The Raping of Ava DeSantis Read online

  Although not a virgin, Ava had only had sex twice before with the comic book nerd across the street from her home in New Jersey. It wasn’t even sex really, just a mutual agreement to a few seconds of intercourse so they wouldn’t die virgins in a car wreck or zombie apocalypse. The whole experience was awful for the both of them, but in her mind, completely necessary. That didn’t count, she thought. In her mind, she was still technically a virgin, saving herself for the first man to fall in love with her. Maybe that man would be Wesley. And maybe that first time would be tonight.

  ***

  Wesley’s bedroom looked like a rock star’s sanctuary. It was an unusually large place with a gargantuan Kenwood stereo system at one end, and a California king-size waterbed, television, dresser and overstuffed red chair at the other. Unlike the rest of the home, Wesley’s bedroom was pristine and tidy. The dark wood floor cradled an elegant Asian throw rug, and the sparkling white walls were adorned with thick gold-framed autographed album covers from the Kings of Southern Rock: The Allman Brothers Band, The Georgia Satellites, The Black Crowes, The Outlaws, The Marshall Tucker Band, The Kentucky Headhunters, Molly Hatchet, Charlie Daniels, ZZ Top and three from Lynyrd Skynyrd, Wesley’s all-time favorite band of all time. Even the bed was made up perfectly with a black and gold jacquard comforter, crushed by oversized fringed manly decorative pillows.

  This place is awesome, Ava concluded.

  “Sit down,” said Wesley as he patted the top of his waterbed. “It’s motionless.”

  Ava smiled as she plunged down into the bed.

  “See, I told you. Comfy.”

  She beamed, drunk as a skunk. “So, uh, where do we start? I’m not sure how—”

  Wesley interrupted. “Why Anniston University? It’s a million miles away from Atlantic City.”

  “Oh, uh, it was the only school that gave me a full scholarship. I was accepted to Princeton, but tuition there for a month was more than my dad made in a year.”

  “I see.”

  “Plus, I heard Southerners were really nice people.” Ava cracked an awkward smile.

  “Well, we are.” He softly moved a dark brown tendril hanging from her ponytail. “The girls here. They’re rough on you, aren’t they?”

  “They can be,” she admitted reluctantly.

  Wesley looked into Ava’s large, woodsy-green eyes, and saw something he hadn’t noticed before: a gentle soul. A soul that was oddly fragile yet iron-forged at the same time. A soul who wouldn’t judge or criticize a person but instead would be willing to give her last dollar to a homeless man by the side of the road. In some strange way, Wesley found this quality in Ava very appealing. In fact, it made her beautiful. And where she lacked in physical attractiveness, she made up for in radiant gentleness. And despite being as intoxicated as he was, Wesley soon abandoned his Zindler test-seeking mission and began to feel genuine feelings for her. See, Ava was unlike any other girl in this town. She was smart. She was down-to-earth. And in a super-human kind of way, extremely kind. And maybe she was a girl whom, for once in Wesley’s life, he could take seriously.

  ***

  Ava noticed a picture on his dresser. It was an 8x10 photograph of a bikini-clad blonde holding up a big mouth bass on a boat.

  “Is that your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. That’s Emma. She goes to Margaret Scott. Daddy made her go to an all-girl school because Anniston is too wild for his little darlin’.”

  “Do you see her much?”

  Wesley paused then shrugged his shoulders. “She gives me my space.”

  Ava inspected the photo closely. “She’s beautiful.”

  Wesley’s deep blue eyes looked through Ava in a way that said: so are you. Ava turned to look back at him, feeling every ounce of the infatuation he was feeling. Her gaze now flowed a stream of warmth that spoke volumes of how she could one day love him. Love him unconditionally. Without judgment. Or expectations. Or criticism.

  Wesley leaned in closer and began to kiss her. First, softy on the lips, and then, for a few special moments, he opened his mouth wide and merged his tongue with hers, making love to her before even one piece of clothing was removed…Then, just as Wesley lifted his hand to place it on Ava’s beating breast, Sebastian and David barged through the bedroom door.

  “I thought we had a party going on here?” yelled Sebastian.

