Itâs weird. The building that houses the Gym looks completely deserted, evidently because all of the other students are leaving by the entrance in the front foyer, ushered by teachers saying their goodbyes as we leave for winter break. Maybe thatâs why Tate wanted us to meet up at the changing rooms â because there would be no-one else here â but that kind of makes me confused because he has been so openly affectionate with me these past few weeks. I look around the empty yard once more, and then I pull open the doors to enter the Gym.
The entryway is freezing cold and the smell of rubber equipment and aerosol spray lingers in the air. Plus, Tate isnât standing in the main entrance, which confounds me even further. Naturally upon seeing no-one my eyes subsequently move to the two doors directly in front of me â the girlsâ changing room on the left and the boysâ changing room on the right. I glance around at my surroundings again, the building so chilled that my breath mists opaquely in front of my face, and I feel really uneasy now. Why would Tate bring me here?
Tate definitely wouldnât go into the girlsâ changing room, that much I The first thing that I notice is that the automatic light is still on, which means that someone is still in here, so I relax a little. I think that the boysâ room is a little bigger than the girlsâ, bending around a corner where more benches and lockers sit, cleared out for the holidays. I hesitantly round the corner, and I see a Gym bag resting alone on the bench in the centre of the room. I squint at it, assuming that it must be Tateâs, but I swear that I have never seen him wearing it before. Seeing that itâs still unzipped I make my way over to it, wondering if my present is in there and if this is some sort of slightly unnerving treasure hunt, but all that I see is a crumpled football kit, a pair of long-abused trainers, a can of menâs deodorant, and an opened box of-
I immediately spin around and Hudson clamps his hand down on my mouth, his palm so cold that it sends needles prickling across my cheeks. I stare, horrified, into his upturned glinting eyes. I dart my eyes around the room to see if Tate is standing nearby and I try to hold back the wetness that seems to be about to spill down my cheeks.
âIâm so glad that you could join us, My eyebrows pinch upwards and then Hudson grips his fingers into my cheeks more tightly, making a pained shriek involuntarily escape my throat and muffle against his palm. So stunned by the turn of events I didnât notice at what point he had clasped my elbows behind me with his other arm, making my shoulder blades strain and ache from the distorted position.
âIâm going to take my hand off of your mouth River but donât even think about screaming. I swear, if you even try it-â He digs his nails into my cheeks and I nod my head fiercely, tears now spilling over my skin and onto his fingers, promising him that I wonât scream. I want him to get his hands off my face. I hate the fact that my lips are touching him right now.
Contented, Hudson takes his hand away from my mouth and immediately he shoves me backwards, the backsides of my knees bashing into the wood behind me and I fall down on my ass, onto the bench next to his bag.
âWhatâs going on?â I say, my voice shaking slightly. âIâm meeting Tate-â
Hudson laughs and crosses his arms over his chest, smirking down at me. âFirst of all, shut up for a minute, Iâm doing the talking.â My eyes widen as I stare up at him but I keep my mouth shut. The longer heâs talking, the longer heâs not going to try and⦠and⦠âYou know how Tate is â so religious and all â and he canât bear the thought of doing anything to dirty you up.â He looks me up and down, from the top of my jacket zip to the hem of my skirt. âFuck knows why, you really arenât anything special. The point is, you really disappointed him at Homecoming on his birthday, so Iâm here to give you both a gift and rectify your problem.â
My brow creases together significantly and I glance back towards the bend in the room which leads to the exit, desperate for Tate to come in here and tell me that this was a weird joke. I look up at Hudson and shake my head. âI donât understand what youâre talking about-â
His hand whips across my cheek and my head snaps to the side, my skin instantly aflame with icy pins and needles, burning their way to the surface of my flesh. My glasses imbed painfully into the side of my nose, but if anything Iâm just thankful that they didnât go flying across the room. I readjust them and will myself to stop the flow of tears. I wish that I wasnât crying in front of him, but at least my sobs are silent.
âShut up,â he says again. âTate wonât do anything with you unless I fix your issue first, so you should be feeling fucking grateful right now.â
I shake my head but I donât say anything because I donât want him to hit me again.
