His bedroom was now nearly empty and unusually orderly; most of his things were packed in the three suitcases his belongings occupied. He was leaving the next day. The reality that he and Angela would no longer be two parts of a couple scared him. He felt as if she were his skin and without her he was too exposed. He longed to hear her voice, to see her face. He longed for her to whisper just three words to him... but in the cold crepuscular silence of his seemingly empty bedroom, he knew he would never hear those words... possibly again. The truth was, he didn't want to hear those words if it wasn't her sweet voice uttering them. He knew there could never be a love in his life greater than her.
Suddenly feeling as if the air were too thick, he knew he had to escape somehow. He had to get out of his bedroom where he had voluntarily been confined for the past three days. He hadn't eaten anything but a few saltine crackers Sheila had forced down his throat, but he had drank tons of Green tea. Someone, somewhere, had told him that Green tea was calming for the soul and perfect for a broken heart. He sighed, wondering who had said that. Maybe he had read it in a book... That little adage suddenly became the most important thing in his mind right then.
Frank had come into his room the night before and felt his forehead. Scott had pretended not to notice. He knew that if his father were aware he was awake, he would question him on why he was so miserable lately. Scott didn't want to talk about it to anyone... though he knew there was one person he could always turn to...
* * *
Kelly ran her brush through her shoulder length, golden hair. She sat before her mirror, a ritual that took place every night before she went to bed. One thing she strove to maintain was her appearance. She had long since gotten over her braces, focusing in on different aspects of her looks. If one thing had to be wrong, she would work to make everything else right. Sitting in her bedroom, strains of Jewel coming from the stereo in the corner, she prepared to turn in. Her parents were out for the night at a cocktail party and she was left with her younger brother who had already gone to bed. It was her turn. She was exhausted.
A rapping at her window drew her from her humming along with Jewel. She looked up in surprise, not quite sure how to classify the sound she had just heard. Pausing in her actions, she listened for it again, trying to convince herself it was just a figment of her imagination. After a moment, the only sound she could hear was the female guitarist's soulful voice. Smiling at her reflection, she continued to run the bristles of her brush through her locks of hair, resuming her humming.
The rapping sound. She heard it again. Okay, this could not be her imagination. Feeling slightly ridiculous, she set her brush down and headed for the window. As she pulled open the light pink shades, and she was astonished to see Trevor hanging on a branch of the maple tree outside her window.
"Kelly!" he called to her.
She unlatched her window and pulled it up, the cold air hitting her skin that was barely shielded by her thin nightgown. "Trevor!" she hissed, not wanting Warner, asleep down the hall, to hear her. "What are you doing here?" she was slightly angry at his impulsiveness. He always seemed to stop by when it was convenient for him and not for her.
"I came to see you." he smiled sweetly, looking up at her through sultry blue eyes. "I miss you."
Her austere expression softened somewhat and she stepped back from the window, allowing him to enter. "Couldn't you have just used the door?" she asked, grabbing him under the left arm and dragging him in.
"Yeah, but that would have been so cliche." he grinned, struggling to his feet as his balance was a bit off.
Kelly grinned despite herself. It seemed impossible to stay mad at him. He instantly took to laying soft little kisses on her neck, brushing her hair out of the way. She giggled, enjoying the tickling sensation. As he began to walk her towards the bed, his hands firm on her hips, he smothered her disapproving protests with his mouth. Kelly, astonished by his sudden aggressiveness, pushed him back from her long enough to get a word in edgewise.
"Trevor, I think you should leave." she told him, hand against his stony chest to keep him at bay.
"Why baby?" he purred, running his fingers through his brown curls. "What? You don't want me or something?"
"Trevor, please leave." she repeated.
"No." he taunted her, pushing her small hands off his pectorals and assailing her neck with his lips once again.
"Trevor, stop!" she exclaimed, shoving him away forcefully. "I don't want to see you anymore." she blurted out, not realizing that that had been what she had felt all along.
He was clearly taken off guard, raising a questioning eyebrow. "But Kelly, I love you." he said smoothly, not seeming in the least bit affected by her statement.
"Trevor, leave." she said firmly.
