Terror isn’t an emotion I’m all too familiar with, but even I recognize this as the feeling welling up inside me. It’s the same startling, gut-wrenching sensation I had that night when I was raped. Except, this time, it’s worse. Much, much worse. It’s a startling reality that continues to build, signaling I may not make it out alive right in front of me.
This time, there’s nowhere for me to run. No liquid or grass escape. I will feel everything, know everything. There won’t be a cage at the back of my mind I’ll be able to lock this memory away in. It will be free to roam, plunder, and break through every crack and crevice. It will pull me down and down until I’m nothing more than a walking, mumbling, emotionless shell. And that’s if I survive.
No, I will get out of here, I think to myself.
“Fuck!” he booms, then his feet stomp across the floor to the other side of the room.
The side with the window. It’s open from when I emptied the contents of my stomach earlier.
However, that’s not what has my eyes widening. That’s not what has my heart stalling in my chest and complete and utter confusion twisting my insides.
It’s the fact I finally recognize his voice. It’s deeper, gruffer—but it’s the same as it is every time I see him.
Because I know him. Very well, in fact. I see him every day, Monday through Friday.
I wait silently, patiently, until his feet are out of view. I hear him shuffling around, then a big bang nearly has me releasing the scream wedged in my throat. A large object slams into the wall on the other side of the room, landing on the floor and knocking the door askew. Pieces of the bedside table fall haphazardly on the floor, a small corner of it even bouncing under the foot of the bed—less than a few inches from my face.
“Goddammit! No!”
If I knew it was this man all along, I would have dusted his nuts with a kick to the groin. I’d have made him eat them before kicking his ass. I wouldn’t sit back and allow him to talk to me the way he has been.
My mind whirls with thoughts, strategies of how to get out of this.
The organ in my chest gives a soft flutter as I piece together his reaction. He probably thinks I went out the window, and in a small portion I did. But then, a small smile tinges at the corner of my lips. It could be my only way out of here. It’s right there. Easily accessible. Since there are no other rooms available for me to get into, this may very well be my last chance at surviving this shit show.
Before I can work myself up, I hear his shoes slamming against the floor as he races out of the room. I catch sight of him through the tiny hole between the boxes. He’s frantic in his actions, nearly taking the stairs two at a time.
Craning my neck, I listen for where he ends up. There’s shuffling, then a loud crash from what sounds like something heavy—possibly coming from the dining room—slam against the wall. Lurid bangs and booming noises rush up the stairs, and I know, while he’s throwing his tantrum, this is my chance to get out of here. He’s so lost in his rage that he won’t even hear my fluid footsteps racing across the carpet.
Without another thought, I slide the boxes out of my way and head straight for the window. My dress snags on the bed, and I pull it with everything I have until it rips free. The slight tearing noise doesn’t deter me from my salvation, though. Instead, it makes me double time it to the window without another thought.
Goose-pimples dot along my body at feeling the penetrating eyes beam into my back. But I know they’re not him, I can still hear him downstairs destroying everything in his path. These are the cold, dead, emotionless eyes of Debra’s clinging to my frame. But I force myself forward, putting one leg over the ledge and then the other. I pull my dress all the way up to the apex of my thighs and shift forward.
That fear rises to the surface, causing my chest to pump up and down hard with each tumultuous breath. It’s hard to keep my strength present when all I want to do is crumble. But I can’t afford that. No one is going to save me. So, I must save myself. I’ve been relying on myself this whole time. Why should I rely on someone else now?
Mandy Hale once said, “True strength is knowing you don’t have to be strong every single second of the day,” and she was right, mostly. But there are moments in a wrinkle of time that you do, and when that happens, you have to make them count. You must push them down inside you until they choke on the constriction of being bound and tied.
I can allow myself to be weak later; lean on my guys and their need to protect me. I can bathe in their light as it chases away my darkness. Permit them to sink into my heart, burrow deep inside, and fill me to the brim with love. But to do that, I must be strong now. I need to take my life by the horns, condemning everyone who thinks otherwise.
