Anyone But Me

by J.D. Frost

“I was gonna wash this. But, you know what? I think I’ll leave it. It’s a nice reminder. A symbol of my ownership.” I swallow, stomach knotting. His ownership… of me. No matter what I do, I’m his. His to mess with, his to torture, his to hurt. I made peace with that long ago, resigned myself to the fact that while I’m in this town, there’s no getting away from Asher Brooks.

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t worrying about something. The last time I didn’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. The last time I actually had fun or even gave a genuine smile. My life before, it feels like a distant memory now. Like it all happened to somebody else. It would be so easy to give up. To just throw in the towel and let the shitty reality of my life pull me under. To let it win. But… I can’t. I refuse. I have to keep going. I have to get out of this town and away from my uncle and Asher and anyone else that’s out to get me. If not for me, then for April. She deserves better than the hand life has dealt her, and I’ll die before I stop trying to give her that.

I love April so much that my heart squeezes with the force of it.

“I’ve never known a kid who reads so much,” Sienna says, coming to stand beside me. “She just loves it, I guess.” And while that’s true, I know there’s a whole other reason behind it; it’s an escape, a way for her to live in another reality, even if only for a short time. And I totally get it.

I’m too awake, too jacked up. Peyton’s words keep running through my mind on an endless loop, so loud that my head feels like it’s vibrating. She’s with Asher. Her and Asher. Unwanted images flash behind my eyelids of them together, him touching her, kissing her. I pace the length of the bedroom, careful not to wake April, hands clenching into fists at my sides. I don’t know why I’m so bothered about this, why my heart feels like it’s about to explode inside my chest, why my stomach’s churning like I’m on a rollercoaster. I hate Asher. He’s a conceited asshole, a spoiled rich boy with zero morals. He treats me like dirt purely for enjoyment. I shouldn’t give a damn what he does or who he spends his time with. And yet…

Holding my breath, I open it up to the first page. Cruel, teasing eyes stare back at me. Asher. Page after page is filled with Asher. It’s sort of like a journal, but… not. The things he does to me, his taunts, his pranks. The things he says. Close ups of his features; his full lips, his thick lashes, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. The dimple in his right cheek that only appears when he smiles. The way the sun hits his tan skin. The way his dark-blonde hair sticks out from beneath the backward ball cap that’s permanently atop of his head. Drawings of him standing at his locker, drawings of him concentrating in class. Drawings of him during football practice, his biceps bunched as he lines up a throw, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. It’s endless.

Some small voice at the back of my mind wishes that someone could save us, could take us far away from here. But I know that’ll never happen. Nobody’s coming to our rescue. They couldn’t, even if they wanted to.

Some of the tension in my shoulders eases at that. April’s a good kid and she’s always listened to me. I’m glad to hear that she kept her safety as her number one priority.

This is no life for an eight year old. For anyone, really. She shouldn’t have to wonder where her next meal is coming from or whether tonight will be the night her uncle will finally break down her bedroom door. She shouldn’t have to see her big brother beaten and broken on the floor. She should be thinking about what dress to wear to her school dance and if her homework’s done on time and if a boy in her class likes her or not.

When our parents died, before our uncle even got granted custody, and I had to break the news to April, I felt this overwhelming surge of emotion. An emotion stronger than the multitude of others I was already feeling. As I held her in my arms, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, I knew–just knew–that I would spend the rest of my life protecting her. Whatever trouble she ran into, whatever challenges faced her, I would be the one to help her overcome these things. I would stand in the way of anyone or anything that threatened to take away her happiness. I would keep her safe. And I will, even if it kills me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going, huh?” Asher teases, completely oblivious to the sheer agony I’m in. “First you ditch school for three days and then you just ignore me. I’ve gotta say, you’re really hurting my feelings here.”

“Oakley…” His throat bobs on a hard swallow. When he finally tears his gaze away from my ribs, his expression is completely different. His eyes are hard, his jaw clenched. And when he speaks, his voice is angrier than I’ve ever heard it. “Who did this to you?” My entire body erupts in a violent shudder, from… the pain, I guess. “Does it matter?” Asher looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course it fucking matters. Somebody hurt you, Oakley. Really hurt you. You have to tell me who did this.”

And when I open up my locker, there’s no threatening notes or taunts about my injury. Instead, there’s a stack of compression wraps and ice packs, and a list of instructions on how to care for fractured ribs. Now, I’m even more confused than I was before.

He’s quiet for a beat, then he lunges forward, smashing his mouth against mine.

For a second, I forget everything. There’s no high school hierarchy, no abusive uncles, no plans to escape. We’re in a cocoon right now, our own little world where nothing and no-one outside of this room exists. It’s just me and Asher, finally giving in to this pull between us that I’ve been trying to deny since the day we met.

“You wanna know why?” he murmurs. “It’s because I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you, okay?” His throat bobs with an audible click. “Anyone but me.”

