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Not The One
folder
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
3,956
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
3,956
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter Three
Chapter Three: The Mall and What Happened There
by sammo_00
It took another week before the doctors took out my stitches and then I was free to leave the hospital. But not before I set up numerous appointments with a certain Dr. Simsy, a psychiatrist they were hoping could help me deal with the agony of betrayal.
The trial had been widely publicized. No one could believe what had happened and as such, I became an almost instant celebrity. I always thought the stories of reporters dressing up and pretending to be bushes and stuff were kind of stupid, but after the third reporter was kicked out of my room by pretending to be a doctor, I just had to believe. And they would just crowd the hospital so whenever I was wheeled around to get some fresh air, they would bombard me with the stupidest questions.
“How do you feel to be so betrayed?”
“Do your stitches hurt? Will you wear them with shame?”
“What has life been like since your sister was indicted?”
“Have you had any contact with the man who raped you?”
Seriously. It was a good thing I didn’t have energy or a baseball bat, or I would have joined my sister in jail for attempted murder. How can people be so insensitive? It always used to make me sick to watch the reporters on news interviewing someone who had just watched someone fall eighty feet. How do you think they feel?! And as if that isn’t enough, you try to get better, mentally, physically and emotionally, when there is something trying to get a picture of what’s between your legs. “But it will make a great front page photo ma’am!” Dammit, I said no! Have people no respect anymore?
And when I left, I was surrounded by five female cops and the nurse, plus my mother, father and younger sister. I almost had a panic attack when a blonde reporter shoved his hand in my face. For a second, I believed that Jack had somehow escaped jail and found me again. But the nurse grabbed his microphone and threw it on the ground, where it was promptly trampled by the hordes of people trying to get a picture of me. And then there were the questions. My mom told me not to listen but snatches kept filtering through. What made me look up was one question from a frail old lady who looked like she was going to get pushed down any second.
“What do you think of the story she said? That she was jealous of your perfect life?” her voice yelled, rising above the din like something magical. I shot my mom a look, but she was staring stonily ahead, one hand tightly gripped on my shoulder.
My father had shoved his way ahead and was waiting at his Jeep, holding the door open against the throng of people. I practically tore myself again leaping from the wheelchair to the car. He slammed the door and as the rest of my family piled in, I collapsed in silent tears against the seat.
Apparently the reason she had told those men to attack me was because she was jealous. Some psychiatrist spent time with her and found her delusional and something else, not that I was paying much attention. In my opinion, anyone who thought I had a perfect life WAS delusional. My life wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t a straight A student, nor did I have the type of body that runway models had. My hair was by no means perfect and unless I spent an hour working on it in zero percent humidity, it just looked like a brown rat’s nest on my head. I barely had any real friends, and I spent all of my time in my room reading books and imagining what life would be like if I were an amazing person. So instead of getting sent to a penitentiary or wherever they send those people now, my sister got sent to a psychiatric ward in some hospital in upstate Pennsylvania. I don’t know the exact name, nor do I ever wish to know.
My first visit with Dr. Simsy was in no way productive. I don’t know where they find these people. Boring bland people with no personality to speak of, and a monotone to boot. She would chant over and over again, saying it wasn’t my fault. She wanted me to say it with her but I would just give her a withering stare and look out the window. It was pointless. Her advice made no sense and as if I wanted to spend two to three hours each week talking about how betrayed I felt and all this and that. Hello? Because that was the last thing I wanted to do. And every time I had to drag my feet to her office, I imagined slitting her bony old throat and just watching her die. I felt as though I died a little each time I stepped foot in her prison cell of an office.
And all that money we funneled into her account; it didn’t help. Didn’t even buy the woman a personality. It wasn’t until one day about six weeks after the attack when I was walking the mall with my mother that things started to move along swiftly for me.
We were passing the Victoria’s Secret and my mom was complaining in my ear about the youth today and how no one had any respect anymore (sound familiar?). I was just nodding, only half listening, when I saw something in front of me that made me stop dead in my tracks. My mother actually continued walking for a few steps before she stopped and looked back at me.