"Kelly," he whined. "Can't we at least talk about this? Can't we work things out?"
She shook her head, seeing right through his manipulation. "No Trevor." She was determined to hold fast in her protests. "I want you to leave."
He eyed her carefully. At first she thought she saw a look of contempt in those eyes but after a while they softened. "Kelly," he said softly, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. "I love you. I can't live without you. Please... let's just talk about this." he begged, sitting down on her bed and pulling her down beside him. "I need you... if you leave me, I'll kill myself."
His words were beginning to scare her and she suddenly felt trapped. He was making fun of her, she felt it. He was lying to her.
"Please Kelly..." he whispered, pressing his sweet lips on hers. "Please...." he cooed with his forehead rested on hers.
She pursed her lips, heaving a great sigh of defeat. "Alright Trevor." she replied. "We can talk it out."
A grin took shape on his lips that foreshadowed something ominous...
* * *
Timber walked through the house, flicking out the lights as she aimed to go to her room and get some sleep. Her parents, as usual, were working late shifts and she would be alone again that evening. She briefly considered going on her computer, as she needed to wake up at three-thirty if she was going to see the Moffatts off. They were leaving their house by six. Maybe it was best for all of them; she figured she should have some time away from Bob to collect her thoughts some. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about him anymore. She didn't want to love him, but there was the nagging feeling on her heart that told her she did. It was all the implications of that nagging feeling that she feared. The consequences of her falling in love with her best friend was too much to think about at that late hour of eleven-forty-nine, but the more she tried to push it out of her mind, the more it came up. She shook her head, attempting a fresh canvas to be taken over by other thoughts that were less confusing. The feeling of confusion seemed to be ubiquitous with the group these days.
The living room light was the last to be turned off, and she re-entered the foyer where she liked to leave the light on. Beginning to ascend the steps, the doorbell sounded, echoing in the otherwise silent house. She froze in her footsteps. Who would be coming over at almost midnight? Timber contemplated getting a hockey-stick from her older brothers room, deciding to do just that. She crept up the stairs, staying towards the wall so the steps made no sound under her treading feet.
"TIMBER!!!!" Scott barked from the front porch. "I know you're in there!"
Her heart rate dropped and she sighed in relief. "Scott? I'm coming." she said, hopping back down the steps and shuffling to the front door.
Upon opening it, she was exposed to a dreary, glassy eyed Scott, leaning against the frame.
"Hey." she said mildly, opening the door wider for him to enter.
He stood there for a moment, his eyes shifting to just past her head. "Hey." he regurgitated, his entire, lethargic body jerking with that one word.
He looked horrible. His eyes were red-rimmed and glazed over. He wore just a white Metallica tee-shirt and jeans that were incredibly wrinkled. His face appeared to be glistening with sweat, though there was several inches of snow on the ground. Even his hair was greasy and matted to his head, some pieces sticking up awkwardly. His mouth looked slightly damp.
Timber wrinkling her nose as the stench of alcohol lambasted her nostrils. "Scott..." she mentally cringed. "You've been drinking."
His expression didn't change as he removed his left hand from where it had been placed behind his back and placed the opening of the tequila bottle to his lips. It was already more than half empty. He swigged down another gulp.
"Scott, common." Timber sighed, a gentle hand on his biceps. "Let's get you sobered up."
"I don't want to be sobered up!" he exclaimed, stumbling after her into the house. He promptly lost his balance and fell forward.
Timber struggled to grab him before he hit the ground, only barely succeeding. He was too heavy for her and she ended up breaking his fall, as he tumbled on top of her. The tequila bottle sailed from his clumsy fingers and smashed on the black tile of her foyer. She lolled her head back in sheer annoyance, shoving his reeking body off of her.
"Scott..." she moaned, struggling to get to her feet. "What the hell are you doing."
He stared up at her through lost blue eyes. "Fuck." was all he managed to say.
She sighed angrily, hands on her hips. So much for that three and a half hours of sleep she planned to be getting.
"Where da fuck isss my thequizzza..." he slurred, attempting to roll over and only discovering the fragments of the broken bottle. "Oh FUCK!" he shouted in anger.