And despite the things Asher’s saying, the way he’s looking at me, the passion with which he kisses me… it all boils down to one thing: I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him. I know how good he is at putting on an act, and the lengths he’ll go to to get what he wants. He’ll use me then drop me before the sun even comes up, then spend the rest of the year reminding me how easily I folded, how much I wanted him. I can admit it; as much as I hate it, I do want him. I have since the first time I saw him, even if he treats me like dirt. But, I refuse to let those feelings cloud my judgment. I won’t give him more ammunition to torture me with.

He kisses me like he’s possessed, like he’s been starving for years and I’ve given him his first taste of sustenance. It’s… intense, and so believable that it’s kind of disturbing.

Because another part of me, a part that I desperately wish I could ignore and despise more and more with every passing second, actually… believes him. Or wants to believe him, I guess.

I can’t make sense of it. Was it real? Or was it a lie? I’m warring with myself, changing my mind so much that even I can’t keep up. One minute, I’m certain it was a cruel trick, that he was just playing me, and I feel the anger all over again, the burning rage that floods my entire system as, not for the first time, I wonder how the hell he thinks it’s okay to treat somebody like that. But then, in the next breath, it’s like a switch has been flipped inside my brain and I’m arguing with myself, remembering the fervor with which he kissed me, like he was starving and my mouth was the only form of sustenance he’d had in years.

And the look on his face… shit, I can’t get it out of my head. The desire, the lust, the agony. The hunger. Even sketching it out in my secret journal hasn’t helped. Five whole pages worth, might I add. The words he said last night rush through my mind, the rawness with which he said them, making my head spin. ...

I’m stupid, so fucking stupid for thinking for even a second that he could really feel anything for me other than hatred.

“What do you get out of it? Some sick sense of satisfaction? Does it fulfill some insecurity you have? Make you feel like a big, strong football player?” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grits out, all signs of smugness gone. “Don’t I? Because I think I do. You might be able to fool everyone in this town, but you can’t fool me. I know exactly who you are.”

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” I ask, voice cracking, eyes burning with tears that I refuse to let fall. “What did I do to make you treat me like this? You don’t even know me.”

“It’s alcohol,” he murmurs, his voice small. “Not pills. But, you got the rest pretty much spot-on.” Hello, guilt. My stomach drops, blood turning cold inside my veins. I was angry, sure. And maybe I wanted to hurt him a little, tell a few home truths along the way. But, I never expected to be a hundred percent right. I also never expected to feel this awful about it, either.

“Asher, I’m—” I shake my head, stare unseeingly at the space between us. “I'm sorry.” He shrugs. “Whatever. At least now I know what you really think of me.” With that, he sidesteps me and makes for the exit, the door falling shut behind him, but not before I catch the flash of hurt lingering in his eyes. And me? I’m just left here, staring unseeingly into the spot he just vacated. Feeling like a piece of shit.

Asher’s absence isn’t helping matters. Two whole days, and not a single glimpse of him. I haven’t heard his voice, haven’t seen his face, haven’t even heard his name around school. There’s no sign of him. Part of me is pissed that he’s just disappeared off the face of the earth after everything that happened between us, but another part of me is–God, I can’t believe I’m saying this–worried. He seemed genuinely… cut-up after the things I said to him, and now he’s just gone? Did something happen to him? Whatever it is, it’s left a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. And the worst part? I’m even more confused than ever. I still despise him, hate his guts for treating me like trash and fucking with my head. But, at the same time… I don’t.

As much as it kills me to admit it, that kiss the other night has only made me want more. More of him, more of… everything. Even though I shouldn’t, even though I should be running as far away from him as possible. And after the way things went down in the bathroom, I’m beginning to suspect that there’s a whole other side to Asher that nobody knows about. A side that I’ve only seen glimpses of. Once, when I verbally attacked him the other day, causing that raw, wounded look on his face. And the other, in the locker room, when the lightning cut through the darkness and he looked at me. Really looked at me, every emotion he was feeling laid bare, naked for me to see. But now, he’s disappeared and I can’t help feeling that it’s all my fault.

He’s done something to me, infected me somehow. I swear I wasn’t this pathetic before.

Holy shit. Did he just— he just rejected her. In front of everybody. Maybe there’s trouble in paradise already. Or maybe, an annoying little voice in the back of my mind adds, he wants somebody else instead.

The memory of his dazed, blissed-out expression flashes through my mind, the fire burning in his eyes as he gazed down at my mouth. He wanted me. The realization stuns me. He wanted me. And if that part was true, what else was?

