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I got Zia into the passenger seat and buckled her in as quickly as I could manage before running around to the driver’s side and firing up the engine. I sped toward the nearest hospital with total disregard for any speed limit signs, weaving around the other traffic as best as I could.

“Hold on, baby. I’m going to get you some help. Please hold on. Please be okay,” I begged aloud, holding her hand, though I knew she couldn’t hear me. She had to be okay. Please be okay.

CHAPTER 9: ZIA

On Saturday morning, I woke up in a hospital room with an I.V. in the back of my left hand and Dylan’s hand holding my right. He was asleep in a chair next to me, his head resting next to me on the bed.

I shifted a little and he woke up.

“Dylan? What happened?” I asked groggily.

He let go of my hand and stood up beside the bed.

“You’re awake. How do you feel?” He avoided answering my question.

“I have a slight headache, but other than that I feel okay…”

There was silence as Dylan pushed the button to call for the nurse. Finally, he spoke.

“You scared the hell out of me, actually. I walked back to the table last night and you were gone. I looked around everywhere but couldn’t find you, so I thought maybe you had gone to the bathroom until I saw you being dragged out by Cason. I knew something was wrong, and when I got to you I saw exactly what was happening. He had drugged you, Zia.”

I let that all sink in quietly as I pieced together what I could remember, and suddenly the realization of what would have happened if Dylan hadn’t saved me when he did shook me to the core.

A tear slid down my cheek.

Dylan noticed and wiped it away with his soft touch and said, “No, no, don’t cry, Zia. You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

At that moment the nurse came in with a smile, as though nothing in her world was going wrong and she assumed the same for everyone else. She made polite chatter as she took out the IV from my hand and said that I was free to go as soon as I could get up and around; that there were no more traces of drug in my system. Whatever Cason had used metabolized through my system quickly, within a few hours.

As soon as she left the room, I asked Dylan if he knew where my clothes were, and I went into the bathroom to change back into them.

I steeled myself in the mirror. Now was not the time to have a break-down. I was stronger than that. I could do that at home when I was by myself if I had to. I just had to hold it together long enough to get home. I rinsed my face with water and used a packaged toothbrush to get the horrible taste out of my mouth before I exited to bathroom and let Dylan drive me home.

He must have known I didn’t feel like talking because he was quiet during the short drive back to my apartment. He walked me inside and up to my door before he hugged me and said goodbye.

When I got inside, Clara was still lying in her bed, not feeling well. I crawled in her bed and lay down beside her above the blankets.

She had no clue about anything that had happened the night before after she had left.

“You’re just now getting home? You must have had one hell of a night. I want all the juicy details.” Clara’s voice was weak, but she still managed to smile.

“A hell of a night, indeed,” I said as I broke down in tears.

“Zia, my God, what happened?” Clara sat up in her bed, realizing this was serious.

I told her what had happened, and I cried as she hugged me and told me she was so, so sorry, as though she felt responsible in some way.

I was just glad she was safe at home and nothing had happened to her.

I was also glad she wasn’t upset about things not working out between her and Cason, even though he may not have even known it yet. Although, I was sure he had an idea of it by now. If we were lucky, neither of us would ever see him again.

* * *

That night, after lying in my bed all day, sleeping on and off and otherwise wallowing in my trauma and self-pity, I decided I had to get away from it for a while. I knew it could have ended more badly than it had, that women much more unlucky than me had endured so much worse.

Losing control like that, though. Thinking of what could have happened, what would have happened had Dylan not showed up right when he had, scared me beyond anything I had ever felt before.

When I slept, I had nightmares about Cason. When I woke, I had flashbacks. This was like full on PTSD, and being that it was Sunday, it wasn’t like I could go in for an emergency appointment at the university counseling center. Even though I worked there, getting anyone to come in on a weekend was too much to ask, and I didn’t have any of the counselors’ personal numbers anyway.

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