"Oh fuck yourself." Timber muttered, not in the mood for his antics. She closed the front door securely and locked it. "Why the hell do you always get so damned drunk anyway?" she demanded. "I mean, haven't you heard of therapy?" She crouched down over him. "What am I going to do with you? Can you even walk?"
"I need some tequila!" he screamed directly in her face. "Get me some fucking tequila!!!"
"Oh shut up." she rolled her eyes, beginning to pick up the glass from the broken bottle. She carried the first few pieces into the office by the door and dropped them in the trash can.
Meanwhile, Scott, who was still sprawled across the floor, managed to roll over onto his stomach and slide the few feet to where the bottle had broken. He dragged his soft tongue through a puddle of the liquid, having it smear all over his chin and lips. He continued to do this until Timber can back out of the office and promptly scolded him for this behavior.
"Cut it out Scott!" she exclaimed, grasping his ankle and dragging him away from the puddle. He was too out of control of his body to stop her.
He collapsed, his scorching cheek resting against the cold floor, and for the first time, he was silent.
Timber had brought the waste basket out into the foyer with her and crouched down by the wreckage of the two-hundred dollar bottle of Spanish tequila, recognizing it immediately as the same kind she had Scott had finished a bottle of that summer. She would look up at him every few seconds, keeping a close vigil on his actions. However, each time she looked at him, she was met with his helpless and sad grey eyes, gazing innocently at her as he rested his chin up on the floor in an awkward position.
"Do you wanna tell me what this is about?" she asked, trying to soften her stern tone as she discarded a few shards of glass along with the others.
Scott tilted his head back to the side, his cheek returning to the cold, black marble. She watched him expectantly for a moment, reaching for a piece of glass and nicking her finger on it. Cursing under her breath, she stuck her wounded finger in her mouth, tasting the tequila on it, but sucking it off none the less. She figured he had chosen not to acknowledge her question, so she was surprised when he finally spoke after a good two minutes.
"I love her so much..." he sighed, suddenly at a strange peace with himself. "But it's over."
Timber paused in what she was doing, crawling across the floor to him. He rolled onto his back, staring straight up at the ceiling with a dazed look on his face. He looked lax. "She doesn't love me anymore." a single tear slipped from the corner of his eyes.
"Scott..." she said softly, stroking his cheek. "Of course she does."
He yanked back from her clumsily, attempting to sit up and barely succeeding. "No!" he slurred. "If she still loved me, we'd still be together!" He continued to hoist himself to his feet, toppling towards the wall, but using it to steady himself. "She'd still be here! I'm NOTHING without her!" he continued to rant, staggering through the house.
Timber scurried to her feet, slipping slightly on the clear fluid still on the floor. She seized the wastebasket and replaced it in the office before following after him.
He was already in the kitchen, rummaging in a drawer beside the sink. Considering his impaired vision and perception, he scattered several objects onto the tile floor before finding something he appeared to like. His back was to her as he slid the knife from the drawer.
"Scott..." Timber said cautiously, approaching him as one would approach a wild animal.
He whirled around to face her, holding the butcher's knife up as his shield. Timber abhorred in blatant surprise. For the first time, she was actually afraid for her safety around him.
"Scott..." She held her hand up in front of her as she backed up into the refrigerator. The cold stainless steel startled her as she smacked into it. Her shoulders, even through her black Moosejaw tee-shirt, were chilled to the bone. "What are you doing?" she asked, attempting to remain calm, but faltering greatly.
"If I can't be with her, I don't want to be at all." he said fiercely, careening slightly and grasping the island counter for support.
"Scott, you can barely walk." she informed him. "You obviously aren't thinking clearly... just give me the knife... please."
"SHUT UP!!!" he barked perversely. "She hates me!" he whimpered. "My angel... my own angel... HATES ME!!!"
She watched him with fear in her eyes as more tears filled his. His shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Scott..." she whispered, praying to God at the same time. "Scott... don't do this to yourself."
"I said shut the fuck up!!!" he snapped, approaching her surprisingly quick, considering his condition. "Just shut the fuck up!"
Timber backed further into the refrigerator, wishing it would give and allow her more room to get away from an enraged Scott.