“I went away for a couple of days. To clear my head. I needed some time to process everything. That night was…” He blows out a long breath, shaking his head. “Time to process,” I mutter, repeating his words. “So, it wasn’t all bullshit then? The kiss. The way you… looked at me. How hurt you seemed after the things I said. It was real? Not an act?” He shuffles on his feet, from nerves or discomfort, I can’t tell. “Yeah, it was real. Every bit of it.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I know it’s confusing. Fuck, I barely even understand it myself. But, I meant what I said that night in the locker room. I don’t want anyone else to hurt you.” “Except you,” I whisper. “Yeah, except me. It’s fucked up, I know that, but it’s just how I feel. I can’t explain it. Just the thought of someone putting their hands on you, hurting you, it makes me wanna punch something.

As for the kiss…” He blows out a breath. “I—” “Another one of those unexplainable things?” “I guess. All I know is… I liked it. I wanted to do it. Would have carried on doing it if you hadn’t run away. The second I pinned you against that locker, it was all I could think about. How you’d taste, how you’d feel. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since. Even now, I…” He swallows. “I want to do it again.”

“You wanted it, too,” he blurts, freezing me in place. Slowly, I turn back to face him. “What?” “You kissed me back, remember? You didn’t have to, but you… did. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you. You still want me.”

I can’t even deny it. What’s the point? He’s right, I did kiss him back. I do want him. But, there’s a difference between wanting something and actually taking it. I can want him so much that it feels like I’m suffocating from the force of it, but it won’t change anything. Because Asher’s still the guy who spent the last year torturing me, he’s still the guy who hurt me. As much as I want to forget all of that, to say fuck it and jump in headfirst, I just can’t. Because when this all blows up in my face–and it will–I’ll only have myself to blame. But, what if it doesn’t blow up in your face? That damn voice in the back of my mind whispers. What if you finally get something you want for a change?

“Oakley,” he rasps, sounding as desperate for this as I am. He cups the side of my face with a trembling hand. “Oakley, please.” ...

“Your skin tastes like sugar. So fucking sweet.” “This better not be another one of your games, or I swear to God—” “It’s not. I promise it’s not. I want you, Oakley.”

“Can you hear them?” I taunt, voice low. “They’re looking for you. They could come in here any second. What would they say if they saw you like this, huh? What would they say if they knew that their captain was on his knees for me, moaning like a damn whore?”

“You love this, don’t you? Love the idea of being caught.” He nods shakily and an evil grin slides over my face. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come. Let them hear just how much you love my cock.”

By the time my brain comes back online, Asher’s back on his feet, his gaze boring into mine as he sucks his cum from his fingers. My dick jumps against my thigh, coming back to life already, and I sigh, unable to comprehend how we even got here, to this place where Asher Brooks has just given me the best blowjob of my life and already I want more. It’s… terrifying.

“Thanks, Sienna. And, uh, thanks for watching April. Again. That’s the last time, I promise.” “Don’t sweat it. I don’t mind at all. She’s a good kid.” I grin, turning to look at April. She looks so content sitting there, reading and munching on her cotton candy, completely oblivious to the world around her, her little forehead scrunched in concentration. “Yeah, she is.”

“Asher, I— I told you, this—” “Can’t happen again,” he finishes, ducking his head, trying and failing to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, I know. I guess I just thought that maybe you’d change your mind or something.”

“Just so you know, I still hate you.” He grins. “Good. This’d be way less fun if you didn’t.”

“Well, if it wasn’t you, then—” Sienna shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.” “Who the hell was it then?” Hal pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t know, son. Looks like you’ve got yourself a guardian angel.”

Still, I do as he says. I turn and storm out of the room, wondering if I just dodged a bullet or lost something that could’ve been, well… everything.

But, as always, Asher surprises me. He opens the door, takes one look at me and just… smiles. It must take him a second for his brain to catch up to what he’s seeing, because when he notices my busted-up face and torn clothes, his expression morphs into one of obvious concern. His breath hurtles out of him in a shaky rush, a choked sound leaving his throat. “I’m sorry,” I whisper hoarsely. “I didn’t know where else to go.” He stares at me, not saying a word for a full minute, just roves his eyes all over me like he’s mentally cataloging my injuries. Then he looks away, collects himself and takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” And just like that, I feel safe again.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I say, planting a hand either side of me to slide off the counter. “No.” He crowds me, stopping me from going anywhere. “I’m glad you did. I— I hated how we left things earlier.” “Me too,”

“I’m sorry, I just… Jesus, Oakley. You have to tell me who did this to you.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t.” “Why the hell not? Look at you! You’ve got bruises everywhere, your face is all cut-up and you’ve got choke marks around your throat. Even your fucking head is bleeding. Who is it? What do they want?” “Asher, please. I– I can’t…” He sighs, a sound that seems to come right from the very depths of him, and leans down until his forehead rests against mine. “Oakley…” he whispers, panting breaths hitting my lips. “Don’t you get it? I would hurt anyone for you. Anyone. All you have to do is tell me who it is.”

“Is it so wrong for me to want to protect you?” “No,” I choke out. “It’s not. Because that’s what I’m doing for you, by not telling you.”