Nixon

••• Twenty-Seven •••

He's on the balcony now. I can sense it, I can sense his anger and frustration. I said the unforgivable just now and I have no idea how Nixon is to truly react the second I turn around. Taking in a shaky breath, I look to the house just across the fence, where Oliver still lives. His room lights are off, blinds shut, and feeling like a million years away. I feels like eons ago when I was last there, playing games with previous friends as we laughed and enjoyed the night. Have I felt that sort of happiness since? Have I genuinely laughed or smiled like I used to when I felt those emotions of joy? My eyes shortly glance down to my flat stomach, how soon it will not be that way anymore, how I will have to tell Nixon soon enough of I decide to not flee. Gavin said I could only truly be free unless I died or Nixon died. I cannot die, I cannot die because of my child, because I am going to keep this child and I have no idea how Nixon will find out.

"You're controlling and dangerous," I whisper, looking over my shoulder to see Nixon leaning against the doorway to the balcony. His arms cross and eyebrows knitted together, I can tell he is trying hard to not harm me, to put me in my place and make me regret ever saying those words. "I wanted to believe that you were innocent," I add, knowing I need to shut up. "That you did not kill Lillian, but you did, Nixon. You may see yourself in the nail in the coffin and just doing the deed to take the role of some sort of karma, but I see you as a savage and murderer."

Turning around, I lean against the railing, watching as Nixon pushes off of the doorway and heads into the moonlight of the balcony. He's pondering what to do, if he's going to try and put me in my place by force. Nixon slides his hands into his pockets, holding his head high as he strides over to me, my neck cranking to meet his gaze. "Do you think I would ever harm you like I did Lillian?" He asks, voice soft as I know he's using his silver tongue. He's just admitted to harming her. He has. He's admitted and there's no justice to be done here without placing my child's life in direct danger. "Do you think I would ever lay a hand on you in a harmful way?" His hand comes up, thumb grazing across my top lip.

That night in the shower. Months ago when he helped me take Taylor out of a club. Taylor and her friends were across the hall and Nixon forced his way in, stripping me down and ordering me to place my hands on the wall. He had me just stand there as he rammed into me and I felt sick. I remember thinking that I wanted it, that I wanted what Nixon was giving me. He raped me. He's already laid a forceful hand upon me.

"You raped me," I whisper, my voice soft as my eyes begin to water. Nixon simply raises an eyebrow, his fingers taking ahold of my chin as I am forced to look up higher to meet his gaze. "Months ago when we got Taylor from a club, you raped me."

"You never said no," Nixon points out as I become furious.

"I never said yes. I never informed you that I wanted to have sex and you forced your way in. You forced yourself upon me," I snap, just about to raise my hand to slap Nixon, only for my arms to be pinned behind my back and Nixon pushed duly against me. "You deserve to rot in hell."

"Be careful what you say, Lily," he snaps. "I did not force myself upon you. We had fucked plenty of times before and you never said yes either. You never deliberately said yet to that yet for this one instant-

"I wanted to-to fuck then," I snap, spitting out the words as I feel dirty to put it like that. "I did not want to have sex with you that night and I told you I didn't want to because I was tired and Taylor was just down the hall."

"Tell me this, Lily," Nixon begins, pulling back from me as he takes me with him, pulling me away from the railing. "Tell me that you did not enjoy what we did after all of those nights. That you did not enjoy me ramming into you on the kitchen counter, the table, the piano, my desk, the bookshelf, the Persian ru-