  “What the fuck are—?” squealed Wesley.

  “Hey, Ava, you wanna get high with us?” asked David.

  “Uh, I don’t smoke pot, really.”

  “Oh, we ain’t talking weed, little girl,” said Sebastian as he offered Ava another glass of Scotch. She shook her head. He kept his arm out. Finally, she grabbed the glass and sipped it.

  “Come on, man!” Wesley was now annoyed beyond measure. “Give me a fucking break.”

  “What? We were just getting to know our new house guest and you took her away from us.” Sebastian plopped his fat ass into the overstuffed red chair.

  At the same time, David rifled through Wesley’s top dresser drawer. He pulled out a pink sock, then a white bow tie, and then a small black .22 caliber pistol. He inspected it closely. “Ain’t this a bitch gun?”

  “Put that shit down!” hollered Wesley.

  David quickly placed the gun back into the drawer and closed it.

  “Before we were so rudely interrupted, Ava” Sebastian glared over to Wesley. “You were telling us about yourself. What does your father do for a living?”

  “He’s a blackjack dealer. In a casino.”

  “And mother?”

  “She died in a car accident when I was nine.”

  David reacted. “That sucks.”

  Wesley looked at both of his roommates in amazement.

  “Got any brothers or sisters?” asked Sebastian.

  “No. My mom had a—”

  “Is this fucking twenty questions?” yelled Wesley.

  “Chill out, Wes. We’re just trying to get to know our new friend.” Sebastian immediately returned to interrogating Ava. “Your mom had what?”

  “She had a hard time getting pregnant with me. Which is why, when I was little, she would always say that she hoped I’d give her ten grandkids one day.”

  “Ten? That’s a wetback litter,” slurred David.

  “I’m sure she was just exaggerating.”

  “DeSantis. Now is that name Italian or Porta Ree-can?”

  Wesley rolled his eyes.

  “Uh, no, neither actually. My mother was from Northern Ireland. And my father’s parents were from Greece.”

  “Cool. I never meet a Greek before,” added David.

  Sitting in his red throne of inquisition, Sebastian leaned into his thigh as if he was about to make a long speech. “Did you know that the word Greek means slave?”

  “That’s enough, Sebastian.”

  “No really, Wes.” Sebastian cocked his head slightly, peering directly into Ava’s eyes. “During the eighteenth century, a bunch of French fags overheard the Turks call boys from Hellas grecs, which is of course, the Turkish word for slave. Since the French are born with diarrhea of the mouth, they went out and told the whole fucking world what they overheard. So from that point on, a person from Hellas was called a grec, which later evolved into the word Greek. Greek means slave.”

  Ava downed the rest of her drink. “Really? And when did the French overhear the word asshole?”

  “Busted!” blurted David.

  “Fuck you,” replied Sebastian.

  “Where’s your bathroom, Wes?”

  “Just go straight down the hall. It’s the first door on the right.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

  Wesley shot Ava an apologetic look as she left the room. Ava winked back; Sebastian’s arrows didn’t even make a dent in her armor.

  “Well, alrighty then. I’ll get some music going.”

  ***

  Ava stood in the hallway with her ear pressed against the closed bedroom door, listening to Wesley and S
ebastian fight over her:

  “Don’t give me that shit! She’s cool. And she ain’t done a goddamn thing to you.”

  “Wes, you’re wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “She insulted me.”

  “How?”

  “She called me a fucking Democrat.”

  David laughed.

  “And?”

  “And? See, David. I told you he was in love.”

  Ava smiled uncontrollably as she left the door and stumbled down the dark hallway.

  ***

  Inside the bathroom, she flipped the lights on. Blinded! Then once Ava’s eyes adjusted, she saw her reflection in the mirror. Boy, am I wasted. It was all over her face. Her large eyes were red and droopy, her dark hair was a total mess with strands sticking out in every direction from her failing ponytail. She looked around the large room, impressed with how beautiful it was. The white and gray veined marble floor extended all the way up the walls and into the triple-crown molding holding up a sky-blue painted ceiling. The bathroom fixtures were old, made of brass and covered by antique gold, like something out of a governor’s mansion or Civil War museum.

