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Aveena
I thought it was a dream at first.
I just lay there with my eyes closed, trying to convince myself it was all in my head. That I’d wake up in my own bed. Between the turquoise walls Dad painted when I was eight.
Please let it be a dream.
Please.
I prayed and I prayed, but the stabbing pain in my skull, the fog consuming my every thought, and the weakness in my limbs demolished my illusions one by one.
Last night wasn’t a dream.
I’m shivering and sweating like a pig when I sit up straight, blinking my senses back to life. This bed isn’t mine. Neither is this bedroom. For starters, my bedroom’s never been that clean. The door is closed, and the curtains are drawn, soaking the strange room in darkness.
My head hurts to the point of making it hard to keep my eyes open, and my body is begging me to succumb to slumber. I’m dying to let the comfortable mattress swallow me whole, but the memories anchored in my brain won’t allow it.
I tense up, reliving the fear, the helplessness. Witnessing the scene like a movie I can’t fast-forward. I feel Logan’s nails digging into my thighs, his mouth robbing me of a choice.
The rest is a big black hole.
In a frenzy, I peel the blanket off me and blow out a breath of relief. I’m wearing a large T-shirt and oversized shorts.
That’s good.
Better than being naked.
At first sight, I’d say this is a boy’s room.
It is Logan’s?
Maybe it’s Axel’s?
God, did they bring me back to their place for round two?
Nausea rolls through my stomach at the thought. I spot my phone on the nightstand and think, What kind of stupid rapist gives their victim a way to call for help? but I don’t waste a single second overthinking it and trap it into my fist.
It’s at ten percent battery.
Shit, I left the internet on all night.
This is going to rack me up a ridiculous phone bill.
I have around fifteen messages from Dia, asking me what happened, why I didn’t sleep at her place, and as much as I want to answer her, I don’t have a clue myself.
Her tenth message steals my breath.
Dia:Finn just told me you’re with Xav. Call me as soon as he drives you home.
Xavier did this?
He took me back to his house?
But… why?
Makes sense that I don’t recognize the place, though. I’ve never been in Xavier’s bedroom before.
I’m quick to decide that, while Xavier Emery did leave my heart in shambles, he’s not a disgusting rapist, therefore, things could be worse. I’m considering my escape routes, debating on sneaking out his window when a new email pops on my screen.