The next thing that I feel is Hudson grabbing my head and smashing his face into mine. Itâs one of the most painful things that I have ever experienced, and I have literally just been whacked across the face. His mouth is so hard that it makes me squeeze my eyes shut to try and relieve the suction. He bites his teeth into my top lip and I think that Iâm going to scream from the pain piercing through my nerves.
He pulls back and looks at my face, crumpled in confusion and agony. I want to cry out to Tate but then I remember that he Is this really what Tate wanted? Is this what he expected to happen right now?
âWhy are you being so weird?â Hudson says, a disgruntled look on his face as he hitches up a pale eyebrow.
I literally canât believe what is happening so I just continue to stare at him as I try to think of how I can remove myself from Hudsonâs grasp and flee the building before he catches me. Hudson takes his hands off my face, making me almost shudder with relief, and he puts them on his hips instead. I look at his wavy blond hair and golden eyes and I consider how, were he a completely different person, Hudson could have been a beautiful boy. But the reality is that I can see the thoughts leaking out of his brain and seeping into every crevice of his face, the actuality of who he is unable to stay truly hidden. Heâs like one of those jump-scare portraits that people decorate their houses with at Halloween â from one angle itâs a reputable gentleman, but from the other itâs a hideous zombie with evil eyes and a blood-smothered grin. There is no disintegrating portrait hidden in Hudsonâs attic. I can see the cracks just fine from here.
âItâs what He raises his eyebrows as if prompting me to respond so, shuffling back a little, I say quietly, âTate wouldnât want this,â although now Iâm not so sure. Everything is adding up.
I wish that it wasnât.
Hudson blows out a breath as if exasperated, shooting it upwards and making a few of his blond tendrils flutter above his forehead. âThis is exactly what he wants. He wants me to help you, and by doing this youâre helping him, so stop being a bitch about it. Itâs what was always going to happen. Me and Tate⦠we share everything.â
And just like that, the last dime drops.
The exact same words that Tate said to me not that long ago, almost as if it were a blood-pact motto. Tate hadnât sounded so happy about it at the time, but then what do I really know about Tate? What do I really know about Iâve been played, and I need to exit this game But before I can rise to my feet Hudson shoves his hand into my clavicle and my head smashes down against the bench underneath me, whacking with a horrible loud thudding sound. The back of my head is throbbing, and my blood is pumping so wildly that I can hear it in my ears.
I lift up onto my elbows but itâs too late because Hudson has already ripped a gash in the fabric of my tights and his hand is now clawing at the material around my crotch.
My entire face blanches of any colour as I lift one hand to my mouth, shaking uncontrollably at the sight of what heâs about to do, what he is doing, what he has done-
I feel one finger push into my body and I squeeze my eyes shut at the burn and the sting.
No good feeling comes from the intrusion, and instead I feel sore, dry, and then totally numb. It doesnât feel like how I expected, and it is Iâm paralysed in shock and fear for an immeasurable amount of moments before my brain starts to re-register what is happening to me.
I risk a glance at Hudsonâs hand and clamp my mouth down to stifle my sob.
No I look to the side to see if thereâs something that I can smash against Hudsonâs temple and my eyes instantly land on his canister deodorant. Thank God.
I grab the can and immediately spray it in the direction of his face, aiming for his eyes or his mouth but my own vision is too blurry right now to make the situation out clearly.
Hudson instantly jerks away, cursing wildly as he covers his eyes, and I raise my feet up, shoving him hard in the ribs and sending him toppling backwards. I pelt the can at his body like a shot-put and lunge off the bench, streaking around the corner and crashing myself straight into the door. As soon as I breach the exit of the boysâ changing rooms I thunder towards the doors marking the entrance to the Gym, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for always running track with Kit.
I push through the entrance and almost topple over the tiny step that Iâve never really noticed before, but I manage to keep my footing and I sprint across the yard, leaving the Gym building behind me and heading directly for the now deserted car park.
