Unmasked

Valerie's POV

I managed to dig up a long dress to cover the bruises on my legs; I worked some magic with make-up and foundation to make the blemishes on my arms disappear, same with the red-purplish skin on my neck. Only then did I unlock the door. I held a breath as I pulled it open. I couldn't help it, I glared down the corridor, where Jackson's bedroom was. I wouldn't go in there yet, not because of the small tremor in my legs, no. Because I needed to get some normalcy into my day, go down for breakfast and keep sanity for a teensy bit longer. The Queen was taking the wheel; I needed to handle this in a cold, level-headed manner. Showing fear or that I was breaking apart would only fuel Jackson's drive to humiliate me. If there was a God, I prayed that Jackson wasn't in the living room or in the dining room. Whatever he drugged me with must've been heavy, the only plate left on the table was mine.

I helped myself to a scone, buttering with almond butter. Simone came in as I reached for some freshly cut kiwi. The way I spoke to her, all snappy and arrogant, surprised her. It drove a knife into my gut. I hid those emotions by sipping orange juice; Simone gave me a snide look along with a disapproving nose twitch. Jackson was going to pay for this black hole I'd dug around myself.

Sore muscles protested each time I moved, especially the thigh ones; the menstruation cramps weren't helping. I threw open Jackson's door, reeling. His bedroom was all dark-brown furniture and beige undertones. What I wouldn't give for a gallon of gasoline and a box of matches. The creep was nowhere in sight, but there was shuffling in the adjoined bathroom. The little food I ate churned, threatening to exit the same way it'd gone in. I slammed the door as he waltzed into view, busily doing his belt. I wanted to take that belt, wrap it around his neck and squeeze until he went into cerebral hypoxia.

Jackson had the audacity to smile. I wanted to rage at him, but words—any words—were blocked. I was paralyzed. Paralyzed in front of this animal.

"Is something wrong?" Jackson grabbed a silver Rolex from a tall vanity.

"Is something wrong?" I forced myself to spit out. I inhaled deeply as he secured the watch around his left wrist. "Jackson." I spat his name like it was a curse on this Earth. "What you did to me…" I trailed off. He spun to face me fully. "Don't play games."

Jackson shrugged.

"Oh, I'm not planning on it."

"You drugged me." he didn't deny it; the accusation garnered little reaction from him. "You raped me." my voice took a shrill undertone.

His face scrunched in thought.

"Don't you think rape is a strong word? We've had sex before, Val."

"Don't fucking call me that!" I shrieked. He held up his hands—hands that had bruised me. Violated me.

"Damn. It's sexy when you cuss, babe."

Blood drained from my face, leaving my brain; tear ducts filled up until my vision grew glassy and all I could make out were blobs of color. This was much more painful than I'd anticipated; Jackson was right, we had slept together but—but this wasn't the same. Inside, I was cracking like an egg. Jackson was someone I'd trusted in the past, enough to have sex with. Last night, he violated that last glimmer of trust; he had completely butchered the memory of us. And the one thought on replay was: how could I have been so wrong about a person?

"Why did you do this?" I felt so lost uttering those words.

"Because, babe," he sauntered towards me; my skin crawled, I took a step back. "I tried to win you back fair and square. I chased you for months and you rejected me. I brought you a diamond ring from Paris. Did you even open it? Or did you throw it in the trash? Like you keep doing with my feelings?"

I collided with the door as he stood up close and personal. I detested how my hands were shaking.

"It doesn't matter. I decided to take a different approach."

"By forcing yourself on me?"

"Don't get me wrong, the sex was good—" I threw up a little in my mouth. "But it wasn't why I did it. There was a deeper reason." I wasn't sure how much longer I could cope with compartmentalizing my feelings; Jackson's crazy shtick wasn't helping with maintaining my façade. He brought up a hand, brushing coal hair aside—I slapped it away, face hard. "Be nice to me, kitty-cat."

"Or what? You'll roofie me again?"

Jackson smirked, "No, I won't need to."

I pushed into his chest; when he didn't budge, I started punching it repeatedly. A hand came up to swat my arms, I changed target. I dug my nails into his bare arm, drawing blood in the nook of an elbow; I dragged the nails along the underside of his arm, turning the lunar-shaped wounds into scratching trails. With a grunt, he stapled both my wrists against the doorframe, leaving me open and vulnerable. I went to lift my leg to kick him in the balls, but found I had no space.

"Shh," he soothed, unpinning me from the door with a powerful tug. Jackson shoved me towards his bed, then, whirled me around and pushed my shoulders down—making me sit. "Sit tight baby. I've got a surprise for you."

Was it possible for someone to have less standards and human decency? I rubbed my forehead, focused on controlling my breathing. I wouldn't lose composure in his presence. I was here to show him I wasn't affected…

"These came out nice. You can go ahead and erase them, I already made copies."

He pushed a digital camera into my hands. It looked expensive as hell, more so than Ava's, but price tags were irrelevant. What I saw on the screen was enough to make me want to gouge my eyes out. Photos. Of us. Of last night.

"What is this?" I asked in a monotone.

"Blackmail." He flat out admitted it. Fantastic. "What I want is simple: breakup with your boyfriend or I'll make sure he sees these." Jackson was wiping the quickly drying blood off his arm. He didn't look fazed by the fact that I'd hurt him; he dabbed at the five puncture wounds with the towel as I watched, petrified.