  Then it hit her. A wave of nausea that rumbled at first, then poured out of her mouth into the sink. “BLAHHHHHH,” she roared as she puked into the white porcelain basin. She turned on the water to rinse her mouth…Oh, shit. Again. “BLAHHHHHH,” into the tiny white bowl of relief beneath her.

  As she raised up, she saw a small piece of vomit on the corner of her mouth. Now that’s sexy. She was right, she never looked worse in her life. She rinsed again. Still the taste of acid Scotch remained. She looked around the counter to see if there was anything that could help: mouthwash, lip balm, anything. But all she saw was a collection of twenty different bottles of male cologne: Drakkar, Polo, Joop! The brands the popular boys always seemed to wear. Oh, screw it, she thought. At least now with her insides empty, she felt a million times better.

  Ava walked across the long room to the toilet. She placed the seat down (stupid boys) then noticed there was no toilet paper. Shit. She spotted a linen closet on the other side of the room. She took three steps before slipping on an invisible puddle from the adjacent shower. Dammit! Lucky to not have hit the floor, she realized she was drunker than she’d ever been in her life. Get it together, dammit. You can’t look this bad in front of Wesley.

  Seconds later, she rummaged through the linen closet: toilet paper…toilet paper…Oh, here we go. As she reached for the last roll, she noticed a stack of magazines. She pulled one off the top and saw it was an S&M porn magazine with a leathered-up redhead on the cover. She immediately flipped through the pages, giggling to herself, experiencing a variety of emotions from curiosity to disgust to arousal. People are sick, she thought. She then returned the magazine to the secret stash and grabbed the treasured last roll of toilet paper.

  ***

  Ava staggered toward Wesley’s bedroom, now concentrating exclusively on walking forward. Step by step, she thought to herself. One foot goes in front of the other. As she approached the door, she smelled something strange. Something toxic. A cross between burning tires and hot bleach. What is that smell? As she came closer, she heard the distinctive sounds of boiling water and a woman moaning. Once again, she pressed her ear up to the door and listened closely:

  “Are you sure Beau said to mix this with Angel?” asked Wesley.

  “Best trip he ever had,” replied David.

  “Fuck, man. Why are we watching this shit?”

  “Cause I like dark meat,” replied Sebastian.

  “Just hit it, Wes! Stop hogging it up,” said David.

  Ava hesitated outside the door. She instantly felt a ten-pound knot grow in her stomach but didn’t know why. I should go home. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she remembered how impossible it would be to drive thirty-five minutes up I-285 given her intoxicated state. Wait, I can just crash on the couch. But wait, hell no, this place is haunted. Shit. Maybe Wesley will have a better idea. Maybe I can crash in his room. Yes, that’s it.

  Ava opened the door and entered slowly. As she stepped inside, she saw the television playing a video of two old white men having sex with a young black woman; the unhappy girl in the middle giving a blowjob to the wrinkled, bald man in front while getting screwed by the fat, gray-haired man behind her. Ava also spotted Sebastian and David, with red bloodshot eyes, silently staring at the video like cats watching canaries. But what was most disturbing was seeing her dear Prince Charming Wesley, sitting on the bed all alone, sweating profusely…

  Smoking crack.

  Ava was confused. “Hey guys, I’m going to take off. I just remembered that I have to take this girl’s shift tomorrow morning.”

  “Why the huge rush?” asked Sebastian. “You should stay a while.”

  Ava hesitated. “Um, okay, but like only for a minute, then I need to go.” As she spoke, David walked behind her and quietly locked the bedroom door.

  “Where’s that music, maestro? Move it!” commanded Sebastian.

  Wesley, still finishing up his hit, continued sucking the clear glass tube attached to a tar stained bulb. He held his breath for a few moments then coughed a cloud of dingy gray smoke out of his body. His beautiful sun-kissed blonde hair was now greasy and sweaty, tainted by the chemical burning smell lurching in the room. “Cut that shit off,” he said to Sebastian. “There’s a lady present in the room.”

  “Why? Ava doesn’t mind.” Sebastian’s eyes were as black as coal. “Do you, Ava?”

