Page 2 of True Abandon

“Tramp.”

I glance down. I’m naked. Hugging my arms around my body, I crouch to try to cover up.

Vulnerable. Nude. Afraid.

They’re getting closer. I spin around, searching for a way out. There is nowhere to go.

Hands reach out, clawing at my exposed flesh. The calloused hands of grown men, and the finger flicking of girls my age, make my skin crawl. The taste of heavy fog in the air lingers on my tongue, and the smell of the disgusting scent of sweat from the mob, sends me reeling in fear. I swat them away. Endless hands grab my hair, my ankles, my breasts. Tears trickle down my cheeks. I search in horror.

“Jackson,” I cry.

Where are you?

Jackson.

Why did you do this to me?

Jackson.

I thought you loved me?

“Jackson!”

PART I

MANHATTAN, NEW YOR

chapter ONE

My body bolts up in bed; chest heaving and skin prickling with sweat. My fingers grip the sheet as I take a second to get my bearings and focus on the wall in front of me, and the painting of the setting sun that hangs over my dresser.

“It was just a dream.” A sigh of relief escapes my lungs.

It’s been months since I had a nightmare like that. At twenty-five years old, I should be able to move on from the sins of the past. Not my sins–I did nothing wrong. It’s his sins that live on my skin. His sins that have me calling out his name as I emerge from tormented sleep.

I raise my hand to eye level and watch as it quivers like a leaf. Actually, that's a false comparison. What my hand is doing is nothing like a green blade dancing in the breeze. I’m more like a petal that is clinging to the end of a branch, desperate not to get swept away.

Falling back on the mattress, I pull away the hair stuck to my neck and rest a hand on my chest—my palm feeling the rise and fall of each breath.

It astounds me that one man could leave a scar so deep that I’m still affected. It’s not just the dreams or the nervous ticks – it's the way I live my day-to-day life straddling the past and the present, unable to see the future.

The theme song from Law & Order plays as my ringtone alerts me to a call. I pick up the phone and see Kevin’s name in white.

I swipe the screen. “Hey, babe.”

“Did I wake you?” he asks in an apologetic tone.

The clock glows ten in the evening. I must have dozed off after running errands all day.

Pressing my thumb and forefinger into my closed eyelids, and swallow down my nerves. “No,” I lie. “I'm just sitting in my room.”

“You sound shaken up,” he asks with concern and my eyes widen at his quick observation. “It’s the storm, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I clear my throat and give my body a shake. “Yes. It’s really coming down out there.”

“I’ve been watching the news, and I think you should come over here. The weather’s getting rough, and forecasters are calling for power outages and flooding. We should be together.”

There is a hurricane warning for the East Coast, with New York City in the eye of the storm. The Mayor has evacuated all beach areas and coastal neighborhoods. For a city made up of islands, that’s a lot of people.