5 Nights (Sinful Delights Romance - Boxed Set) (63 page)

Technically, she was still a virgin, but he had touched her in ways that made her hate her own body when it responded to his disgusting ways.  He'd used that against her too, saying that if she hadn't enjoyed what he was doing to her, that he would have left her alone. He reminded her constantly that it was her fault he did these things to her.

At seventeen, she didn't understand that the human body would respond to stimulation without her own mind being depraved and had accepted that she was just a whore, like he convinced her.  Even as he held her down and his mouth found her most sensitive area, she had felt nauseated, but her body had found pleasure.  Her own self-loathing kept her still as he turned her over and used her own fluids to lubricate her other entry.

He made it a point to tell her tomorrow night, he'd take her cherry, but he didn't have a condom tonight so he'd break in the other end.  Getting her pregnant would make their dirty little secret known and he couldn't allow that, he'd said with a laugh that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

The pain as he took her forcefully, made her scream out in agony, and she wished that the torture would end in death so she could escape this abuse.  He promised her that it would be easier next time, and she needed to feel this to know what a horrible person she was.  When it was over he kissed her cheek, and told her that she had pleased him and left her alone to suffer in silence.  For hours she'd cried until there was nothing left inside of her.

Close to dawn, she made the decision to leave and never come back.  Knowing no one would believe her, and even if they did, she deserved everything he'd done, she packed as much as she could in the one overnight bag she had, and snuck out before her mother came home.  He'd promised her that if she every spoke of their secret, he would make them believe she had seduced him, and she believed it.

All she could think about was getting as far away from him and those people that would condemn her for being such a tramp.  She hitch-hiked her way as far North as possible and with nothing but a desperate hope for freedom, she finally ended up in the streets of New York.  Knowing that if he ever found her, he'd force her to do those horrible things again, she vowed to never be discovered.

The first two weeks on the street had been almost as much of a living hell as being with him had been.  Eating out of garbage cans, and finding a safe place to rest for a little time, became her life.  She couldn't visit the homeless shelter for fear that they'd turn her in for being a run away.  On the good nights some kind soul would give her a few dollars, and she'd allow herself the treat of a hotdog from one of the vendors.  If it hadn't been for Rachel finding her, she knew her fate would have been worse than the abuse she'd suffered at her stepfather's hands.

Waking up in a cold sweat, she heard the screams coming from her own lips, and refrained somehow from slapping Lizzie as she shook her.  Forcing her eyes open to her reality, she took a few deep breaths, before speaking. "I'm sorry, I guess I was having a nightmare." She couldn't tell her new friend what she was dreaming about, and hoped she never asked.

"That one must have been a horrible dream," Lizzie said with a smile.  "It's a little after five, do you want to order room service?"

Thankful that Lizzie didn't question her, she slid out of bed on shaking legs. "I'll make us some breakfast if you'll give me a few personal minutes."  Taking a few minutes to collect herself as she left the room, she wished again that her past would stop haunting her.

She made them omelets, and they ate in companionable silence. Cooking was one of her ways of calming herself and since she'd been taken in by Rachel, she'd become a great cook.  After those two weeks on the street, even the smallest of meals made her content.

"So how did the meeting with Fitzgerald go?" Lizzie asked sipping on a cup of coffee.   She wondered if that was the reason for her friend's nightmares.  Anyone that read about the man knew he could be a complete asshole.

"Apparently he thinks I need a lot of work on my stage performance to keep up with you guys, and he's offered his help."  Taking their empty plates she put them in the sink and mindlessly began washing them off.  She didn't like lying to people, so the less she said, the better she'd feel.

"He must know you have potential if he's willing to offer you his personal assistance," Lizzie smiled warmly, wanting her friend to feel that this was a blessing and not a curse.

"Either that or he doesn't want me to ruin his show," Angela gave a self-depreciating grin.

  "You forget I watched you perform in New York, Angela, there's no doubt in my mind how talented you are."  This was a competition, but she felt no need to be catty to other performers, unlike some of the other contestants here.

"Thanks Lizzy, I really appreciate how nice you've been to me."  She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be stuck
with a bitch of a roommate like Trisha, and gave silent thanks to her good fortunes on that end at least.'

"I like your company," Lizzy grinned, "oh by the way Devon and a few of the others are ordering pizza and goofing off after rehearsals today, he asked me to invite you." 

"I'm working with Mr. Fitzgerald for the last two hours of every day this week, but I should be back in time."  She actually liked the idea of hanging out with her two new friends, although she'd reserve judgment on the others when she found out who was going to be there.