"You don't know what it's like!" he slurred, staggering for a moment before maintaining a sense of coordination. His arm slowly raised and he ran the tip of the blade insouciantly across his throat.
"Scott," Timber said, her voice cracking. "Don't even think about it." She was sick and tired of him being so melodramatic. "Give me the knife! NOW."
He glared at her with an odious gleam in his misty eyes.
"Angela loves you and you know that. She's hurting right now, probably more than you are. You can't expect her to just up and forgive you the next day. These things take time."
His eyes narrowed into tiny, glaring slits of hate and anger. He stumbled toward her, knife directed straight in front of him. Her heart thudded in her ears as her fear swelled in her stomach. The situation felt so odd, as if it shouldn't be happening to her. She pressed her body even more firmly against the refrigerator as he was just mere inches away, his body seeming to tower over hers though he was only a bit taller. But her eyes expressed clarity and concern, she refused to let her fear show.
Scott clutched the rather large knife in his hands, his mind too discombobulated to process simple thought. With a wave of sadness, his body relaxed. He fell forward onto her, the weapon dropping from his limp fingers. His head nuzzled against her neck and the tears began to flow.
Timber laced her fingers in his hair, the other arm going around his shoulders to provide some sort of support. She clutched him desperately as he began to shake with sobs.
"My angel... my angel is gone..."
* * *
"Yeah, that kicked some serious ass." Clint grinned, standing up from the black leather couch where he and Bob had been seated for the past two hours. He stretched his arms above his head. "Especially the part when that chick came out with the wet tee-shirt. That was the best!"
Bob grinned, remembering the vivid image of Denise Richardson and her scanty garment. "Yeah... I say we watch that one more time!"
"Or just fast-forward to that part." Clint added.
Bob nodded in serious agreement.
"Let's watch one of the older ones." his identical brother suddenly suggested. "I love Goldeneye. That has to be the best James Bond." he gushed, going to the cabinet where all the videos were neatly stacked. Occupying the entire top shelf was the full collection of James Bond films their father had bought one day on impulse.
"No naked chicks in that one." Bob sighed.
"No, there's that Xenia girl who overuses her thigh master!" Clint chuckled, removing the video of his choice from the shelf and going to the VCR where the other one was rewinding. "Now I wouldn't mind seeing her in a wet tee-shirt. Especially with all that grunting she does." he commented, not bothering to finish rewinding the other video.
"You have to rewind it." Dave caught him from where he was lying on the leather love-seat.
Clint rolled his eyes, not wanting to have to wait before he could watch his other movie. Nevertheless, he pressed rewind on the VCR again. "I haveta piss anyway." he commented dryly.
"Go refill the chips while you're gone!" Bob requested, holding the bowl up for Clint to take on his way by.
Clint snatched the bowl from his brother and carried it along with him. "Be back in a few." he announced, taking the steps two at a time.
He rounded the corner and took the hallway to the kitchen in the corner of the house. Just entering one of his favorite rooms, the doorbell rang loudly in the otherwise sleeping house; not that anyone was asleep anyway. Everyone was preparing for their trip.
Growing slightly annoyed and wondering why someone would have the nerve to come to his house at a little past midnight, Clint decided to ignore them, going about filling the bowl Bob had handed him with nacho-cheese Doritos. The doorbell rang again.
"Damnit." he muttered, abandoning the bowl of chips, not before stealing one, and heading off to the foyer to answer the front door. He had to step over the several suitcases that were stacked there.
The bell rang twice more before he got to it. "Hold your horses, I'm here." he muttered in sheer annoyance, taking his sweet time fumbling with the locks.
Sliding open the heavy white door, Kelly's limp body fell against his, racking with furious sobs.
"Kelly?" he asked in blatant surprise. "Kelly are you okay?" though it was apparent she was not.
He literally dragged her into the house, shutting the front door to keep out the cold. She was only wearing a thin white nightgown. Her tears soaked the front of his black Hard Rock tee shirt and she clung to him, her breath coming out ragged and scared.
"I'm sorry..." she choked out. "But I... I couldn't think of anywhere else to go..."