“Mary?” she asked, but I just stared past her, my entire being frozen. She turned around slowly, watching the tall blonde man walk around her. He stopped a few steps in front of me and just stared evenly at me. My mom straightened her back and stepped in front of him, putting herself between me and him. “Excuse me asshole…”
“Jack, ma’am,” he said, peering around her at me, his eyes traveling over my body. I shuddered with disgust and tried to take a step back, but my entire body felt frozen. I don’t think I could have blinked if I tried.
“Get away from here!” my mother hissed in a quiet voice. I could hear the rising tension in her voice, see it in her rigid back and still, I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move? Here was the man who had almost single-handedly ruined my life, not to mention crushed my trust issues. He was standing mere feet away from me and I couldn’t move! How was this possible?
“Oh ma’am, calm down. I only wished to give my regards to your lovely daughter here,” he smiled, giving me a toothy grin. I moaned deep in my throat, a hoarse sound, and my mother stepped back, trying to shield me with her body.
“Shouldn’t you be in jail? You know, for raping my daughter? And besides, my husband filed a restraining order. You’re violating it right now pissant!” she almost spat, her body shaking. I was afraid. But why couldn’t I move? I couldn’t even open my mouth to say something. I couldn’t even look away from him.
He took a step forward, still grinning. “Since I was under duress, I only got thirty days and twenty of it was suspended because the DA didn’t want to push the issue. And there was no RO filed. Apparently your husband failed in his fatherly duties. So I think it’s safe to give your daughter this.” He began to reach into his pocket with his hand, still smirking at me. His blue eyes never wavered from mine and suddenly, all hell broke loose.
My mom screamed and hit him with her purse with all her might. “Get the hell away from us you bastard!” she yelled, whacking him everywhere she could reach. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would have been humorous. Before long, there was an entire crowd of people around us, just watching my mom beat him over the head with her purse, yelling obscenities at the top of her lungs.
“What seems to be the problem ma’am?” I heard a deep gravelly voice ask and looking up, I saw one of the huge security guards standing there with his hand on his baton.
My mom turned and looked at the security guard, anger and hate etched into every wrinkle and pore on her face. “Sir, I respectfully request that you remove this piece of filth from my way so my daughter and I may leave,” she said stiffly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“And what’s the problem?” the guard asked, stepping forward. My mom rolled her eyes and I could tell she was resisting her screaming urge.
“Sir, this man does not belong anywhere near my daughter, and I ask that you remove him so my daughter can leave,” she replied forcefully. Suddenly, I heard someone gasp and I whirled around, thinking that somehow Chuck had managed to make this a wonderful get-together. But no, all hell broke loose.
“I know them! She’s the girl who got raped by the guys her sister paid. I saw it on the news,” someone in the crowd yelled out. I turned bleach white and would have fallen to the ground had the security guard not caught me. The second I felt his arms surround me, however, I came back to life and started screaming and kicking. There was a man holding me. No man was supposed to touch me! And standing within arms reach is the man who started everything!
Time seemed to slow down. I managed to free myself from the security guard, but it was once again a reporter throng again. Everyone had their cameras and phones out, snapping pictures of me. The white lights were blinding me, and I was suffocating under the pressure of the crowd. I slid to my knees, tears pouring down my face, and clasped my hands over my ears, praying for someone to save me.
And then someone did. I felt another strong arm encircle my body and I was suddenly jerked up and back against a very well-muscled chest. I smelled a familiar stench of cigarette smoke and sweat and went crazy. A voice began whispering nonsensical things in my ear and I started screaming, but the sounds of the crowd were so loud, no one heard me anyway. I opened my eyes and saw my mother trying to push her way through the people, terror evident in her face. Two more security guards had joined the crowd, but they didn’t know what to do and instead stood there like lumps. The first security guard however, was trying to bring order to the crowd by yelling at the top of his lungs. No one was concerned that I was being dragged away by the man who had raped me.
