop! Stop!” he demands uselessly.  When I don’t stop, he grabs one of my hands and bends it back.  Trying to ignore the pain, I keep hitting me with my free hand.  He is now straddling my waist, but using what strength I have in my legs, I try to lift my hips and buck him off me.  The creep is heavy.  When I try to punch him in the face, he dodges my fist and bends my hand back.  The shock when I hear the snap of one or more of the bones in my wrist breaking temporarily ends my struggles.  Tears stream down the sides of my face as I cradle my broken wrist with my unharmed hand.  

I gasp, “Please let me up!”

Josh just looks angrier, “Look what you made me do!  I didn’t want to hurt you!”  Could have fooled me.  He’s still laying on me and my renewed struggles aren’t nearly as energetic as before.  God, this hurts.  I’ve never broken a bone in my life.  Years of cheerleading with no accidents and the damn quarterback breaks my wrist.  

“Please, Josh, I need to go to a hospital.”  Trying to think through the pain, I ask, “Will you drive me?”

 He’s quiet for a moment and I begin to hope that this craziness is about to end.  Until he says, “Not yet.  Later.  When you love me back.”

So . . . never?  Maybe I could fake it.  “I do love you, Josh.  I always have.”  Despite the tears and pain, that sounded pretty good.  

Josh groans and smashes his lips against mine.  Guess he bought it.  I force myself to kiss him back before turning my face to the side and whimpering, “It hurts so bad.”  No faking there.  “Can we please go now?”  But it’s as if he doesn’t even hear me because he’s fumbling with his pants again and I think in his messed up world, this is where we’re supposed to make love.  Broken wrist and all.  

How psychotically romantic.  

As he rears back onto his knees to unzip, I take my chance to bring one of my own knees up into his groin.  I knee him as hard as I can and he bends over, groaning this time in pain.  I scoot away from him on my back and manage to get up off the ground.  

I hear “Bitch!” right before a hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back onto the floor.  I land on my back and the back of my head thuds against the floor. I feel dizzy for a moment.  Thankfully, my wrist wasn’t hurt again in the fall.  When the momentary dizziness fades, I see a fist flying towards my face at the same time that I hear, “You lied!”

His fist meets my jaw and pain lances through my jaw and face.  I’m lucky it doesn’t knock me out.  I’m not so lucky the second time he punches my jaw as I feel excruciating pain and pass out.  

I don’t know how long I’m out, but when I wake up, I realize two things.  Josh is still here with me, hovering menacingly, and I’m pretty sure he broke my jaw.  Trying not to cry, because I want to try to focus on the situation, I figure my best chance at this point is to pretend to be incapacitated.  I close my eyes again, pretending to pass out again.  

A foot nudges my hip, “Quit faking it, Gianna.  I know you’re awake.”  From behind my closed lids, I can see when he shines the flashlight on my face.  I open my eyes, but can’t see his face with the light shining on mine.  I try to move my mouth, but the pain prevents speech.  

He moves to stand over me, straddling my calves.  As he bends down to sit on me, he says, “You know what your problem is Gianna?”  Obviously, I don’t answer.  “You’re a cold bitch.  I bet you never even gave it up to Caleb, huh?”  He laughs, “Well, I’ve got something that might be more up your alley.”

I’m confused about his meaning at first, but soon come to understand.  Despite broken bones, I struggle as hard as before.  When he breaks my other wrist for hitting him again, I don’t even feel the pain.  It just blends in with everything else that’s hurting.  When he starts violating me with the large metal flashlight, I kick out my legs, screaming through my clenched teeth.  Never giving up or giving in to his abuse . . . until my vision begins to gray and I finally pass out again, hoping not to wake up this time.  

CALEB’S  POV:

“Really, you don’t have to wait around.  I can tell Gianna you said ‘hola’ and ‘adios’”  I tell Ian while giving him another look of disdain.  Really.  Freaking Really!  I’m the boyfriend, not him.  It’s my job to wait around for Gianna after a game, not him.  She wants only me waiting for her, not him.  

Ian just smiles, knowing how much his presence is irritating me.  I decide to try another tactic, ignoring him.  He refuses to ignore me back, “What do you think is taking her so long?  My guess is that we’ve already seen all the other cheerleaders leave.”  

Ian is right.  Most, if not all, of the other cheerleaders have passed us in the parking lot while on the way to their vehicles.  Where the hell is she?  Starting to feel anxious, I tell Ian, “I’m going to go looking for her.  Maybe she thought we were supposed to meet somewhere else.”  I go walking off in the direction of the locker rooms.

“I’ll come with you,” Ian says casually, coming into step next to me.  Of course he will.  

We circle around the gym, yell Gianna’s name through the girl’s locker room doors and check the parking lot again, texting and calling her phone the entire time.  No luck.  Her phone is going straight to voicemail and she’s nowhere in sight.  At this point, the place is starting to be deserted.  This is just getting weird.  Her Jeep is still in the parking lot, so she must be around here somewhere.  