A sweat that I donât remember releasing is making the hairs around my face stick to my temples and my forehead. I swipe at it with my shaking hands and the icy air laps at the tear-streaks completely covering my cheeks. I hurtle towards the end of the emptied lot, desperate to get out of here as quickly as I can.
My trust.
My faith.
My fault.
As soon as I turn the corner I crash into the solid planes of Tateâs chest.
At first he smiles down at me, a wondrous look in his eyes, but then his face quickly drops and his forehead contorts into confusion, fear, pain.
I instantly stumble backwards, refusing to become trapped in his arms, and I meet his eyes with some confusion, fear, and pain of my own.
But also rage. Mainly rage.
âRiver,â he says, in a hushed but urgent tone, his hands reaching for me. âWhatâs wrong? Baby, what happened? Where have you been?â
Heâs distractedly running his eyes all over me, perhaps checking for clues that what almost just happened actually His eyes widen momentarily but he takes the hit, a soft pink glow instantly spreading across his cheekbone and jaw. He meets my eyes, seeming even more desperate than before, and clasps my shoulders in both of his hands.
â
He doesnât take his hands off me. Instead he dips his head down to mine so that our eyes are level and he gazes at me with a worried look on his face. âWhat happened, baby? Iâve been waiting for you. Tell me what I need to do.â
Rifling through my bag I slap the note from my locker into the centre of his chest and he catches it in the splay of his palm so that it doesnât fall onto the frosted concrete.
âYouâve done enough,â I spit out, and I wriggle myself free from his grasp on my shoulder.
Tate brings the paper between us so that he can look down at it and his eyebrows pinch together. His eyes donât even run over the lines, and why should they? He wrote them. They more swirl around the page, his desperation and frustration increasing by the second, until he shoots his eyes back to me, then back to the page, and up to me again. Is he shocked that Iâm calling him out? Is he experiencing some form of delayed guilt? I donât know and, right now, I donât care. He inhales deeply, like he has the audacity to be hurt and irritated, and he crumples up the note, tossing it to the gutter as he reaches for me again.
âIf you want to say something to me, I donât want it in a letter, I want you to say it to my face,â he says, momentarily confusing me. I canât help the startled laugh that bursts out of me because technically I wish that that had been âTell âThis has something to do with Hudson?â he asks, his tone so low that I almost donât hear it.
âThis has Now I know. If I had just listened to her, this would never have happened to me.
Tateâs eyes are shimmering and I choke up a half-laugh half-sob. Did he think that I would have been okay with this? With him and Hudson âRiver, please,â he whispers, his voice stifled and thick in his throat. âI can be better, I can do more. I thought that you wanted me too.â He shakes his head as he tries to lace his fingers into my hair. With my back pressed against the wall, all that I can do is turn my head away from his mouth, endless streams of tears flowing silently from my eyes. He buries his nose into my neck, inhaling deeply as his chest shakes against me. âRiver, Iâm in lo-â
I pull my elbows up and ram them as hard as I can into his chest. Although the force of it doesnât make him move, he gets the hint and backs up, pushing one hand into his pocket as he rubs his other wrist across his dampened cheeks. I notice that the crucifix chain that he always wears is wrapped around his fist instead of hanging on his neck, and I wonder why he took it off. Then he puts that hand into his other pocket.
My voice is flat and cold when I speak again. âYouâre nothing to me, Tate. This? This was all nothing. Youâre the biggest fraud that Iâve ever met and I never want to see you again, ever. I thank Without a second glance I turn and bolt, my tears gushing noisily now as they fall down my face and neck. My throat feels tight and strangled, and my lungs are aching with the pressure of my heaving cries. I would fumble in my bag for my inhaler, but I can barely feel my fingers anymore.
As I run through the school gate I feel the wintry air gust up my legs, piercing the now bare area underneath my skirt where my tights were pulled and torn. I cry anew as I recall what just happened and I pull my skirt down as far as I can, to ensure that my legs are as invisible as possible.
My feet pound the pavement and I look down at my tights, a long ladder stretching all the way down from the inside of my thigh, trailing off into a snakeâs-tail point just below my knee.
I look back up and swallow painfully, my chest so tight that I think I could die.