I cracked one eye open, enough to see him sitting there. Watching me.
“It’s been a few hours,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You should go back to sleep. But if you wanted—if you needed anything else—I’ll help you.”
I frowned, his words taking a moment to make sense. Something about leaving…I remembered wanting to go earlier. But that thought felt far away, irrelevant compared to the warmth of the bed, the softness of the down comforter, and the ache of my body.
I shook my head slowly. “No. I’m fine.”
Relief flickered across his face.
The lamp cast a halo around him, the edges of him blurring as I fought to remain awake. I wanted to stay awake long enough to ask him why he was still here, why he was looking at me like that. But sleep pulled harder.
And my eyes closed before I could stop them.
Iwasasleepinmybed when it happened.
It was spring, and I was exhausted from soccer practice. My window was open, letting in the fresh air.
It wasn’t even dark yet. My parents weren’t home. I’d just needed a quick nap before my brother and I figured out what we were going to eat for dinner.
I slept on my stomach. I always used to sleep on my stomach back then. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but pain at the base of my skull woke me. A hand fisted in my hair, shoving my face into the mattress.
The next thing I was aware of was the heaviness on top of me. Even with my face shoved against the mattress, I could smell him. His breath was hot on the back of my neck. I thought that I should scream, because something was absolutely wrong here. But my face was forced so hard into the fabric that my teeth punctured the inside of my lips. No one would hear my scream.
The harder I fought, the less air I could find. My lungs burned; my ribs felt locked in iron. I tried to focus on anything but the horror. My young, teenage mind could barely understand what was happening.
I focused on the heaviness, the breaths that I fought for, and—not the pain.
When it stopped, when his body shook and went still, I was relieved.
It was over.
But then, he wrapped his hand around my throat.
My face was still against the mattress. I couldn’t scream as he squeezed, crushing my windpipe.
When I felt myself going, felt my consciousness fading, I made my entire body relax. I was limp. So still I barely breathed.
He thought I was dead. Maybe I was dead. A part of me, at least, never survived him.
Then he finally let me go, and disappeared.
WhenIwoke,Ifelt like myself again—though I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad one.
The nightmare did not jar me. I’d expected it after what happened last night. It was a familiar one, worn into me like an old scar.
So I woke calm. Cold. That familiar, practiced numbness seeped through my veins, cauterizing the wounds last night had reopened.
I sat up slowly, ribs aching. Every muscle in my body throbbed as if I were one big bruise.
On the nightstand sat another glass of water and a couple of pain relievers. I didn’t linger on who left them there before swallowing both. My phone was lying near the water glass, plugged in and charging. I frowned when I reached for it. I hadn’t left it there. Thinking about it more, I’d lost track of it after the attack. Had Graham picked it up for me?
I shook my head, thankful it had a full battery and deciding not to wonder about how it had gotten here.
I checked the time, blanching when I realized it was after noon. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept so late.
I scrambled out of bed, going slower than I’d like. I hissed through my teeth as I stood. Damn, I felt awful.
Setting my phone back down, I looked around the room. My index finger instantly stroked the face of my watch, grounding me. It was the only thing I always kept with me. Graham had given me his sweatpants and a white T-shirt to sleep in. They swallowed me, but they were comfortable.