Glancing sideways at Ian as we walk behind the bleachers, I try to keep my cool. “Uh, maybe she ran into the school to get something from her locker.”

He’s looking pretty worried himself.  In some weird way, I’m a little relieved that he’s here.  Sharing the burden of worry and all.  Then again, just looking at him still annoys the crap out of me.  We check one of the back entrances to the main building, but the doors are locked.  Usually on game nights, some entrance is open, with so many students, parents and teachers still on campus home game Friday nights.  

As we round the corner of the building, someone runs into me.  The dude pushes me away from him and I stumble back a step, “Hey!  What the fuck’s your problem, man?”

In a hoarse voice, he says, “Just get out of my way.”

As the guy edges around me, a light posted high on the brick wall illuminates his face.  Out of instincts, I’m on him in seconds, grabbing him by the front of his jersey.  “What are you still doing here, Josh?”  Then it hits me and I slam him against the side of the building, “Where the f*ck is she?”  

“Oh my god,” I hear Ian mutter.  Knowing that Gianna has filled him in on the whole psycho-ex situation, I'm sure he’s come to the same conclusion as me.  Gianna is nowhere to be found and we just happen to stumble upon Josh wandering the school grounds. 

Josh tries to push me away from him, but my grip on his jersey and my forearms pressing against his chest manage to keep him in place.  Ian comes up besides us and gets in Josh’s face.  “Answer him asshole.  Where the f*ck is Gianna?”

Not even giving him a chance to answer, Ian pulls back his arm and punches Josh in the ear.  Josh’s head whips to the side.  Thinking that Ian has the right idea, hurt Josh into telling the truth, I knee him in the thigh.  

He grunts in pain, cursing.  Almost in a whisper, he says, “She got what she deserved.”

This time, it’s my fist flying at his face.  I’m trying to think straight and not panic, because flashing through my mind is the time that I caught Josh banging Gianna against a wall.  Clenching my teeth, I ask Josh again, “Where?”  

He must realize how totally screwed he is and after a few moments hesitation, he answers, “Cafeteria.”  Not letting go of his shirt, I start dragging him in that direction, with Ian right on his back.  He lets out a panicked sound, “I told you where she is, let me go.  I have things to do.”

I don’t bother to even answer him.  When the double doors come in sight, Ian jogs ahead and opens them up.  I push Josh inside ahead of me.  “She’s not here,” I say automatically when we enter the dark room.  

Josh turns around and makes to leave, “She must have left.”  I raise my hands and push him a few feet back into the room.  

I hear Ian mumble, “Where are the lights?” right before the cafeteria is flooded in light.  It takes a second or two for our eyes to adjust to the brightness.  When I get my first good look at Josh, dread pits in my stomach.  There is blood on the white material of his football pants, and it can’t be from me kneeing him.  

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture and I lose it when I see the blood on the palm of his right hand.  My eyes dart frantically around the cafeteria until they land on the person lying on the floor about thirty feet away.  In a cheerleader uniform.  At the same time that I spot her, Ian is already running towards her, calling out her name.  She doesn’t respond.  

I shout out, “Call 911!” to Ian at the same time that I lunge for Josh.  His death on my mind. 

The next five minutes are an unthinking haze of rage.  The cops show up first, one of them pulls me off Josh and his female partner leans over Gianna’s lifeless figure.  As the cop is pulling me off Josh, he only opens the way for Ian to take his turn.  The sense of satisfaction that I feel as Ian slams a metal folding chair into Josh and I hear the sound of ribs breaking does nothing to dull the rage.  

At this point, the paramedics show up with a gurney.  As the cop lets go of me to tackle Ian, I run to Gianna, praying silently.  The paramedics try to shoo me out of their way, but I see what was done.  It’ll be burned in my memory forever.  The left side of her face is swollen and I overhear the paramedics, who I’m hovering over, caution each other to be careful of her broken wrists.  I glance over to where Ian is yelling and see the male cop handcuffing him while he lays on his stomach.  

I look back down at Gianna and want to pick her up so badly, cradle her, but I know that I have to let them do their job.  I don’t feel an ounce of embarrassment when I start bawling like a baby.  I don’t know what to do.  I feel so helpless.  

When the female cop steps in front of me with a pair of handcuffs and says, “I’m going to have to take you in,” I just nod my head stupidly.  As she puts the handcuffs on me, a second set of paramedics shows up and starts administering to Josh.  More cops show up too.  The female cop must have called for another ambulance and back-up while I was being pulled off Josh.  I want to scream at them to leave him there to rot.  He doesn’t deserve help.  He deserves these handcuffs, not me and Ian.  

The cops sit Ian and me with our backs against a nearby wall.  Ian answers the questions because I can’t keep my eyes off Gianna long enough to pay attention to the police officers.  When someone puts a bloody flashlight into an evidence bag and I hear about how it was used, I want to scream.  

I do scream.  

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