A long, deafening moment passed before I found my voice.

"You raped me…"

"That's nonsense." He sent the dirty towel flying over my head. "Where's your evidence? You don't have any. Unless…" Jackson rubbed his chin in a mock gesture. "No, going to the hospital and ask for a test would be tricky. Can you imagine how our parents would feel? Maybe they'd get divorced." He tsked. "That would be a shame. They look really happy."

"You're a monster." I whispered looking down at a photo of me writhing underneath Jackson.

"No, I'm very possessive and you should've known better than to mess around with some punk while we were on the outs."

"I broke up with you—" he backhanded me across the face. The camera slipped onto the floor. I felt blood in my mouth. Was my lip split?

Jackson towered above me, pointing an index finger right between my eyes.

"Don't say that. Ever. Again." he breathed the words carefully, as if holding himself back from… hurting me again. He was sick. "The rules are simple. Either breakup with him or I'll show him these," he pointed at the camera at his feet. As if he could sense the wheels turning in my head, he said in a sugary voice, "He'll think you've been cheating. Why would he believe you? You have no proof. I bet you never told him about us. Like you never told your father or my mom."

I glared at him. Jackson smiled curling a finger under my chin. I tore away from the touch.

"You've never gotten along with me. We both know why that is. But other people have no idea, do they? I wouldn't put it past you to come up with a sick ploy to get me kicked out of this family." He had a point. When others were present, Jackson never argued with me, he was always a gentleman. I on the other hand, had always been gross and angry with him. "You have a way of manipulating people, Valerie. He won't believe you. No one will. Plus, I could always say you like it when I take pictures of us going at it—you're kinky like that." I wanted to tell him that wasn't true, that Finn wouldn't just write me off like that… And still, I couldn't stop the twisty feeling in my stomach. "You and I are perfect for each other."

"We're really not." I choked out.

Jackson fisted a hand in my hair; I winced as he propelled me closer—close enough for his breath to wash over my lips.

"Just break up with the guy. He's going to trade you for MIT, anyway." How did he know that? A wry smirk curved his mouth. "Eavesdropping goes a long way when you live in the same house." That time—when Ava and I had been chatting and he dropped by…

"You bastard." I hissed. Jackson gripped my hair tighter, forcing me to stand—he pushed me into a wall, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

"Get this through your thick skull: you're mine." His other hand moved to my throat. I drew a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and do as I say, Valerie. Or people are going to see how much of a slut you are."

***

Inside my bedroom, alone, I stood against the door, staring. I felt like the possessed girlfriend in Paranormal Activity, but instead of staring at my sleeping boyfriend, I was gawking with deadened eyes at my bed. Simone had ordered someone to clean it; the cup was gone too, but the carpet stain was still noticeable. There was an evil entity hovering about. My legs started to tingle after… I don't know how long. I sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of me. My left cheek stung; my lip was burning. I thumped my head against the door as tears poured freely. Simone came knocking, I told her to go away. I strained for hours against the mounting headache from my period, coupled with non-stop crying and the stress. My phone rang four times; I never got up to check it. I knew who it was. It was Finn. The last person I wanted to think about right now—no, that wasn't true, I didn't want to think about anyone besides myself.

I spent the entire day bawling. At a certain point, I didn't even notice tears leaking out. I cried without making a sound. Slowly being drained of everything. The worst thing you can feel after being high on such strong emotions—fear, anger, disgust—is feeling absolutely nothing. Feeling numb to your core. I never thought there would be something worse than what I'd put myself through, but there was a party going on in my head with a banner saying 'Happy Worst Day of Your Life Party!'. Simone came around again; I glanced around, seeing my room shrouded in darkness. I guess it was dinner time.

"I'm eating in here." I called out, voice hoarse and scratchy. I heard her leave, presumably to get me food. That's when I got up for the first time in… Eight hours? My legs felt like I'd run five marathons in a row; they felt like squiggly tree limbs. They got me to the sink, though. My face was a mess of tear tracks, smudged red lipstick, puffy eyes… I needed to hide Jackson's slap. I splashed some water and did a quick cover-up job on my left cheek, plus I reapplied the make-up on my neck. I grabbed a sweater and sweatpants from the bowels of my closet.

Once Simone came knocking, she did a double take at either my face or my clothes. I only wore these when I was sick.

"I have a cold." I sniffed for good measure. "And I've been getting massive headaches." I was counting the seconds until she left.

"Would you like some Tylenol?"

"I already took some." I crossed my arms.

Simone gave me an eye full. I did my best not to shift under the scrutinizing gaze. She needed to leave. Now. So, I faked a sneeze. Simone shook her head as if she could sniff my bullshit. She didn't call me out on it, though. I was left in the solitude of my unholy bedroom. I glanced at the shrimp-mushroom omelet before turning on the food, back to glaring at my bed. I still couldn't muster the courage to sit on it, much less sleep in it. I snatched a pillow and grabbed the giant Pikachu Finn won me on our second date. I had never slept on the floor before. As I laid there, next to my vanity, I couldn't shut my eyes for more than four seconds without getting slammed by images from last night. I spent the entire night curled up against a stuffed toy, eyes wide open, wide awake.

I was still crying when morning broke.