"What happened?" he cooed, holding her fragile body up against his. His hand made large concentric circles on her back, trying to relax her convulsing muscles to some degree. "Tell me what happened." he said gently.
She slowly turned her tear-stained face up to see him. Her green eyes were watery and washed over with red. Clint felt so unbelievably helpless at that moment.
"He raped me." she whispered.
* * *
Sometime between twelve and twelve thirty, Timber had managed to calm Scott down. He had really over-done himself this time. She literally dragged him up the steps while he muttered to himself in slurred, incoherent sentence fragments. She didn't bother to listen to what he was going on about, he seemed to be regurgitating his same sentences from before. As she reached the top of the stairs, his tee-shirt stretched out from her incessant yanking, Timber rested, sitting with his head in her lap. He was silent now, completely delirious.
"Scott." she slapped gently at his right cheek with her palm, an attempt to get his attention. "Scott, look at me."
His glassy eyes met hers and it was confirmed. He was completely out of it. Now that the alcohol had completely gripped his system, she would be working alone in trying to sober him up before his family found out where he was.
"You have to help me Scott." she told him. "I need to get you into the bedroom, so you're going to have to help me."
He continued to gaze at her, his expression never changing. His cheeks were ruddy and flushed from his tantrum, and his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. He seemed to be breathing rather quickly, as if the whole ordeal of being dragged up the steps was more strenuous for him.
"Scott..." she whimpered, realizing she was going to get no help from him whatsoever.
So wrapping her arms around his waist, she dragged him into her bedroom, Scott actually making some effort to assist her with a mere shuffling of his feet. By the grace of God, she finally thumped him down onto her bed, struggling to place his legs and arms on as well.
"There we go..." she breathed, standing up and stretching her already aching back. "Now you just get some sleep while I go downstairs and... clean up all the crap on the floor." she said, making sure he was securely on the bed before heading for the door. She went back and placed her waste-basket by his head, just in case.
Scott limply lolled his head to the side, all his muscles so relaxed and at peace. It was just him and his thoughts that at the moment made no sense to him anyway. He spotted her clock-radio on her night stand by his head, it's glowing numbers blurring before his eyes. Feeling as low as he did, the silence of the room tormented his lassitude soul. With a blow from his limp hand, the radio roared to life.
The soulful voices of Tony Rich Project sailed into his ears, not acting as the medicine he had hoped it would. Infact, the song was just the opposite.
I pretended I'm glad you went away. These four walls closin' more everyday. And I'm dying inside. And nobody knows it but me...
The tears began to fill his sore eyes once more, as if he hadn't cried enough over her.
Like a clown I put on a show. The pain is real even if nobody knows. And I'm crying inside. And nobody knows it but me.
The garnered droplets of salty water slipped from his eyes, chilling on his hot cheeks.
Why didn't I say, the things I needed to say? How could I let my angel get away? Now my world is just a-tumbling down. I can see it so clearly, but you're nowhere around...
He had to get her back, even if he tried forever. In that dark bedroom, he knew he had to get her back.
The nights are lonely, the days are so sad. I just keep thinking about the love that we had. And I'm missin' you. And nobody knows it but me.
Sobs racked his already weak body, causing him to go into slight convulsions. He felt nausea rise in the back of his throat as the situation grew into a behemoth on the darkened ceiling. He could have sworn he had seen her face...
I carry a smile when I'm broken in two. Now I nobody without someone like you. And I'm trembling inside. And nobody knows it but me. I lie awake, it's a quarter past three. I'm screaming at night as if I thought you'd hear me. Yeah, my heart is calling you, and nobody knows it but me...
The tears flowed steadily now and he openly cried. He cried for his Angela... his angel. He needed her. She had changed him into something good. She had been the alchemy all along...
How blue could I get? You could ask my heart. When life a jigsaw puzzle has been torn all apart. A million words couldn't say... just how I feel. I million years from now you know, I'll be loving you still...
The nausea only seemed to grow. He had never felt so alone in his life. There had been so many times when he thought he would go through his entire existence using women like Kleenex. But there was always part of him that knew he would find the one he would wanted to spend the rest of his life with. That was the hopeless romantic in him that was rarely allowed out of hiding. She had managed to touch a part of him that had never been touched before...