"Wow, I don't know if I'm jealous or glad it's you," Lizzie laughed at the prospect. "What's he like to work with?" She asked curiously.

"Pretty much like you'd expect, overwhelming and in your face," she figured that was a pretty accurate description.  Although he hadn't been really rude last night, he'd certainly stepped over her personal boundaries.

"Glad it's you then," Lizzie sipped her coffee again and shrugged her shoulders playfully.  She'd dealt with vocal coaches for years and they could be rude and unsympathetic, she could only imagine how tough Fitzgerald would be from the rumors that floated around.

"Thanks," Angela laughed at her non sympathetic approval, "if we don't want to get chewed out we'd better get ready for classes.  She said it in a joking manner, but their first teacher of the day was not the type of person you wanted to piss off.  She had pretty much let them know yesterday that she considered her time very valuable.

"By all mean, we can't have Mrs. Landers jumping our butts on the second day of training."  Rolling her eyes, she walked off to her own bedroom to prepare for the day.

Angela washed and dried the plates they had used before returning to her own room.  Dressing in a pair of dance pants, oversized t-shirt and tennis shoes, she wanted to be comfortable for the long day ahead.  Pulling her thick blond hair up into a ponytail, she brushed her teeth and decided to go natural.  No need to put on makeup, just to sweat it off, she reasoned.

They made it to their first class with only two minutes to spare.  Trisha and her little group of 'we are the best here' cronies, were already warming up, but the moment Angela walked in she saw the glare sent her way.

"So how did you enjoy meeting Mr. Fitzgerald," Trisha said in sugary venomous voice.  The fact that he had singled a waste of time like this girl out, made her determined to strike out.

This was her acting opportunity, and it galled her to have to show weakness to this bitchy woman.  "He said I needed extra help with my stage performance so I could keep up with the rest of you."  She gritted her teeth as she demeaned herself.

Pleased that Mr. Fitzgerald had seen how pathetic the chit was, she felt her anger dissolve, and decided to offer a little fake compassion.  "You should consider yourself honored that he's taking the time out of his busy schedule to help you." Smiling sweetly, now that the woman was obviously not competition for her, she continued on.  "Angela, being on this show at all gives you the opportunity for great exposure, you don't have to win to be successful." 

Basically Trisha was saying she was off her radar now that she wasn't standing in her way, with all her street smarts she understood how the woman's mind worked.  "Well I guess as long as I don't embarrass myself, I'll have to be thankful for this opportunity."  There she thought, I've played my part perfectly, and Fitzgerald owes me big time for letting this bitch think she's more deserving.

"Now that's the attitude you need to have," Trisha smiled, for once it was actually genuine.  They had to do group numbers, and the thought of any of the group screwing up her moment to shine would not be tolerated.  Perhaps she'd been a little too hard on the loser, she thought and considered offering a truce.

Returning her smile with a plastered one of her own, she was glad the vocal coach had arrived and she didn't have to talk anymore.  She wanted to slap the condescending bitch right off her self-imposed pedestal, but knew that it would just cause more problems.  She had four weeks to work with the witch and then she would forget she even existed, she determined.

For the next six hours she focused completely on the classes and even during lunch she allowed her mind to go over how she could improve her performances.  These people had years under their belt of doing this stuff, and she had to catch up quickly.  The choreographing glass had been particularly brutal, since she'd never danced a day in her life.  They'd had to repeat several of the dance moves because of her inability to remember the routine.  Even Lizzy was frustrated with her when that class ended. By the time the car arrived to take her to Mr. Fitzgerald she was so depressed she wondered if any of this was worth her time. 

She walked into his studio, almost on the verge of telling him she couldn't do this.  What came so easily to those performers was like a living nightmare to her.  "I just can't do this," she complained, pacing the room and throwing her hands up in frustration.

He knew all the routines the performers were doing for the opening show, and understood that for someone not accustomed to dancing how frustrating it was.  "You can do it, you just have to wrap your mind around doing two things at once, and stop worrying so much."  Confidence was her biggest barrier, he knew that until she gained that she was just floundering.  "We're going to work on the first routine."  Walking over to his sound system he placed the disc in for the backup music.

After an hour of practicing the same moves over and over, she wanted to scream in frustration.  She'd finally gotten the basics down, and didn't flinch when his hands wrapped around her waist during the last try.  One of the things she hated about these routines was the fact that she had to deal with people touching her.  It was a sexy jazz number, and while the singing was easy, the thought of anyone touching her at all wasn't.

