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“Fuck,” Dad suddenly cursed. “Ally, I swear to you, I didn’t tell her anything,” he swore.
I jerked around to see my mother storming towards our table. Her normally perfectly made-up face and hair were a mess. She looked stressed—like she hadn’t slept in weeks. She didn’t look put-together anymore.
The divorce had taken its toll on her, most likely because she didn’t have all of the money she used to have to keep up with her appearance.
“You,” she seethed as she stepped up to our table, drawing the eyes of everyone in the restaurant. The building went eerily silent. “You ruined everything!” she yelled at me. “You just can’t admit that you begged Randall to fuck you! He told me all about how you begged him to be rougher!” My face paled, tears pooling in my eyes. Panic clawed at my throat. She couldn’t be doing this—not in public. Not where everyone knew who the hell me and my family were. “And you have dragged everyone into your lie with you, just like you did before!”
I jerked out of my chair and slung my glass of water into her face, rushing out of the restaurant right after, taking off for my car. Once I was sitting in the driver’s seat, I locked my doors and flew for the highway, gasping in quick breaths of air as I sped toward home. My hands were trembling, my ears ringing, but I had to get home where I knew I would be safe—where Caiden had ensured that I had security while he and Christian weren’t home.
I forgot to shut my car door when I got home. I just rushed into the house, slamming the front door behind me and locking it.
She couldn’t hurt me here.
I sobbed, hot tears rushing down my cheeks. Once again, everyone was going to know about what happened to me, and once again, rumors were going to spread.
Everyone was going to hate me. Randall had been the town’s golden boy, and I was now, once again, tarnishing his reputation.
I swiped at my cheeks and rushed toward the bathroom, turning the shower on. The hot water would ground me, and I was desperately clinging onto something to hold me together. I had no idea where my phone was. It honestly probably got left behind at the restaurant.
My purse. It was in my purse.
Fuck.
I’d left my purse at the restaurant. The only reason I’d had my keys was because they were in my pocket.
I quickly got undressed and stepped into the shower. I closed my eyes, images of that night flashing through my mind. Writing those journal entries Dr. Gresham had ordered me to do—it had helped. But one moment with my mom and all of that progress I’d made was stripped away from me.
I sobbed, dropping to my knees. My skin crawled. I screamed, the present officially washing away, and all around me, all I could see was Randall’s face. All I could feel were his teeth and his touch.
I threw up, my vision beginning to darken.
“Caiden,” I whimpered. “Someone help me.”
“They’re not coming to rescue you. You’re mine now. I’ll make sure you never forget me,” Randall promised, his voice ringing through my head.
I screamed.
Caiden
I slung my car into park on the edge of the drive and jumped out, slamming the door behind me. Ally’s car was parked half on the drive and half on the grass, her door hanging open. Her battery was dead. At a quick glance, it didn’t look like she had struggled, but panic still clawed at my throat.
This shit couldn’t be happening again.
I rushed up the stairs, thankfully finding the front door locked. I quickly unlocked it and rushed inside, my eyes sliding to the alarm. It wasn’t set.
That wasn’t like her. She always set the alarm. She was so damn paranoid about it.
I paused, drawing in a deep breath. I needed to focus. Panicking wasn’t going to help me. I needed to be strong and calm.
I took a moment to listen, my senses quickly gathering intel from my surroundings.
The shower was running in our bathroom.
I quickly moved to our room, going straight for the bathroom. Water was all over the tiled floor, the shower curtain yanked down. She was unconscious. There was vomit on the floor of the shower, and she was curled in a ball.
I quickly stepped in, hissing out a breath at the iciness of the water’s temperature. I quickly turned it off and grabbed a towel, wrapping her unconscious body up in it.
“Fuck, baby, your skin is ice cold,” I whispered. And judging by the vomit in the shower, she’d had a bad anxiety attack—probably a flashback judging by the shower curtain. I was all too familiar with those.
I stepped out of the shower and trudged into the bedroom. I was going to have to pay someone to come fix our carpet; it was soaked up until about halfway into the room, my boots making disgusting squelching noises as I moved toward the bed.
