Page 46 of Stroke Rate

“Shut the fuck up, Harry,” Brooke said as she elbowed her way in between the guys and smacked Harrison in the back of the head again. She walked right up to Chris and River, embracing them in a tight hug. “Hi Flynn,” she said over Chris’ shoulder.

“Hey, Brooke. Sorry about Harrison.” Flynn smiled as he ducked his head, cheeks going pink. He was cute, and looked a lot like Chris. He was a few inches taller, with the same unruly hair and the same slight blush to his cheeks. But Flynn had striking, mismatched eyes. One a deep blue like his brother’s, the other a soft hazel, his gaze was kind unlike his brother's searching deep blue gaze. He was soft-spoken and had a genuine smile on his face as he made small talk with Brooke.

Harrison grumbled something about needing another drink, and something that sounded too close to a racial slur as he walked away. Flynn said a quick goodbye before complaining about needing to find Casey before she got too drunk with Laura and followed after Harrison.

“Why did she call you Humpty?” River asked.

“Ugh, well,” Chris stammered, never raising his eyes from his feet. “When I was little, I was small and round.” He shrugged his shoulders with such force that they almost reached his ears. “Laura used to say I looked like an egg, and when we went swimming, she said I looked like Humpty Dumpty on the wall when I sat on the pool deck. Harrison still calls me that, and Casey found out about it, and she thinks it’s hilarious. So,” Chris finished, and the despondent way he stood made River want to grab him and get him the fuck out of that house as quickly as possible. He could see how being here leached every bit of energy out of Chris, and they had only just arrived. Fuck, what would he look like by the time dinner was over?

“Can we drop it?” Chris looked at them pleadingly before continuing. “Brooke, go ahead, ask your fucking question. Because I can feel your smug ass energy from over here.” Huffing, he pressed the back of his hand against River’s thigh, the heat and pressure of Chris’ body a welcoming presence after all the tension from inside the house.

The smile on Brooke’s face could only be described as feline. “So you guys…how's it going?” The heat of a furious blush ran up River’s neck as Chris brushed his pinky over the back of his hand. “I fucking told you, River. I. Told. You.” She cackled so loudly the rest of the house went quiet. River looked around, realizing all eyes were suddenly on them. “What are y’all looking at?” Brooke said as she took both of their hands and led them out to the backyard.

The expansive backyard was beautiful, with lush green grass and tall aspen groves that offered a breathtaking view of the Flatiron Mountains. At the bottom of a hill, close to the tree line River could see the remnants of what looked like a tree fort, and a tire swing that looked about ready to fall off its rope—and River could just imagine the three boys growing up there.

Playing in the huge yard, hiding from one another, or maybe from their parents. River’s tongue tasted bitter with the thought, knowing Chris’ childhood was devoid of play and that the tree house was more likely a safe haven from their abusive parents. River reached over, pulling Chris into his chest, needing to touch him. Needing to feel the comfort and warmth of his body, because this house and these people were giving River the ick.

Chris hummed into River’s chest, just as he felt Brooke’s arms wrap around both of them in a crushing bear hug. “You guys!” She squealed into River’s ear. “I knew you would be so good together.” She drew out the ‘sooo’, emphasizing how right she was. “I want to know all about it.”

A deep voice yelled from behind them, cutting her off, “Christopher. Get your ass up here now.” The command made Chris start to shake in River’s hold. Chris pushed against his chest, and River reluctantly let him go, turning to find Laura and who River assumed was Emmett Page, standing on the patio with fire in his eyes. Chris walked ahead of River and Brooke, almost jogging to his parents, head down like a puppy who was about to get scolded. River, unable to let Chris get too far ahead, lengthened his strides until he was next to him as they approached‌ Mr. and Mrs. Page. “Christopher, get in the house with your mother. I need to talk to Mr. Arroyo before dinner.”

“K,” Chris whispered, glancing back at River. He watched in horror as Laura grabbed Chris by the wrist and yanked him into the house, slamming the door behind them.

Brooke squeezed River’s shoulder, whispering she would go find Chris before leaving River alone with a frightening Emmett Page.