The nights are lonely, the days are so sad. I just keep thinking about the love that we had. And I'm missing you. And nobody knows it but me...
She had touched him deep in his soul. She had reached his soft spot, transforming him into someone who could love, who could feel... and he had screwed that up. He had to go and cheat on her as if she didn't matter. But that had been so long ago... that had been back when he had been afraid of feeling the way he did. He had been afraid to love... but he wasn't afraid anymore.
Tomorrow morning, I'm hitting the dusty road. I'm gonna find you wherever, wherever you might go. I'm gonna unload my heart, and hope you come back to me...
* * *
A man in a brown suit paced back and forth in front of Kelly, a notepad in his hand. He rubbed his eyes wearily. He was tired. "Did you know him?" he finally asked, feeling as if the young girl was composed enough to continue.
With her bottom lip quivering slightly, Kelly nodded, tightening her grip on Clint's hand. As soon as those three words had left her mouth, a wave of anger washed over Clint. Though he and Kelly had never exactly been on the best terms, his first instinct was to hunt Trevor down and kill him. After his friend recounted her story for him, crying hysterically the entire time, he had gone straight to his stepmother for help. Clint knew this was an issue that was out of his hands. Sheila promptly called Kelly's parents and left a message with them to meet her down at the police station, as she took the young girl right away, feeling this was not a matter to be left until morning. Mr. and Mrs. Tembolli were still at a party outside town but were on their way as soon as they received her call.
"Just how did you know him?" Mr. O'Mally continued, swigging from his mug of stale coffee.
"He was... " the shaken-up girl looked to Clint for support. He nodded for her to continue, squeezing her hand gently. "He was my boyfriend." she whispered, not trusting her full voice.
Kelly's free hand clotted the tattered Kleenex she had used to dry her never-ending tears. She felt the intense chill in the room, even through the grey North Face fleece Clint had lent her.
"Your boyfriend?" Mr. O'Mally asked, as if reiteration was really necessary.
"I believe she just said that." Clint pointed out, growing rather impatient. It was nearly one in the morning and he was tired. "I mean, I heard her say it. I remember her saying it; I was there when she said it... were you there when she said it?" he demanded. "Because I saw you there when she said it. I remember seeing you there when she said it. Do you remember being there when she said it?"
"Clint..." Sheila lay a restraining hand on her stepson's shoulder.
Mr. O'Mally took the teen-age boys affront as an illustration of his anger towards the situation and not as a personal attack.
"Sorry." Clint muttered.
The man finally took a seat at his desk, rubbing his eyes once more. His brown hair was disheveled. Clint studied him for a moment, realizing he had an uncanny resemblance to Al Bundy.
"And how exactly did this attack take place?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and looking closely at her.
Kelly shifted her feet on the thin carpeting that had been worn down to the last thread in some places. She was wearing a pair of Clint's sneakers and they were much too large for her feet. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts.
Clint watched her silently. Her cheeks were now red and sore looking due to the continuous tears. Her eyes had bags. He even noticed how the tip of her nose became red when she cried; something he had never noticed before. Her dark eyelashes were glossy and wet. He began a light stroking motion on the back of her hand with his thumb.
"He came to my window..." she began, her voice echoing in the silence. Her eyes were still closed as if she were feeling the moment all over again. "And I told him my parents weren't home... so he'd have to leave." she continued, willing the tears to stay at bay. "And he said no, and that he loved me... And I told him I didn't want to see him anymore. He said he'd kill himself If I broke up with him.”
From the second chair in front of Mr. O'Mally's desk, the shaking girl's hand gripped Clint's tighter yet, her knuckles going white.
His hands slid down her sides, coaxing her to lay back on the bed. She resisted, trying to slide back from him, but he was all too strong.
"Kelly." he said, looking deep into her eyes. "If you love me, you'd do this for me."
She shook her head. She hadn't said she loved him. She didn't.
"Trevor please, don't make this any harder than it has to be." she pleaded, pushing his hands away from her. She aimed to get up from the bed and lengthen the space between the both of them because she wasn't getting the best feeling about him at that moment. His hands shot to her wrists, gripping them harshly.
