Page 24 of Bound For You
“Despite it being over four months, you mean?” Her eyes widen in shock at my sneered response, but I continue, “Because last I checked, it’s me in his bed at night, me he messages constantly throughout the day. It’s also me he’s trying to move in with him, and it’s me he picks up whenever he can get out of work.” Her face goes red, while her friends stare at me in shock. “And it was you he dissed when you kept overstepping, because he wasn’t interested in you. He loves me, not you. Back off and find someone who wants you, and leave the people who are inloving relationships alone. We’re not in high school anymore, so grow up.” I turn back around and continue taking notes, proud of myself for standing up for me and Sergi. It took me years to get to a place where I can stand up for myself without the fear of being hit in response.
As the professor calls the end of class, Melanie storms out, her clique trailing behind her, making me smile. As I gather my things, I notice that she left her phone, but for once I’m going to be petty. I shrug and leave it. I head to the door when my name is called, making me still.
“Ms. Taylor-Gibson, can I have a word please?”
I quickly grab my phone from my pocket and put it on record, because years in foster care and no one believing me taught me one thing: always have proof. I turn to see what he wants. Everyone else has left so it’s just me and my professor.
Professor Whitmore looks me up and down, leering at me, making me uncomfortable. I don’t get any closer than a few feet away from him; this isn’t my first rodeo with scumbags. I wait for him to finally meet my gaze and tell me what he wants. I take a good look at him for the first time. He’s only been my teacher for about six months; he transferred in, and I never really took the time to properly look at him. He looks like the foster father I had before the Gibson’s took me in and made me their daughter. My pulse spikes when I see the similarities to Ben. Brown hair slicked back, and brown eyes that’re full of hate when they meet mine. I step back a bit, and he grins, looking deranged.
“I see you finally made the connections; I have a proposition for you, Avery.” I shake my head and take a step back as he sneers, “You need to go to the police and tell them you lied about my brother, you were confused, he doesn’t deserve to be in prison because you couldn’t keep your legs closed.”
My face goes molten, and I shout out, “Keep my legs closed? At nine years old? He hit me with a baseball bat, he tried to rape me. He deserves to rot!”
Whitmore moves quick, so quick he takes me by surprise when he grabs me by my hair and throws me on the floor, kicking me hard in my stomach. I cough, then scream when he kicks me in the stomach three more times. I cough up some blood.
I hear someone scream out, “Oh my God!”
Several feet stomp into the room before Melanie leans over me, pressing her hand to my cheek as tears fill her eyes. I cough again as more blood appears, my body in agony. My breathing is shallow, and I know he’s broken a rib, I’m pretty sure of it. It’s the same pain from when Ben did the same thing. Whitmore possibly nicked my lung, which would explain the lack of oxygen and blood in my mouth.
I give Melanie my phone from my white knuckled grip. She furrows her brows and looks at it then gasps when she sees I’ve recorded everything. She nods and grabs my hand, staying close to me, which I’m grateful for.
I hear the professor shout, “She came on to me, attacking me when I wouldn’t give her what she wanted!”
The dean who showed up at some point looks at me and furrows his brows, then glances back to the professor. He nods at Whitmore like he believes him, making tears fill my eyes. It’s like I’m a child again, but this time I know I have a voice.
Despite the pain, I struggle to rasp out, “H-he’s the brother to one of my old foster parents who is currently serving forty years for child abuse, neglect, and attempt rape of a minor. Don’t believe me? Call Mrs. Reaves in Child Protective Services in Seattle.”
Melanie’s eyes widen at my words, realizing the hell I’ve been through. She squeezes my hand, her face hardening at the dean, who is still looking at me with suspicion.
She sneers, “I hope she sues this school. It’s apparent you favor the faculty over the student despite the fact the student is the one who looks attacked.”
She replays the recording from my phone.
The dean’s face goes from pale white at her words to bright red as he listens to the recording. Mr. Whitmore pales, then charges toward me again, but the police tackle him before he can get close, handcuffing him. They drag him out of the class as he shouts, “You will get him out of prison, you little bitch. I will fucking kill you!”
I cough again, and more blood comes up. My eyes get heavy as I struggle to get oxygen.
Melanie screams, “We need an ambulance!”
The dean comes into view, worry etching his features. Shame he didn’t feel like that two minutes ago, though. Melanie looks at me, tears filling her eyes again.
“Don’t c-call Sergi.”
Tears falling from her eyes are the last thing I remember seeing.
I wake up to beeping.
I groan and move my head. There’s something warm on my hand. I open my eyes, squinting because of the light. I look to my right and see Melanie sitting next to me, her makeup is a mess, and her hair is all over the place.
I rasp, “Hey.”
Tears well up as she whispers, “The police have your phone for the recording, but I messaged Sergi pretending to be you. I told him you were going away for a week on a girl’s trip. Said you wanted to try and make friends. He texted back, saying he loves you and how proud he is that your being the bigger person, andto-to call him if-if there’s any problems.” She sobs, and I squeeze her hand. She looks at me again.
“I know why you didn’t want him here because I wouldn’t, either. You haven’t told him you were abused in the foster system, and I never told anyone, either.” My eyes widen in shock as more tears fall from her eyes. “When I was seven, I was adopted by a wealthy family, but before that, I was moved from home to home, being beaten and starved. They never tried to rape me but….” She shrugs.
I murmur, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
She nods. “I’m sorry you had to as well. I thought you grew up privileged, a-and I took my anger out on you, because never has a man like Sergi looked at me like he looks at you. I thought you had it all, but you don’t, and you were right, he is lucky to have you.” She leans forward and hugs me gently.