His words were meant to soothe me, but instead, they did the opposite. Jack half-dragged, half-carried me about thirty feet away from the throng of people before he loosened his grip. I threw myself forward so fast I slipped and fell and would have landed on my face had I not thrown out my hand. I spun around quickly and, not finding the strength to stand, kept scooting away on my bottom, keeping Jack in my sights. He merely kneeled down, his face frantic looking.
“Look girl, you gotta listen to me,” he said urgently, his eyes darting back to the crowd. He nervously licked his lips, not meeting my eyes.
“I don’t have to listen to anything you say,” I snapped, shocked at finding the strength to speak. I wouldn’t cry though. I refused to show more weakness in front of this filth.
“But you have to! I need to apologize to you—”
“For what? Raping me?” I forced out through gritted teeth. It was taking all of my strength not to cry, and I was slowly losing the battle. I wanted to glance and see where my mother was, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off him even more. “For killing me?”
He looked me straight in the eyes now and I was almost surprised to see tears there. “Mary,” he said softly, holding out a hand to me but when I cringed, he dropped it. “I really didn’t want to do it, but she made me. She was gonna kill me. I’m really sorry for what I did to you, but you have to understand. I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice,” I whispered. He closed his eyes slowly, a tear slowly tracking down his unshaven cheek but before he could say anything, he was jerked to his feet.
Two of the security guards had grabbed him and forced him to his feet as my mother slid to a stop in front of me. She kneeled down and grabbed me, hiding me from his eyes.
“Sir,” one of the security guards said, a menacing tone in his voice, “we’re going to have to ask you to leave this mall and never come back.”
“But—” Jack spluttered. He was strong, but no match for the muscles holding him in the air. They slowly began marching him towards the doors, but I could still hear him calling my name frantically.
My mother slowly escorted me to the parking garage, where I once again dissolved into tears against the rough fabric of a car seat.
A/N: So, am I to assume that no one likes my story? Oh please let me know what you think. If I don't get more reviews, I might consider not working on this story anymore...so please. It's only a moment of your time. Thanks for reading!!!
by sammo_00
It took another week before the doctors took out my stitches and then I was free to leave the hospital. But not before I set up numerous appointments with a certain Dr. Simsy, a psychiatrist they were hoping could help me deal with the agony of betrayal.
The trial had been widely publicized. No one could believe what had happened and as such, I became an almost instant celebrity. I always thought the stories of reporters dressing up and pretending to be bushes and stuff were kind of stupid, but after the third reporter was kicked out of my room by pretending to be a doctor, I just had to believe. And they would just crowd the hospital so whenever I was wheeled around to get some fresh air, they would bombard me with the stupidest questions.
“How do you feel to be so betrayed?”
“Do your stitches hurt? Will you wear them with shame?”
“What has life been like since your sister was indicted?”
“Have you had any contact with the man who raped you?”
Seriously. It was a good thing I didn’t have energy or a baseball bat, or I would have joined my sister in jail for attempted murder. How can people be so insensitive? It always used to make me sick to watch the reporters on news interviewing someone who had just watched someone fall eighty feet. How do you think they feel?! And as if that isn’t enough, you try to get better, mentally, physically and emotionally, when there is something trying to get a picture of what’s between your legs. “But it will make a great front page photo ma’am!” Dammit, I said no! Have people no respect anymore?
And when I left, I was surrounded by five female cops and the nurse, plus my mother, father and younger sister. I almost had a panic attack when a blonde reporter shoved his hand in my face. For a second, I believed that Jack had somehow escaped jail and found me again. But the nurse grabbed his microphone and threw it on the ground, where it was promptly trampled by the hordes of people trying to get a picture of me. And then there were the questions. My mom told me not to listen but snatches kept filtering through. What made me look up was one question from a frail old lady who looked like she was going to get pushed down any second.
“What do you think of the story she said? That she was jealous of your perfect life?” her voice yelled, rising above the din like something magical. I shot my mom a look, but she was staring stonily ahead, one hand tightly gripped on my shoulder.