"And I got scared..." she whispered, feeling the tears slide down her already raw cheeks.
Clint watched Mr. O'Mally scrawl a few notes down on his notepad. He couldn't help but feel angry at himself. He had had a bad feeling about Trevor from the start. He should have said something.
She began to cry, her arms pinned forcefully to her sides as he loomed above her body. She whimpered quietly, feeling his hands travel under her nightgown, yanking at her cotton panties. The reality of it all was flummoxing. It seemed to surreal... she couldn't believe it was happening to her.
The jingling on his belt buckle brought her back to reality as she realized this was the moment. He jerked his pants down to his ankles, struggling a bit and releasing her.
"Trevor please..." she begged for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. "Don't do this..."
"I have to." he said sternly.
"I have to..." Mr. O'Mally repeated, digesting her last words.
Kelly's hazel eyes opened, looking straight at him. She was jounced from her reverie by his voice.
"I have to..." Mr. O'Mally turned those words over in his hands for a moment. "I have to..." he said again.
The harping of this phrase only added to Clint's aversion for the man. Sheila's hand on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him from stringing out his own phrase of curse words in Mr. O'Mally's and Mr. O'Mally's mother's name.
"I have to... any idea what that could mean?" Mr O'Mally asked.
"I... I don't know..." Kelly replied, her dolor interrupted by this meandering form topic.
"Continue."
She winced in pain as he entered her roughly, sighing against her face. He pushed and pulled his way in and out of her hilt at a pace too quick for her to keep up with. She began to cry harder, clutching his shoulders for relief of this intense pain. A short groan escaped his lips, yet again hitting the surface of her face. His wet lips left trails down her cheeks.
"God..." he moaned. "You're so fucking tight..."
She bit her lip to hold in the sob that was threatening to escape. She didn't want him to hurt her anymore that he already was. She was afraid that any word she spoke would put her in even more danger.
Almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over. He gasped loudly, his opened, wet lips pressing into her neck as he sputtered for breath. She exclaimed in pain; he slid his way out of her, rolling over onto the bed. He promptly took to re-situating his pants. She turned her back to him on the bed, tucking her legs up to her stomach as a way to downplay the intensity of the burning sensation between them. She felt him get up from the bed.
"You know, you're right." he said from somewhere behind her. "I don't think it's working out. Maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore."
"Then he raped me." she replied, leaving out the painful details of the deed itself.
Mr. O'Mally paused, peering up at her over the top of his notepad. "Are you suuuuure he raped you?" he asked in a rather demeaning tone.
Clint had had enough. "Of course she's fucking sure!" he exclaimed. "What? Do you think she's making it up?!"
"Clint, please." Sheila cooed.
Mr. O'Mally raised and eyebrow at the rubescent boy. "Miss Tebotin..."
"Tembolli." Kelly corrected, already just as annoyed.
'Yes, I'm sorry." the man said, tossing his notepad to his desk top with a thud. "The reason I'm asking is because sometimes..." he steepled his hands to meet only at the fingertips. "... during intercourse, the female of the part may change her mind after previously consenting. Now I won't go into grave detail on the mechanics of the male organ, but at times the male may not hear her or may not process thought due to lack of blood flow."
"Fuck you!" Clint shouted.
"Mr. O'Mally," Sheila began, attempting to remain calm while her surrogate son was about to go ballistic. "I've learned a lot about rape in my time and my perception was always that either partners have the right to say no at any given time."
Mr O'Mally only shrugged, about to launch into another explanation that would not make the abomination done to Clint's friend any less real.
He seemed so smug it made her sick to her stomach. Her lower lip trembled as she tried to be strong. "I said NO Mr. O'Mally. Now unless he has constant lack of blood flow, he should have heard me. I refuse to believe that this was my fault, so don't even try to feed me lies. And let me have you know that my father is the best damn lawyer in this town and he will have my case justified whether you help or not." Kelly stood up from her seat and leaned across his desk, pointing a finger of warning in his face. "And this is a travesty on the law enforcement system at whole. I demand Trevor be taken into police custody because in case they didn't teach you this in police school, or wherever the hell you went, what he did is called RAPE and it is a felony." she growled.
