Secret Retribution

Becca carried on with her late Saturday morning grooming: showering, moisturizing, fragrance, powdering, making up her face so it was that all american illusion of fresh faced, pretty-girl-next-door that actually took about twelve to fifteen separate cosmetic products to perfect, and rolling her hair around an iron to capture the loose waves that Austin said framed her face so perfectly. Except, she’d had to dab arnica gel on each blooming love bite after her shower and she’d had to painstakingly slather on concealer, and sponge blend each one after she was finished putting on her face, stretching out her two hour beauty ritual into nearly three.

Peter wanted this for her, she theorized. Every bead of sweat and strain at the back of her neck and temples as she bent over and stretched to reach the damning hickies seemed to carry his sneering laughter to her ears. She’d googled on her phone how long it would take for them to heal and found answers that ranged from a couple days to several weeks. Could she really repress Austin prying hands and eyes if healing stretched into weeks? He wasn’t a pig like his fraternity brothers, but he would notice if she went frigid and didn’t let him open her top or climb his hand up her skirt when they were alone.

She supposed she would have to resort to faking sick and sitting out her social life until the purple spots faded. She knew one of her less clouted sorority sisters would be good for sitting in on her classes and taking notes. But staying in her dorm all day, everyday would leave her a sitting duck for Peter’s machinations. Hadn’t he said If you misbehave again, it won’t be hard for me to get to you? He seemed to have no trouble getting into her dorm the night before and he was the conduct advisor. That had to give him a certain level of trust and privileges with the campus authorities.

The shadow of Becca’s ego rebutted: But isn’t that exactly what you want? To be a sitting duck for his masterful cock? Hasn’t he set up the perfect excuse to be his closet love slave?

Becca squeezed her eyes shut against the rapid montage of the panting, hungry lips, the roaming hands and moans that had passed between them. Her chest tightened.

A knock sounded at her door, threatening her chest ache further.

She opened it to Austin’s earnest face and a bouquet of roses.

“Austin!”

“Good morning, beautiful. I thought I’d make up the difference for you sitting through that asshole’s detention with a day out.”

Becca blinked, and pulled together the whisper of a smile, the gears in her head stalling then rotating into overdrive. A date with Austin so soon held the risk of him seeing her marks. A date out with Austin might reveal her head and heart were elsewhere. But a date with Austin would also be a nice excuse to remove her from the sexual threat of the Grand Ridge campus altogether. More risk than reward.

“You’re too kind. You really don’t have to go to the trouble on top of football practice. Isn’t the big game tonight?”

“Five am torture drills are like brushing my teeth at this point, and you forget we’re playing against the Delta Crocodiles. It’s a shoo-in.”

A prickle started along the back of Becca’s neck and this time the voice in her head was more shaming than darkly self aware. You really don’t deserve him, do you? Austin’s prioritized you this whole time, while you were busy getting rammed by the campus prude police.

Austin was superior to her in all the ways that counted anyway. Her shift in social fortune had begun with Austin’s notice of her afterall. She couldn’t possibly throw everything away on one mistake! She’d simply have to control herself and stay the course with Austin. She’d make it up to him one day at a time until Peter had the distance of just another dream, a faded memory of a memory that might as well have never happened.