“Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you like that, princess?”
My body locks. Every muscle becomes stone. The fog inexplicably clears from my brain as I’m transported back.
I’ll find you anywhere, princess.
No, no, no. I shake my head. Bringing my hands up to my ears, trying to block the sound. My senses go blank, shielding me from what’s coming… Pain.
Kirk’s hand palming my breast brings me back to reality. With my mind suddenly clear, I push him back, his lithe frame stumbling as a look of pure shock passes over his features.
“Please leave,” I say quietly, tears slowly falling down my face.
He chuckles, advancing towards me again, his hands fumbling with the zipper on his cargo pants.
I close the distance, pushing him harder and scream until my throat becomes hoarse. “Get out!”
He seems startled by the sudden outburst as he backs towards the door, and he turns the handle. “I knew you were a fucking cock tease whore,” he spits before walking into the street.
I run to the door behind him, checking and double-checking the locks. I rest my back against the door and slide to the floor. My breathing becomes erratic as I cradle my head in my hands. Numbness and dizziness threaten to return, but there’s too much adrenaline and fear coursing through my body right now.
My hair drops over either side of my head, blocking my view and becoming my shield. My chest constricts, and my heart starts hammering. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t fucking breathe.
I. Can’t. Fucking. Breathe.
I can’t tell if it’s from whatever drugs I now realize he put into my drink or a panic attack. I’ve had enough panic attacks to know what one feels like, and this is definitely one of them. Muscle memory kicks in, and I drop my head between my knees and breathe as deeply as I can. My lungs burn but I force the oxygen into them anyway.
It’s not him. I’m safe. I’m far, far away.
Nine
Kat
Nutshell – Alice In Chains
The bitter morning air freezes my lungs, turning my chest to stone. I struggle to draw in a breath, but I know that it has nothing to do with the cold. The morning streets are full, people rushing past me on their commute to work in flashes of beige and grey. The sun hangs low on the horizon, pushing upwards to greet the day. Despite everything, the world keeps turning and the sun keeps rising.
I’ve done this walk hundreds of times, but this morning feels different. Everything is moving faster around me. I feel like a guest in my own body, looking out at the world. I’m not here. My mind is back in my apartment last night.
Princess.
A shiver ripples through my flesh as I pull my jacket tight around me. My hand strays to my necklace, twirling it in my hands. That fucking name.
I woke up this morning on the couch. I have no idea how I got there, but I must have moved at some point in the night. It wasn’t the usual roll over and shut off the alarm before falling back to sleep kind of wake-up. It felt like I’d woken from a bad dream. That last night didn’t happen. That the heaviness in my limbs was just the effect of a really deep sleep.
It took all of two seconds to realize it was all too fucking real. I could still feel his breath on my neck. His tongue in my mouth. His hands on my body. I took two showers this morning, the water heat cranked up to the maximum as if I could burn the feeling off my body. I scrubbed and scrubbed until his lingering touch was replaced by a sharp sting and my skin flashed red. The relief didn’t last. I don’t feel clean. Grime and shame feel heavy on my skin, like a film that I can’t wash off.
I scratch at my arms to rid myself of this feeling. The sharp sting and repetitive motion of my nails against my skin makes my heart settle into a slowthump. A welcome difference from the constant jackhammer that it has been for the last twenty-four hours. Between the gig and everything last night, my nervous system has been in overdrive. I release a breath I’ve been holding for hours as my body settles and my shoulders drop.
Adjusting my sleeves back into place, I hug myself tightly. I should have called in sick to work today, but if I had, Harper would be at my apartment within the hour, and I can’t face that kind of scrutiny right now. At least at work, I can hide behind the espresso machine and hope people don’t notice me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I open up the message from Ryland in the band group chat. Someone posted photos of our gig last night on social media. Scrolling through photos of Harper absolutely owning the stage, I land on one of me. I’m the center of the shot, with my arms in the air, head back. It looks like I have absolute control over the crowd. The photo shows the first few rows of people, their arms in the air with mine. I can feel the energy pulsing out from the photo alone. My shoulders slump. The girl in the photo looks fearless; she’s confident. That girl couldn’t feel further away from me right now. Before I haveanother fucking panic attack, this time in the middle of the street, I heart react the message and pocket my phone.
As I arrive at The Ground, I take a moment outside. Deep breath. Hold for five. And release. I pull my body up straight.
“You’ve survived a lot worse, Kat,” I whisper to myself as I paint a smile on my face and walk through the door, the metal bell above the door signaling my arrival.
“Morning, bitches,” I say to Harper and Kaycee as I walk to the back.
“Good morning, Kat,” Kaycee replies from behind the counter.