My father had shoved his way ahead and was waiting at his Jeep, holding the door open against the throng of people. I practically tore myself again leaping from the wheelchair to the car. He slammed the door and as the rest of my family piled in, I collapsed in silent tears against the seat.
Apparently the reason she had told those men to attack me was because she was jealous. Some psychiatrist spent time with her and found her delusional and something else, not that I was paying much attention. In my opinion, anyone who thought I had a perfect life WAS delusional. My life wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t a straight A student, nor did I have the type of body that runway models had. My hair was by no means perfect and unless I spent an hour working on it in zero percent humidity, it just looked like a brown rat’s nest on my head. I barely had any real friends, and I spent all of my time in my room reading books and imagining what life would be like if I were an amazing person. So instead of getting sent to a penitentiary or wherever they send those people now, my sister got sent to a psychiatric ward in some hospital in upstate Pennsylvania. I don’t know the exact name, nor do I ever wish to know.
My first visit with Dr. Simsy was in no way productive. I don’t know where they find these people. Boring bland people with no personality to speak of, and a monotone to boot. She would chant over and over again, saying it wasn’t my fault. She wanted me to say it with her but I would just give her a withering stare and look out the window. It was pointless. Her advice made no sense and as if I wanted to spend two to three hours each week talking about how betrayed I felt and all this and that. Hello? Because that was the last thing I wanted to do. And every time I had to drag my feet to her office, I imagined slitting her bony old throat and just watching her die. I felt as though I died a little each time I stepped foot in her prison cell of an office.
And all that money we funneled into her account; it didn’t help. Didn’t even buy the woman a personality. It wasn’t until one day about six weeks after the attack when I was walking the mall with my mother that things started to move along swiftly for me.
We were passing the Victoria’s Secret and my mom was complaining in my ear about the youth today and how no one had any respect anymore (sound familiar?). I was just nodding, only half listening, when I saw something in front of me that made me stop dead in my tracks. My mother actually continued walking for a few steps before she stopped and looked back at me.
“Mary?” she asked, but I just stared past her, my entire being frozen. She turned around slowly, watching the tall blonde man walk around her. He stopped a few steps in front of me and just stared evenly at me. My mom straightened her back and stepped in front of him, putting herself between me and him. “Excuse me asshole…”
“Jack, ma’am,” he said, peering around her at me, his eyes traveling over my body. I shuddered with disgust and tried to take a step back, but my entire body felt frozen. I don’t think I could have blinked if I tried.
“Get away from here!” my mother hissed in a quiet voice. I could hear the rising tension in her voice, see it in her rigid back and still, I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move? Here was the man who had almost single-handedly ruined my life, not to mention crushed my trust issues. He was standing mere feet away from me and I couldn’t move! How was this possible?
“Oh ma’am, calm down. I only wished to give my regards to your lovely daughter here,” he smiled, giving me a toothy grin. I moaned deep in my throat, a hoarse sound, and my mother stepped back, trying to shield me with her body.
“Shouldn’t you be in jail? You know, for raping my daughter? And besides, my husband filed a restraining order. You’re violating it right now pissant!” she almost spat, her body shaking. I was afraid. But why couldn’t I move? I couldn’t even open my mouth to say something. I couldn’t even look away from him.
He took a step forward, still grinning. “Since I was under duress, I only got thirty days and twenty of it was suspended because the DA didn’t want to push the issue. And there was no RO filed. Apparently your husband failed in his fatherly duties. So I think it’s safe to give your daughter this.” He began to reach into his pocket with his hand, still smirking at me. His blue eyes never wavered from mine and suddenly, all hell broke loose.
My mom screamed and hit him with her purse with all her might. “Get the hell away from us you bastard!” she yelled, whacking him everywhere she could reach. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would have been humorous. Before long, there was an entire crowd of people around us, just watching my mom beat him over the head with her purse, yelling obscenities at the top of her lungs.
“What seems to be the problem ma’am?” I heard a deep gravelly voice ask and looking up, I saw one of the huge security guards standing there with his hand on his baton.