I wait, listening as I slowly inhale and exhale, calming myself to the point my chest barely moves. Then, I take the plunge. I twist my body around with the grace of a dancer and slowly go over the ledge. My muscles bulge from the effort, until my hands are the only thing holding me up. I have to fight within myself not to look down at the distance between me and the back porch.
Slowly shuffling to the right, I use my feet as an anchor against the house to get further and further until I’m at the end of Debra’s ledge. There is a good three feet span between where I am and the ledge to my room. But if I can get there, raise my window, then I’ll be able to phone for help. Surely, he didn’t bar the windows. Since I was able to open Debra’s, I should be able to open mine.
It’s going to take endurance, and I’m suddenly very glad I kept up with my training throughout the year. There would be no way I could do this if I allowed myself to get lazy.
With my heart in my throat, I silently count, one, two, three, then kick off at the same time I swing myself over. My muscles burn from the strain I put on them. A knot unleashes inside my stomach as I become airborne on my right side for a moment, before I finally get a good hold on my sill. I push out a deep exhale of breath as I release Debra’s.
My breathing labors the longer I dangle above the porch. Sweat peppers my skin, the cool night air chilling me to the bone. I have to fight the lethargy stretching its wings and push forward with everything I have. Grunting, I place my forearm on the ledge and try to pry the window open. It doesn’t give. Not even an inch. The longer I dangle here, the more exhaustion I feel plaguing me.
I’m nearly in tears when I feel the first giving in my window. It slides up an inch, then two. Relief is palpable, until I hear a deep, menacing yell reverberate through my room. It shocks me to the core at the same time my window bursts open, and hands reach for me. A screech of shock releases from my throat at his abruptness.
He was downstairs, throwing and trashing things. There’s no way he should have known, unless …
“What are you doing?!” he explodes franticly, his fingers tangling into the thick strands of my hair.
I don’t think—I just react.
My hands rise of their own accord, tearing and clawing at the ski mask he wears on his face. He grunts, but never once lets me go. The adrenaline pounds through me so hard, so fast, my movements are a blur of action. I grab at the mask, and without thought, jerk it from his face.
My eyes widen when I get a good look at his face, confirming my suspicions. When I look into the familiar face staring back at me, I see his dark eyes, a straight aristocratic nose, and menacing glare. “You!”
His fingers tighten to the point of pain, making it feel like knives are piercing my skull in rapid succession. My face screws up in an uncomfortable grimace as a scream belts its way from between my lips, so blood-curdling, so loud, it causes a blast of pain to tinge my ear drums.
The decimal of my cry forces him to release me, covering his ears from the deafening sound leaking from between my lips. He growls and falls back a step, cowering into my room as it cuts the scream off by the whoosh of air behind me, a gasp of surprise flying from between my parted lips.
I fall. My heart leaps into my throat as frigid air whip
s and whizzes past me. I can feel the first tinge of tears ghosting along my cheeks, almost freezing. Then pain. It ricochets through my body like a pinball as my back connects to the roof of the back porch. The shingles dig and abrade my exposed flesh, cutting and maiming. Terror claws at my throat, but I can’t react as it feels like the wind has been sucked right out of me.
I can’t scream, can’t think—the only thing I can do is watch as everything flashes before my eyes. And the last person I see before hitting the ground below is the man that’s been tormenting me for two years.
The last thing I see is the suffering on his face as he watches from his perch above, fingers digging into the windowsill.
Then, I feel nothing as darkness consumes me.
CHAPTER 3
A steady beep lulls me from a restless sleep. The sterile odor assaults my senses when I breathe in as deeply as I’m able before a pinching sensation has me grunting in pain. My head aches to that rampant staccato of a thousand drummer boys on the front line.
My eyes finally peel open of their own accord, my hazy vision taking in the hospital room surrounding me. With its sterile surfaces, disinfected implements, yet cozy atmosphere, I find myself in a state of confusion how I came to be here.