"Let's take a breather," he walked over to the mini-fridge and pulled out two bottled waters, and threw one at her.

She caught it in midair and grinned at the gesture before unscrewing the top and taking a deep gulp. Working with him
wasn't as bad as being in front of the rest of the group, she decided as she cooled down, plopping right on the floor to relax like she was at home.

His mother had forced him to take dance lessons from the age of three, so the moves were very basic to him.  It was one of the few things he remembered about her since she had passed away when he still in elementary school.  "You're doing great for someone who's never had formal training, just don't be so hard on yourself," he encouraged as he joined her on the floor.

She was surprised as he sat down, and wondered how many people got to hang out with the elusive Mr. Fitzgerald in casual comfort like this.  "Tell that to the group, I think they want to have me hung out to dry after today," she shook her head, feeling a little better after his encouraging words.

"Most of those people are so full of themselves that they can't step outside and understand what it's like to be new," he smiled encouragingly. "Now for your promise, tell me who hurt you."  He hated to break their strange camaraderie, but if he was going to truly help her, he needed her to keep up her end of the bargain.

"Talk about a subject change," she grumbled under her breath, having forgotten the real reason she was here until that very moment.  She really didn't want to talk about this, even though she'd given him her word.  Dredging up the past made no sense to her, and she took a deep breath, hesitating.

"Stop stalling, Ms. Wilkerson," he encouraged with a small smile, hoping that talking this out would help her gain some closure.

Rolling her eyes, she whispered softly, "My stepfather."  Even thinking about that man made her stomach clench nervously.

"How old were you," he kept his tone even, wanting to encourage her to speak and stop holding her pain inside.

Angry that he brought this up when she wanted nothing more than to forget it, she decided to just lay it all out on the line.  "I was fifteen when it started and seventeen when he raped me, okay!  I ran away from home and lived out on the damn streets until I met Rachel, and I've never looked back again."  Standing up, she needed to put some space between them, because just talking about the past, pissed her off.  Even if she had deserved what happened, she didn't have to like it.

He couldn't even imagine having to make those choices at such a young age, and his normally cold heart ached for her.  "Why did you live on the street, and not ask for help?"  He was amazed that she'd lived through that, and again was astounded at the strength of character it must have taken to overcome a life like that.  His own past didn't seem so horrible in comparison.

Glancing at him as if he had was an idiot, she shook her head. "Because I wasn't of legal age when I left and if I'd have went to the police or a homeless shelter they could have taken his word and sent me back. I decided eating garbage out of trash cans was a better life than letting him touch me again."  Was he really that stupid, she thought, taking her anger out on him, instead of the man responsible for making her life a living hell.

He knew she'd been hurt by someone, but the horror of her situation was even worse than what he could have imagined. "Have you thought about pressing charges now that you're an adult?"  He couldn't imagine allowing someone to get away with such a violent act, even though he himself had never been allowed to press charges after his own abuse.

Turning back to glare at him, she shook her head no.  "I never wanted to see his face again, and the thought that he would know where I was, well it wasn't worth the chance that someone might actually believe me.  I guess maybe I didn't believe myself that I didn't somehow deserve what he did to me."  She'd never admitted that to anyone before, it was her own guilty secret.

"How could you think you deserved that Angela," in his own anger at what had happened to her, he dropped her title and stared at her in shock.

At his sympathy the dam broke that someone else believed she might not be this horrible person, and tears flooded down her cheeks.  "My own body betrayed me, he told me that I enjoyed it or that it would have never happened."  This was her dirty secret, the shame she'd carried with her for the last five years that still gave her nightmares.

Staring back at her incredulously for her thoughts, he was astounded that she actually seemed to believe that.  "Angela if you tied me down and sucked my cock my body would eventually respond, but that wouldn't mean I wanted it to happen."  He didn't mean to be so crude, but the fact that this beautiful person believed she encouraged the act of violence infuriated
him.  Not against her, but against a man so perverted he would fill her mind with such bullshit.

Shocked at his words, and the anger that filled his face, she stepped away from him.  "I wouldn't ever do that," the thought of willingly touching a man that way made her want to hurl.

"That's what I'm talking about honey," he controlled the rage in his voice, seeing how it frightened her.  "You never asked for what he did to you, and you obviously didn't want it."

She allowed his words to sink in, and wondered if she really wasn't at fault for those things that happened.  She'd never discussed this with anyone, not even Rachel, because it made her so psychically sick remembering those years.  Strangely enough, she wasn't feeling sick at the moment.