Mr. O'Mally looked up into her sleep-deprived eyes for a moment, appearing to be preparing to dismiss her entire situation. His expression softened. "Yes Miss Tembolli." he nodded. "I'll have my boys on it."
Kelly sank back, hugging the jacket around her body once more. "Thank you."
* * *
Timber peered over the glowing screen of her lab-top computer at Scott's sleeping form in the darkness. She had returned to her bedroom from mopping the entire foyer to find him vomiting insanely in her waste-basket. Managing to get him into the shower and changed into a pair of Bob's boxer shorts, she had finally put him to bed at around two o'clock. She grinned, remembering her embarrassment at the while situation of having to undress him herself. Shaking her head, she attempted to forget the image of his fully nude body and focus on what was most important: getting him home before his trip later that day. It was already nearing four o'clock and his father would be up looking for all four of his sons. She knew exactly how angry Frank get whenever Scott pulled a 'stunt' of some sort, and this would be no different, only worse.
Setting her potable computer to on the carpet, she slid out of her inflatable chair and padded to the bed where he was sprawled out on the bare mattress. He had regurgitated the day's meals on her beddings and she took them down to the laundry room already. He ended up falling asleep with just a fully unzipped, dark grey sleeping bag thrown over his body. Even her stuffed cats hadn't been spared during the wrath of his stomach's contents.
"Scott..." she whispered, kneeling beside the bed so she was face to face with him. "Scott..."
No response.
Timber sighed, leaning over his body and shaking his shoulder. "Scott.... get up Scott..."
"Angela..." he mumbled in his dormition.
Timber raised an eyebrow. How much could he possibly think about the girl? He must really be miserable.
"Scotty... wake up." she said, in her normal voice this time.
"Angela..." he moaned. The shifting material of the sleeping bag sounded like the rushing waters of a river. "Angela..." he moaned again, this time seeming more desperate.
"No Scott... not Angela." Timber said, shaking him harder.
"ANGELA!" he suddenly cried out, sitting up abruptly and knocking heads with his concerned friend.
"Ow!" Timber exclaimed clutching her forehead. "Fuck Scott!" she whimpered. "No wonder why they always call you hardheaded!" she managed a quip even though her intense pain.
Scott rubbed his eyes, taking a moment to emend his coordination. "Where am I?" he asked.
"Classic question." Timber smiled softly, still rubbing her contuse, inflicted by him.
"Timber." he breathed, laying back on the bed.
"I know I am." she informed him.
"What am I doing here."
Timber gave him a look that would melt a glacier. "So you don't remember showing up on my doorstep as drunk as a sailor first day in port?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"Oh fuck..." he grumbled, burying his head in his hands. "I thought that was just a really bad dream."
"Maybe for me." she commented dryly, pushing her short hair out of her face. "It's four. You gotta get home a half hour ago." she informed him.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed.
"Yeah, you know Scott? If that word couldn't pose as an adjective, noun, verb, adverd, conjunction, and interjection? You'd be shit outta luck."
"Dad's gonna kill me." he informed her. "And I have a headache this big." he illustrated his statement by holding his hands as far apart as they would go. "I don't even feel like I'm completely sober..."
"You probably aren't." she said, taking out clean clothes so she could shower. "You slept on and off for only two hours. And that was alotta alcohol you drank."
"I'm never drinking again." he confirmed.
"As long as that'll last." she muttered sarcastically.
He just grinned in accordance, watching her dart back and forth across her room. "Thank for taking care of me." he finally said.
"What're friends for?" she asked in return. "Now get your ass home before walking across the street becomes walking the green mile for you." she ordered, shuffling in her bottom drawer for something he could wear. "I'll see you in about twenty minutes. Tylenol's in the kitchen as usual."
"Thanks." he moaned, dragging himself out of her bed.
Stepping out into the advent of the day, he felt his heart swell with new hope. He was going to get Angela back, and that was all there was to it. He didn't know when, and he most certainly didn't know how, but he was Scott Moffatt; none of that mattered anyway. He just knew she would be back in his arms one day soon...
* * *