AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What is it about these Sinclair boys that makes me ache?
“You should ride with us to the party tonight,” Wes said, changing the subject.
But I was still thinking about Win. “Us?”
“Me and Max.”
“Right.”
“So I’ll pick you up later? Maybe around nine?”
“Yeah, sure.” I agreed because it was easier.
Wes beamed as though my agreement made everything well in the world.
If only it was that easy.
“Awesome,” he said. “I’m hitting the showers.”
I glanced back at my locker, keeping my focus on the door and not the contents. The memory clung to me like sticky tentacles that suction-cupped themselves to my insides to try and devour my soul.
Along with heavy shame, dread and paranoia clung to me. That was the thing about being a victim. Even when you aren’t anymore, even when you are healing and strong and in a good place, past trauma comes out of nowhere or is triggered by the simplest thing.
Then all the progress you made, all the strength you fought to have, seems crushed under the vivid memories trying to drag you back down.
You aren’t his victim anymore.I reminded myself.
Maybe it really had been just my imagination. Steeling myself, I looked into the locker, hoping to see my usual heap of clothes.
There was no mess. The clothes were exactly as before. Folded and stacked to perfection.
Breathing heavily, I reached in and messed everything up. I didn’t stop until every single item inside was a rumpled, unfolded mess.
Just seeing the disorganization eased some of my panic, making me feel more powerful than before.He can’t control you anymore. He can’t scare you.
It was a positive thought meant to encourage myself. It didn’t work, though, because really, if it were true, the vein in my forehead wouldn’t be throbbing. The urge to look over my shoulder and into every corner of this room wouldn’t be making my skin crawl.
The fact was I was scared.
Terrified.
I could tell myself all day long he couldn’t control me, but when the sight of some folded clothes sent me falling back onto my ass… I’d have to look at actions and not words.
Even from across the globe, he still has a hold on me.
I just wanted to feel safe.
Another thought, more terrifying than the last and one that would ensure the safe feeling I coveted would be only a dream, bulldozed my mind.
He’s here.
I stared at the locker, hoping if I looked hard enough, I could somehow see I was wrong. But what other explanation would there be?
I knew exactly what those folded clothes signified because, for two years, I spent time every single day folding and refolding everything in the apartment, afraid it would look less than perfect. Because if he had to do it for me…
I started to shake, my body betraying my mind, conditioned to anticipate a punishment. A beating. Something I was told I deserved.
I didn’t deserve what he did to me. No one deserves that.
