Blood Prize by Ken Grace Read Free Book Online

recurrent thinking.
    She knew these to be strange thought processes, considering her distrust of men; even approaching the periphery of her memories regarding any male other than her father, made her tense and sick with loathing.
    She remembered her thirteen-year-old self; so inadequate, just a baby girl compared to her female acquaintances and classmates. She hated the ‘in girls’, they collected boyfriends so easily and teased her with the secrets of their liaisons. She understood the bullying in their embellishments. They elevated themselves by keeping her in her place. It made her feel worse than nothing.
    Then a miracle occurred. Jenna Jovanovich, one of the prettiest girls in her school, befriended her; a boon that instantly inducted her into the same ‘in crowd’. She didn’t care that her new glamour-girl status arose out of association only.
    The following week, Jenna invited her to an impromptu, after-school party, which Isobel accepted without hesitation. It meant that she could be late home and have some explaining to do, but she couldn’t turn down her first invitation; she might never receive another.
    When she arrived at Jenna’s house, there didn’t seem to be any party, just two boys drinking Vodka Cruisers and no parents. Isobel felt scared, wanting to leave, but Jenna pulled her by the arm, pressuring her to join them. After only one glass, she felt tipsy and began to relax; the alcohol creating feelings of excitement.
    A boy held her hand and stroked her neck. She recalled Daniel’s nice even features and sandy hair; a hunk interested in her. She also remembered his good-looking friend, Roberto, lying on the lounge room floor kissing Jenna.
    The rape took place in the Jovanovich’s master bedroom.
    It began with a kiss that made her tiny body shiver. Then everything changed. Somehow it felt wrong, which the boy confirmed when she attempted to pull away from him. The more she struggled the more violent he became.
    “Please … No … Stop.”
    Daniel’s placid features morphed into a grotesque angry mask, as he pinned her to the bed and tore at her clothes. Isobel screamed when he entered her. The pain burnt like alcohol rubbed into an open wound. She tried to fight him off, but couldn’t move. Then she remembered Roberto and Jenna materialising in the room and she called out to them for help.
    She heard them laugh at her. Then she heard Jenna’s shrieking encouragement to her lover.
    “You give it to her, Robbie. Hurt her. Hurt the little bitch.”
    Isobel tried to roll away as the participants changed position, but couldn’t break free. Now Roberto grunted above her, holding her down with a hand squeezing her throat; his sweat and saliva dripping over her face. She felt too numb and tired to continue fighting.
    Isobel reported the incident to the local police, but the humiliation hurt her almost as much as the attack. She discovered that victims of rape didn’t exist here. Sydney’s Special Religious Police viewed such cases, as promiscuity escalating out of control. She remembered the comments and the mocking smirks; women who ‘led men on’ got what they deserved.
    They think I’m common. They think I’m a slut.
    She felt dirty saying it. She forced her eyes closed and attempted to remove the memories. In her more generous moments, she accepted the theory that some men were good, but she struggled to maintain her optimism. The world seemed to conspire with her darker beliefs and prove them right every time. Despite this, she knew her father to be a wonderful man, which she supposed provided some hope for mankind.
    I don’t want anyone’s help.
    She knew that no one person, other than herself could make a difference to her circumstances. Nothing could change the events of her life, especially someone she didn’t know. She placed her forehead into the palm of her hand and examined the old timepiece.
    “You’re as ugly as I am. We’re meant for each other.”
    She smiled