  Ava was stunned. She didn’t know how to answer. Despite being from a rough neighborhood in Atlantic City, she had never even seen crack before let alone been around people who smoked it. She was a Nancy Reagan child of the eighties after all. Just say no. Just say no.

  Meanwhile, Wesley walked over to David, who was now jittery beyond words, leaning heavily against the dresser. Wesley handed him the hot glass pipe.

  “Why, thank you,” he said as he searched his breast pocket for the last rock.

  “Music. Coming right up.” Wesley continued walking to the far end of the room, completely unaware of what the others were doing behind him. Once he arrived, he turned all of his attention to his beloved Kenwood stereo. What a beast he thought. He lightly touched the imported wood cabinet, moving his fingers gently across the top and then down to the POWER button on the receiver. He pushed it. Lights flared everywhere. As he moved his eyes, the neon green stereo lights created tracers—tracers that danced in a synchronized pattern like primitive tribesmen performing for their ancient alien masters.

  Wesley picked up a cassette box from a stack of tapes piled on the speaker. On the white lined cover, it read: For My Wesley, Love Emma in purple handwriting. It was a delicious mix-tape Wesley’s girlfriend had made of all of his favorite songs for his birthday. I wish I could get this on CD, he thought. But for now, cassette tape will do.

  His finger moved down the system to the tape deck. Wesley pressed OPEN. He slipped the cassette inside and pressed PLAY. After a few blank seconds, the guitar riff intro for Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Simple Man blasted through the five-foot speakers. God I love this song, he thought to himself. Heaven. Pure Heaven.

  As the music played, Wesley felt a tremendous rush take over his body. His heart beat faster, his breath became ragged and his thoughts started to wander. He daydreamed of fishing from his decked out Jon Boat on the Chattahoochee River…The trees, the sun, the white-foamed moving water running fresh air and new life to everything around it…Trout, bass, catfish—all splashing around his boat at once. Out of nowhere, the fish started jumping into his lap one by one without even casting a line. Bitchin’ place, he thought to himself. Bass Master Scarborough has arrived.

  In the real world, Wesley was passed out cold on the floor in front of his stereo. His eyes sealed shut. His legendary grin, frozen on his face. The loud rock music pummeled his crack-laced-with-PCP flooded body into a black, motionless, faded existence.

  CHAPTER
5

  And So It Begins…

  Saturday, January 26, 1991

  3:03 A.M.

  POP!!!

  What was that? Wesley’s eyes jolted open.

  Still on the floor, he tried to move his body, but his soul was detached. Every body part paralyzed except for his cerulean blue eyes that struggled to stay open. He summoned all of his strength and managed to roll over to see the origin of that horrible sound. He looked down to the opposite end of his bedroom…

  Oh my God. This can’t be happening.

  Wesley blinked his eyes hard and looked again. There on his bed, was David by the headboard, gun in hand, with his knees pinning Ava’s stretched out arms; Ava, naked and struggling, lying spread-eagled beneath him, with her dark bushy pubic hair embarrassingly visible to everyone in the room; Sebastian, kneeling at the other end of the bed, using his body weight to pin down Ava’s kicking legs, as he unbuckled the belt from his pants.

  In that instant, everything turned to slow motion. Stop it!!! Please!!! Not Her!!! Wesley tried calling out several times, but nothing came out of his mouth…

  Not one fucking sound.

  Paralyzed on the floor, he helplessly watched Sebastian climb onto Ava, pull her knees into the air and force himself into her like a rabid dog fucking a dying puppy. Wesley simply watched…helplessly…as his eyelids became heavier and heavier…

  Until he passed into darkness once again.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dreams I’ll Never See

  Saturday, January 26, 1991

  4:08 A.M.

  “Come on, Wes,” Emma’s girlish high voice echoed through the room. “Wake up, baby, you’re missing it!”

  Wesley opened his eyes and saw his beautiful blonde girlfriend directly beneath him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  They were in the middle of having sex.

  “What’s your problem?” she asked. “Keep going.”

  Wesley vacillated for a moment. His body ached all over like he’d been beaten with a concrete bat. He gathered all his energy to continue making love to Emma, missionary style.