Trying To Endure

Chapter Fifty-Nine

"I wanted to! Trev, I wanted to come forward. I—I just couldn't. I was ... I was scared—"

"Scared?" He scoffs, lips trembling, concentrating on the floor as if envisioning his best friend's corpse. They cupped my breasts. "I was scared to join the protests. But I did it anyway." He snaps to me, coal of resentment. "That's not a good excuse."

"Bodie told me everything on Roy's birthday," I confess in the midst of surging nightmares.

"Please," I begged. "Please, stop. Please!"

"Stop!"

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm so sorry!"

I closed my eyes, sobbing. "I won't do it again."

"He told me a lot of horrible things but they were vague and ... and I heard Camila, Aasvhi and Destiny at the after-party, in the school when we won against Brixton Bay. They admitted to raping Bodie."

"I'll be quiet." Treyvon cleans his eyes, inclining on a curved wall, sniffing back the tears as he listens.

My senses panicked, the water gushed. They pebbled and tweaked my nipples. The guy recording gave suggestions: dipped fingers into my mouth and played with it as if it was my vagina, grasped my throat, and spread my legs to show the camera the full view as they both fingered me at once. "That's when I knew Bodie was right. I ignored him, and ... He was right. I ... I didn't believe him—"

"You should have."

A tear falls. "Sluts like you are never sorry." I tried to cover my breasts. Hunar pinned my arms to my sides and snorted. "She's fucking ugly, fellas. Barely any tits. No hourglass body. Small ass, too. You sure you want to teach her a lesson?"

"I know," I whisper.

Rhett stepped forward thrice and snarled, 'Shut the fuck up.'

"I know," I whispered. Treyvon collapses to the couch, hopeless and dismayed. He won't look at me. "I was ready to tell the police but ..."

Rhett abruptly clutched the strap of my bag. I automatically turned to defend, but he heaved me sideways into a stall. I staggered and braced myself on the commode. He quickly crawled in like a predator and suppressed my frightened screech: he grappled my throat and rammed me onto a gut-wrenching cold, vandalised wall. My sight blackened, crown splintered in a hissing pain, my bag hit the blemished floor.

"What?" Treyvon presses.

Roy groped my breasts.

"I couldn't ... I couldn't ..."

He muffled my screams, tore the thickest air supply and granted the thinnest. I weakly wrestled his excruciating hold. A tender crack. Thrashing body. Floundering legs. Blood boisterously outcries in my exploding eardrums. Thumping. Thumping. Near an explosion.

My hand darts to my neck. "I—I couldn't breathe."

They raped me. Eleven boys raped me.

At that, Treyvon glances up, his tears glossy. "What?"

It was hell on earth.

He bit my neck, sucked, licked, kissed. My right thigh tingles, and abruptly my support trembles in trauma. He finished on me. I felt his cum soaked his jeans onto my right thigh.

"Rhett ..." That is when I cannot breathe. "Hunar ..."

That is when a familiar, familiar feeling rises.