My mom turned and looked at the security guard, anger and hate etched into every wrinkle and pore on her face. “Sir, I respectfully request that you remove this piece of filth from my way so my daughter and I may leave,” she said stiffly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“And what’s the problem?” the guard asked, stepping forward. My mom rolled her eyes and I could tell she was resisting her screaming urge.
“Sir, this man does not belong anywhere near my daughter, and I ask that you remove him so my daughter can leave,” she replied forcefully. Suddenly, I heard someone gasp and I whirled around, thinking that somehow Chuck had managed to make this a wonderful get-together. But no, all hell broke loose.
“I know them! She’s the girl who got raped by the guys her sister paid. I saw it on the news,” someone in the crowd yelled out. I turned bleach white and would have fallen to the ground had the security guard not caught me. The second I felt his arms surround me, however, I came back to life and started screaming and kicking. There was a man holding me. No man was supposed to touch me! And standing within arms reach is the man who started everything!
Time seemed to slow down. I managed to free myself from the security guard, but it was once again a reporter throng again. Everyone had their cameras and phones out, snapping pictures of me. The white lights were blinding me, and I was suffocating under the pressure of the crowd. I slid to my knees, tears pouring down my face, and clasped my hands over my ears, praying for someone to save me.
And then someone did. I felt another strong arm encircle my body and I was suddenly jerked up and back against a very well-muscled chest. I smelled a familiar stench of cigarette smoke and sweat and went crazy. A voice began whispering nonsensical things in my ear and I started screaming, but the sounds of the crowd were so loud, no one heard me anyway. I opened my eyes and saw my mother trying to push her way through the people, terror evident in her face. Two more security guards had joined the crowd, but they didn’t know what to do and instead stood there like lumps. The first security guard however, was trying to bring order to the crowd by yelling at the top of his lungs. No one was concerned that I was being dragged away by the man who had raped me.
His words were meant to soothe me, but instead, they did the opposite. Jack half-dragged, half-carried me about thirty feet away from the throng of people before he loosened his grip. I threw myself forward so fast I slipped and fell and would have landed on my face had I not thrown out my hand. I spun around quickly and, not finding the strength to stand, kept scooting away on my bottom, keeping Jack in my sights. He merely kneeled down, his face frantic looking.
“Look girl, you gotta listen to me,” he said urgently, his eyes darting back to the crowd. He nervously licked his lips, not meeting my eyes.
“I don’t have to listen to anything you say,” I snapped, shocked at finding the strength to speak. I wouldn’t cry though. I refused to show more weakness in front of this filth.
“But you have to! I need to apologize to you—”
“For what? Raping me?” I forced out through gritted teeth. It was taking all of my strength not to cry, and I was slowly losing the battle. I wanted to glance and see where my mother was, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off him even more. “For killing me?”
He looked me straight in the eyes now and I was almost surprised to see tears there. “Mary,” he said softly, holding out a hand to me but when I cringed, he dropped it. “I really didn’t want to do it, but she made me. She was gonna kill me. I’m really sorry for what I did to you, but you have to understand. I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice,” I whispered. He closed his eyes slowly, a tear slowly tracking down his unshaven cheek but before he could say anything, he was jerked to his feet.
Two of the security guards had grabbed him and forced him to his feet as my mother slid to a stop in front of me. She kneeled down and grabbed me, hiding me from his eyes.
“Sir,” one of the security guards said, a menacing tone in his voice, “we’re going to have to ask you to leave this mall and never come back.”
“But—” Jack spluttered. He was strong, but no match for the muscles holding him in the air. They slowly began marching him towards the doors, but I could still hear him calling my name frantically.
My mother slowly escorted me to the parking garage, where I once again dissolved into tears against the rough fabric of a car seat.
A/N: So, am I to assume that no one likes my story? Oh please let me know what you think. If I don't get more reviews, I might consider not working on this story anymore...so please. It's only a moment of your time. Thanks for reading!!!