The V Girl: A coming of age story by Mya Robarts

Author:Mya Robarts [Robarts, Mya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mya Robarts
Published: 2014-06-19T21:00:00+00:00

29

Consent

With all my strength, I try to push him off me. The mirror doesn’t reflect my attempts. Instead, I see three people who shouldn’t be here.

Rey’s mom died during childbirth. Angie Weaver died serving the troops, and Mom … Oh, Mom! Seeing these women means I’ve either lost my mind or I’m near death.

“Come with us. You prefer death over rape,” says Angie.

“And he recruited you,” says Cecilia Diaz.

I scream silently against Aleksey’s hand. I must wake up.

A different voice echoes in my ear. “Hey! Wake up!” I order my mind to obey the voice. Little by little, I gain control of my eyelids and open my eyes.

Divine leans over me, looking concerned. I’m gasping and shivering violently. I look down and am relieved to see that I’m wearing my hospital gown. The sheets are moist. That’s undeniable evidence that my arousal was real, but I can’t find any blood.

I need air to quicken this slow awakening. Fighting to control my unresponsive legs, I get up and search desperately for the door. I open it, making sure nobody sees me. The grogginess subsides as a cold breeze brushes my face.

“Where is he?”

Divine points to a colossal chair next to my bed. “Prince Aleksey? He was sitting here, but he left as soon as I arrived.”

“Was he dressed?”

She walks over and places her palm on my forehead. “What? Of course he was dressed.”

I close the door and stagger toward the chair. “Divine, this will sound weird, but did he look … different? Strange?”

She blinks in confusion. “Well, he was … flustered. Like I’d caught him doing something—Hey! What are you doing? You wanna move this chair? I’ll do it. Where do you want it?”

“Next to the mirror. I think I might’ve been … attacked.”

Her beautiful dark skin fills with goose bumps.

“Please turn around,” I say. “I need to see whether I still have—”

She lifts a hand to interrupt and turns her back to me.

Sitting in front of the mirror, I part my lips and take a look. Dad’s anatomy lessons pay off. The damned membrane is still there. Not that a hymen is proof of virginity, but there aren’t any signs of tearing, reddening or bruising in my intimate spots.

The whole thing was a dream, though one so vivid that I’m surprised to find no marks except some bruises on the back of my thigh where the drugs entered my body. My skin still tingles in certain places—the spots where Aleksey’s lips tortured and pleasured me.

I put my head between my knees as I struggle to organize my thoughts.

Why did I have such a dream? In my dream, I didn’t feel violated. A little scared, perhaps, but I was enjoying the thrill of it and internally gave my consent. I know I’m willing. More than willing if I want the guy. And I want Aleksey in a way I have never wanted anyone before.

The fact that Aleksey acted like a rapist turned what should have been a blissful dream into a nightmare.

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