Debra would flip her liver if something like this were to happen, which begs the question of why she is allowing it now. Hospitals, doctor’s offices—unless the visitation is regarding a checkup or natural illness—is strictly prohibited. I’m not even allowed to see the nurse on call at Silver Creek High. To Debra, it’s too much of an inconvenience; much too public for the eyes and ears of this town.
Blinking, I fight against the harsh feeling of grit scratching along the surface of my eyes. Each time I open and close them it feels like I’m grating sandpaper against them. A rough, gritty surface that nearly has me wincing as my tear ducts awaken and start flourishing.
Each time I open and close them, fighting through the pain, the room steadily comes more into focus. I can see blurry shapes and discern what object is what until my vision clears and I can properly take the room in. I find the lights are low, much to my appreciation. That’s what I loathe the most, waking up after being asleep with blinding lights penetrating my corneas.
A steady beep sounds beside me once more, and I turn my head its direction. Dizziness assaults my equilibrium, so harsh and swift, I have to fight the bile rising into my throat. I breathe through the nausea, trying my best to fight against it overtaking me. My fingers clutch the side railings as lightheadedness ensues.
After a few moments, I can feel the bout of vertigo dispense. Reopening my eyes, I get a better look at the object making the noise right next to me. I find out quickly it’s some heart monitor machine, standing rigid near me. Then, my eyes slowly fall to my lap, trekking over my body and seeing various wires and tubes.
Tears build on the surface of my eyes. It’s almost too much, and when I spot the catheter tube trailing over the edge of the bed, I hiccup on a sob. I don’t know if it’s humiliation or sorrow assaulting me.
There is no reason for me to be in this position. The last thing I remember is leaving my father’s party and arriving back at my house. After that, everything’s a blank. Did Debra beat me so harshly I needed medical attention?
What am I saying—of course, she did. I knew one of these days she would take it too far. And it seems this time she did exactly that.
I hope whoever is attending to me doesn’t allow me to leave with her. She doesn’t deserve to breathe, let alone have me in her custody. Hell, at the moment, no one does, my father, too. He allowed her to do this to me, not fighting hard enough to get me out of her home.
To my understanding, a parent is supposed to do absolutely anything to keep their child safe. My father, he’s been the only parent I’ve ever known, while Debra was the devil in four-inch heels and a perfect librarian bun. If anyone should have fought for me, it should have been him. It would prove he loved me, and I wasn’t just an inconvenience.
I don’t even remember walking into the house. I remember nothing other than telling the guys to go home and change, to give me thirty minutes to sift through the new information bouncing around inside my skull. Of course, I didn’t tell them that. I came up with the excuse to allow me to change before we took that step forward between all of us. It was a flimsy excuse, but one they followed. Now, I wish they hadn’t.
A shiver wracks my body as fissures of a memory tries to breach the cloudy surface of my mind. It feels like I’m forcing my way through sludge, and something just will not allow me to break through. I can remember the heat I saw in all four of their eyes. I can remember Callum’s touch. The skating of his fingers on my inner thigh as he tempted the hem of my dress. It’s relatively enough to cover up the physical pain I feel. Almost, but not quite.
I’ve never wanted something as much I do them. I can feel it deep within my bones, caressing and teasing me in the most delicious of ways. However, right now, I need to get to the bottom of why I’m here and who caused it. Because I know for a fact, I did nothing to myself. So, that means someone else did it to me, and I can’t get my mind to clear enough to think on it.
I slowly shuffle myself up in the bed, groaning. I lick my chapped lips, then reach for the water jug on the table next to me. My movements are slow, jumbled. Almost to the point, I knock the jug over a few times before I can get my bearings and concentrate. A gasping cry filters through my lips as I fight. Whatever happened, I’m not going to allow it to get the best of me.
