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12
Taking this class was a mistake.
When my advisor told me I needed an English elective, I figured creative writing would be an easy A.I could fake it.I mean, how hard could it be to make up some silly story?
But that was before this assignment.Before I met Professor Blakely, who is deceptively disarming.She’s younger—in her early thirties—and more personable and relatable than any of my other professors.She has a way of getting you comfortable enough to spill more truth than you intended in your stories.
At least that’s the only way I can seem to justify why I’ve already opened up so much more than I expected to in my assignments.But it’s the latest prompt on the board that has my heart beating erratically, my skin prickling with that strange sensation that comes as terror slinks up your spine.
Write about a single moment in time that changed your life forever.
There are so many moments I could choose, but it’s that night three years ago that is suddenly the only thing I can think about.My excitement over being invited to a senior party when I was only a sophomore.My giddiness as Rikki and I got ready in my room, trying on practically every outfit in my closet looking for theperfectone.My nervousness as we pulled up to the estate on three acres of land with every amenity you could possibly imagine.It was Joel McHutchins’s parents’ house and they were away for the weekend.I’d never met Joel before—hell, I still haven’t since there were so many people there—but I’ll never forget him after that night.
I read an article once that talked about how sometimes your brain will block out trauma—either details or the whole thing completely.I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if my brain had responded that way, but instead I remember every detail with painful clarity, even the ones that should no longer matter—like the color of the burgundy towels with the McHutchins family crest embroidered on them.I remember getting separated from Rikki on the makeshift dance floor and then going toward the bar where we’d agreed to meet if something like that happened.Getting a drink that I watched the hired bartender pour.Turning around to findhim—I never learned his name—standing there, smiling down at me.His well-fitting jeans with the tight polo that made him look exactly like the prep he was.The way his sky-blue eyes seemed to sparkle.The curve of his smirk the ideal blend of mischievous and sexy.His tousled blond hair styled to look like he’d been running his fingers through it all night.
He was everything I’d ever wanted, and I remember the flutter in my belly when I realized he was flirting with me.
But I also remember everything that happened after, and that now familiar fight-or-flight feeling surfaces—my body tensing up, my heart rate skyrocketing, my breath coming in frantic pants, my skin glistening with cold sweat.
I don’t remember looking away from my drink, but I must’ve turned my head at some point, and that’s all it took for someone to drop a roofie.I saysomeonebecause I’m no longer sure whether it was him or one of his friends, who ended up joining us later.Only two of them touched me, but I know there were a roomful of boys watching.I counted ten, but eventually the tears blurred my vision as they used my paralyzed body however they liked.Looking at their faces became too painful.None of them would save me, and at that point I didn’t want to remember anything else.
I wish I could say it was like turning off a switch—one minute I’m present and the next my mind is checked out—but it wasn’t.It was a slow shutdown, aided by my own mind wanting to protect myself from the trauma I was experiencing.The brain is a powerful thing, but there are a lot of days I wish it would’ve kicked in to protect me a whole lot sooner than it did.I wish I could be like one of the statistics from that article and forget everything about that night.
But the damage is done.
“Tamsin?”
I glance up from my notebook and notice the silence and stillness of the room.Everyone is staring at me, some with judgement, but most with concern, and none more so than Professor Blakely who’s bent down at the edge of my table.
“Are you okay?”she asks, her kind eyes searching my face and her brows furrowed, betraying her worry.
I open my mouth to speak but can’t get any words out over the lump in my throat.It’s only then I feel the wetness of tears on my cheeks.
“Oh my God,” I whisper hoarsely, mortified.Without a second thought, I close my notebook and shove it into my bag as I abruptly stand up, tipping my chair back in the process.The clatter of it hitting the ground pierces my ears as I scurry out of the room as fast as my shaky legs will carry me.I don’t stop until I reach my car and am safely tucked away inside.Then I let the dam burst free, tears streaming relentlessly down my cheeks and my chest heaving from near hyperventilation.
I can’t believe I just did that.I’ve never fallen apart publicly—not that night, or any of the days that followed.After Rikki found me—her eyes filled with guilt, fear, and concern when she found me bleeding and naked on the floor of one of the many guest bedrooms—I locked everything down.I was determined to pretend like that night never happened, and I was successful as far as the rest of the world was concerned.My dad doesn’t even know about it.If he thought it was weird that his social butterfly daughter suddenly stopped wanting to go to any parties after that, he never said anything.
It's only been in the quiet and safety of my own room that I’ve let everything out.And I just broke my perfect track record in a spectacularly embarrassing fashion.
How the hell am I ever supposed to go back to that class again?How can I face Professor Blakely?I could try to lie, but I’m a terrible liar and I’ve already alluded to some of what happened to me in other stories that only she was privy to.
By the time I’m able to pull myself together enough to drive, it’s time for me to go to the studio to meet with my dad and the band.The last thing I want to do right now is see Miles.He already makes me feel things I thought I’d never feel after what happened to me.To see him now after just reliving that hell makes me feel too vulnerable—too exposed.But I have a responsibility and I need to prove that I’m reliable, even if I’m barely holding it together.
I know I should’ve listened to my instincts when I round the corner and Miles is standing there—a girl could almost think it was like he was waiting for her.My stomach clenches and I know I need more time to get my head on straight before I have to sit here and be around him.
“Anyone need a coffee?I was going to hit the café down the block.”My voice is weak, but it doesn’t crack, so that’s something.
Robbie shakes his head but hands me a twenty-dollar bill when Kasen says he’ll take a latte.Trent and Tristan turn down the offer, which doesn’t surprise me since I’ve noticed that they mainly only drink water—sometimes the occasional tea—when recording.My dad asks for his usual and offers me a grateful smile before turning back and refocusing on his conversation with Tristan and Trent.
Miles stares at me, his brown brows slightly furrowed and a look of concern in his eyes.I so desperately want to spin around and dash out of here, but that would be rude and probably give away that something is wrong.
“Anything for you?”I ask, my voice thankfully holding steady.
He shakes his head, but his gaze never strays from me, even though everyone else is immersed in conversation about the song they’re planning to record today.I hold his gaze for a second longer than I probably should before finally following my instincts and making a beeline out of there.
I’ve only made it a handful of steps out of the building when I hear a shout behind me.I know who it is before I even turn around.I’d know his voice anywhere.
“I changed my mind,” Miles says, his eyes darting between mine and his breath coming out in slight pants like he rushed to reach me.
“Okay.What do you want me to pick up for you?”
He gestures in the direction of the café.“Actually, I was thinking I’d come with you.They don’t need me right now.They’re talking lyrics.”
I nibble my lip, uncomfortable being alone with him right now—not for all the normal reasons I usually don’t like being alone with men, but because he makes me want to open up to him.There’s something in his eyes that makes me feel like he’d get it, or at the very least not judge me.He makes me feel safe, but I don’t know that I can trust my instincts.They’ve led me astray before, and I’m still living with the damage.
“Okay,” I finally say, unable to find a valid reason for why he can’t come with me and not wanting to drag this out any longer than necessary.
The sooner I can get out of his presence, the better.
