“Ka… Ka–” Why won’t my mouth work? Why won’t the sound come out right? It doesn’t feel like my voice. It doesn’t feel likeme.
I try again, forcing my heavy eyelids open, but the world tilts violently when I do. The alley spins too fast, like someone’s grabbed it and shaken it. Nausea claws up my throat.
Why is everything moving? Why can’t I focus?
“I’m here, baby. Relax.”
The voice curls around me, soothing and warm—but wrong. So wrong. Too familiar in a way that isn’t familiar at all.
Baby.Since when does Kade call mebaby?
A sluggish smirk tugs at my mouth—or at least I think it does. I can’t feel my own expression. Everything is numb. Cold seeps into my skin, creeping up my spine like fingers made of ice.
Why am I cold?
My mouth is so dry my tongue feels thick, swollen. It sticks to the roof of my mouth when I try to swallow. I try to think back through the night. The drinks. The bar. The dance floor. But every memory feels wrapped in cotton. Fuzzy. Hard to reach.
“I knew you’d look good in it,” the voice whispers.
The words scrape down my spine. Familiar, but warped. Distorted, like they’re being filtered through water. Like he’s speaking into my ear and from across the alley at the same time.
Something brushes across my face.
Fabric. Soft. Suffocating.
I try to turn my head, to shake it off, but my neck won’t respond. My body feels disconnected from me, heavy and uncooperative, as if the lines between my brain and my limbs have been cut.
Is it my dress? Did it slip?Is that why I’m cold?
I can’t make sense of any of it.
I try to lift my hand to pull the fabric away, but nothing moves. Not my fingers. Not my arm. Not even a twitch.
I want to turn my head away from the fabric pressed over my face, but nothing obeys me. It’s like my body has stopped listening. Like I’m trapped somewhere deep inside myself, screaming behind glass.
Something shifts near my hips—pressure, wrong, unfamiliar—and a bolt of pain tears through me so sharp it steals what little breath I had left.
No. No, no, no—something’s wrong. Something’s so wrong.
I try to scream, to tell Kade I’m not okay, that this isn’t right—but the sound gets stuck in my throat, swallowed by whatever’s shutting my body down.
My fingers won’t move. My legs won’t move. Everything feels distant. Detached.
Something bangs against the side of my head, dull and rhythmic, and the world lurches with each impact. My stomach twists violently. “Baby, you’re so fucking tight.”
There’s that word again.Baby.I try again to speak—to saystop, and then darkness creeps in from the edges of my mind, slow at first, then faster. Until everything starts slipping away.
I wince. Thud, thud, thud. It brings me back around. I don’t know how long it is before the thudding stops, but it seems like a long time. Words drift in and out. I don’t know who’s saying them, but they sound ugly. I don’t like these words.
The pain goes, and the material comes off my face. A kiss is pressed on my mouth. It’s not gentle. Kade’s always gentle. His tongue feels too wet, and I know I’m not kissing him back, so why isn’t he checking I’m okay?
Sound fades first. The cold alley melts into a blurry hum, the edges of everything softening until nothing feels real anymore. My limbs go numb. My thoughts float away like they’re no longer attached to me.
And then—it’s quiet. Still. Warm.
I blink and suddenly I’m standing in the middle of a park I haven’t seen since I was a kid.
Summer light spills through the trees. The air smells like cut grass and sunshine. Children laugh somewhere in the distance, but their voices echo strangely, like they’re underwater.