A content smile drifts over my lips when I finally get a handle on the jug. It feels like it weighs a million pounds, and I have to drag it most of the way in order to get a drink. But as the soothing, cool liquid slides down my parched throat, I can’t help the sigh that slips out once I finish.
Movement from the corner of the room causes a knee-jerk reaction, quickly followed by extreme pain. I get choked, coughing and sputtering as I try to drag air into my lungs. The feeling of suffocation claws at the back of my mind, and it feels like a fissure of memory trying to push through, as if it’s trying to tell me something. But it's just all in my mind. It has to be.
“A-Are you okay?” his arms shoot forward, worry evident in the furrowing of his brow.
When he steps into the light, my heart pounds for a completely different reason. I stare up at him in complete awe, taking in his rumpled appearance, which even still makes him look fantastic. With his silky hair and crystal blue eyes—he looks like a figment of my overactive imagination. But I know that’s nothing of the sort. That’s how they will always make me feel, no matter how many times I’m around them.
“What am I doing here?” My voice leaves me with breathy undertones, my throat screaming against the idea of overworking itself.
How long have I been here?
I must have said that part aloud, because he steps toward my bed, frowning down at me. “You’ve been here for a week, sweetheart.”
Licking my bottom lip, I whisper, “I’ve been here for a week, Quinn?”
He looks taken aback, almost downright hurt. I frown up at him, pursing my lips in question. He’s looking at me as if I’ve harmed him in some way, but I can’t understand how.
“It’s Ellis, baby. Quinn is outside with the others.” Cocking my head to the side, I mull over his words. This is Ellis. How could I mix the two of them up like that? I remember all four of them, I shouldn’t be mistaking them for each other. I’m going to muster this up as confusion.
“I-I’m sorry,” I whisper, biting my bottom lip.
When he gives me that adorable smile of his, that’s when it finally clicks. Bits and pieces start filtering through my hazy mind. Him and Asher together with me on Ellis’ couch. Ellis hugging me to him as we walk through the halls at school. His beautiful pout when he doesn’t get what he wants. Then, that devastating smile he turns on me when he does.
This is my Ellis.
“Ellis,” I murmur, a slow, lazy smile sweeps over
my lips. His look of relief is palpable as he saunters over to the side of my bed.
Smiling up at him, I murmur, “I’m Jess—well, shit, you already know that,” I giggle, then peer around the room. The rotating movement makes me dizzy and my vision blurs and I get a little swim headed.
“Be careful, sweetheart.” His hands immediately go to my shoulders, and the sigh I release is audible, like the air being freed from a child’s balloon. I could never forget his touch, his scent. It’s a soothing balm all on its own.
I lean my head against him, sinking deeper and deeper into his warmth. I silently wonder where the other guys are, but then I remember the light being on and darkness all around its perimeter. No wonder. It’s either too late, or rather, early in the morning before visiting hours start.
“Where is everyone?”
He presses a chaste kiss to the top of my head, making me yearn for more. He’s very delicate in his actions, treating me like I’m breakable glass. I may be cracked, but I’m not broken yet. It’ll take a lot more than this to put a dent in my shield. Even though, I have no idea what even happened.
When he continues peppering kisses along the front of my head, it’s started to become a bit confusing. Ellis has always been the one to kiss the crown of my head if his lips weren’t heading straight for mine.
Before I can ask him why it seems he’s skating along the lines of becoming Quinn and Callum in their outward show of affection, the door opens, and with it comes a man I’ve never in my life seen before. My hackles instantly rise, and I know Ellis can sense it, because the tightening of his hold gives it away.
“Hello, Ms. Savoy, it’s a pleasure to see you’re finally awake,” he boasts as he makes his way inside. His eyes briefly flick toward Ellis, but like a gentlemen, he doesn’t say a word. It wouldn’t do him well to, anyway. Something tells me that Heaven nor Hell could move Ellis from his spot right now. And I don’t want him to.
Love Me, Baby: A High School Bully Romance (Silver Creek High Book 3) Page 2
