My hands shake, and I curl them into fists, remembering the first time I pulled the trigger. I did it. And then I did it again, and again, and again. It was the first time I’d felt something like control. Something I’d never experienced before.
Whether I realized it or not, that day, I made a choice. I chose myself so that I could learn to save them. The ones taken to be used and left to rot from the inside out. The ones no one thinks about. Those who believe nobody will ever come for them.
Now, I face another choice. Only this time, I must choose myself—fight to take back another thing they stole from me.
I grab my phone, step into the closet, and shut the door.
“Hey, Ry.”
Jamie’s peppy voice only heightens my agitation when I need her to crawl through the ugly layers of hysteria threatening to consume me.
“Jamie.”
“Where are you? You sound like you’re in a tunnel.”
“I’m in the closet.”
“What’s going on? Is this like when we took Track’s night vision goggles to see if they really work and dropped them, then called Van from the closet to see if she’d help us fix them?”
I don’t respond, breathing through my panic. There’s a long pause before her bright tone dampens.
“Wait, is this a mayday?”
“I wish,” I force out, running a hand through my loose waves. “I’m wearing a dress that I’m pretty sure is made for a Barbie.”
“You’re in the dress?” Her voice perks back up. “How is it?”
“Small and suffocating.”
“I bet you look beautiful.”
My gut twists into another knot, and I wonder how much more it will tolerate before it shoves itself up my throat.
“Jamie,” I whisper her name as if it’ll help me. “He’s going to touch me, probably in the way a guy would his date.”
I rest my forehead in my hand, needing my racing heart to calm the hell down. This is ridiculous, but. . .it’s not.
“Ry, you know Cole and that you can trust him.”
For some reason, my nerves are telling me this is about more than just my sensory and trust issues. There’s something new in all of this, and the unknown of it all is pure torture.
“But I can’t freaking flinch or tense up when he puts his hand on my back or brushes up against me.”
“Breathe, Ry.”
I listen to her gentle voice, sucking air in and pushing it out slowly.
“Maybe you should…tell him.”
“Right and say what? I hate when people touch me.”
There’s a small laugh. “I mean, yeah. It’s true.”
I groan, needing her tohelpme.
“Ok. So, maybe it’s like when you were in training, and you had to get used to working in the dark. You had to learn to engage all your other senses to identify your surroundings.”
“What?!”