Chapter thirty-seven

Chris

Before Chris could even react, he was being dragged into the house, and time did that weird thing where it sped up and slowed down simultaneously. The long hallway was a blur as Laura’s nails dug into his skin as she huffed, “What a fucking whore,” under her breath. As she yanked him through the kitchen, he heard, “ooohhh, Humpty’s in trouble,” from Harrison, and the maniacal laugh from Casey’s drunk mouth, but everything was hazy as Chris felt himself shutting down. His body prepared to protect itself at all costs, even if it meant dissociating and freezing up. It had been the only way he could withstand whatever “punishment” Laura had planned to dole out for so long it had become automatic.

A storm of fury seemed to grow inside Laura with every stomp down the echoey hall, and all Chris could hope was that he could withstand whatever she would release on him. Chris knew she would be like this when she found out about River and him. But she didn't actually know. They hadn't made things too apparent…he had thought. And he genuinely struggled to understand why‌ she would care so much that they were in a relationship. Because she's in charge. She always has to be in charge.

He knew this was wrong—he knew allowing Laura to continue to abuse him the way she had was not okay—but he couldn't figure out how to make it stop. You’re too weak, the voice taunted. You deserve it it chanted over and over again as Chris felt himself wither away, being dragged into the guest bedroom and pushed against the wall. Laura used her bigger body to keep Chris caged with one hand around his wrist and the other repeatedly punching him in the arm. “You stupid, stupid boy. No one wants you. How did you get him to want you?” She spat as she continued her assault on Chris' body, her hair wildly flying around her face with the force of every punch and slap, every stomp of her foot, and every knee to his gut.

Every muscle ached and screamed in protest as he curled in on himself, trying to protect every vital part of his body.

“Please.” Chris’ chest was cracking inward, his wrists burned and ached, and his arm was throbbing in time with his pulse. “I-I-I,” his voice cracking with every syllable he tried to expel. “Please, I'll be good. I’ll…” He let out a startled yelp as Laura tangled her fingers through his hair and yanked.

“I said shut up. You are the worst goddamn thing that ever happened to me!” Laura screamed, her other hand flying up fast as a viper, smacking him right across the cheek. Hard and stinging, as she did it again and again. “You fucking whore. Worthless, you don't get anything right.” Another smack to his cheek, hitting the same spot over and over. The last one sounded wet as it connected against Chris’ tear-streaked skin.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I can’t,” he whimpered as she grabbed his wrists again and yanked—digging her sharp, manicured nails into the tender flesh of his wrists, squeezing until Chris could feel the warm wetness of blood welling up; she didn’t relent, just dug her nails in harder, ripping his skin.

“I always knew you were a piece of shit. And I never wanted you, any of you. Why, why would that man want you? Using that ugly whore body of yours to seduce your coach, ugh I can’t believe he would even want that.” She pointed at Chris as if he were a disgusting circus attraction.

Chris’ hands pawed feebly at Laura’s, trying and failing to gain purchase. Trying to get her to stop. His breaths came out in little gasps as his lips began to tingle. “Please,” he said on a pathetic wail. “You’re hurting me. Please.”

“Did you even think how this would affect me? What will the ladies say? What will the swimming community think? You’re going to pull him down with you, and then he will see how worthless you are too!”

Chris heard a banging at the door and someone yelling his name, but he was too far gone to call back. In too much pain, his body crumpled to the floor as Laura kicked him and screamed how disgusted she was with him.

And then River was there. Chris hadn’t heard or seen him approaching, but he was there. His spicy scent enveloped Chris as he took him in his arms; Chris wanted to swallow the comforting smell, and take it inside him to let it soothe his overactive nervous system.

“Are you okay?” River said. “What the fuck, Laura.” He yelled, his voice so loud it scared Chris; louder than Chris had ever heard it. “What the fuck,” he bellowed again, making Chris whimper. “Shh, I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry, I'm going to get you out of here right now.” River scooped him up, and he must have blacked out because then they were in the car, and River was buckling his seatbelt, kissing his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and making soothing noises. “Gonna close the door and get you home.”

River tried to caress Chris’ thigh as he drove, but Chris jerked away from him. Jerked away like he used to, before River had broken something in him, making him think touch was safe. I told you, touching isn’t safe, the voice in his head laughed at him, and Chris thought he was going to go mad. The voice in his head wouldn’t stop; it repeated Laura’s words in a constant loop of how disgusting he was, what a disappointment, how gross and undeserving he was. Chris pulled at his hair and tapped his head against the window, trying to make it stop.

“Hey, Chris.” River’s soft voice cut through the tornado of emotions that was causing sensory overload in Chris’ body. “We’re home.”