Fight or Flight

I screamed.

It was a shriek of desperation – a shrill, ear-piercing wail born of sheer terror. It was helplessness personified, echoing forlornly off the walls of the alley. And even as the scream left my mouth I knew, deep in my bones, that it was futile; no one would ever be able to hear it over the thumping music inside the club.

My last thought, before his hands clamped down on my shoulders in an unbreakable vise-grip, was that I was no better than the dumb sorority girls I’d constantly mocked. I’d played right into his hands.

Whoever he was.

People always talk about our innate human fight-or-flight instinct. Supposedly, some people just have it – that will to live, to escape, to carry on in spite of the fear. And others simply don’t. They lack that burning desire to survive above all else.

It’s said that these moments in our lives, those split seconds in which we must decide whether to stand and fight or turn-tail and flee, define us as who we really are.

I’d always thought that was a crock of bullshit.

Of course, possessing the will to live is important – vital even. It can make the difference between life and death, between taking one more breath or succumbing to a quick end.

But so can a pair of five-inch stiletto heels.

Afterward, I’d often wondered, with a sense of morbid curiosity, whether things would have gone differently had I been wearing different shoes; had the ground had been paved, rather than cobbled; had the light cast by my favorite constellations above had been just a little bit brighter, so I might’ve seen him standing there in the dark with me. Biding his time. Waiting for me to make my move toward the door.

Would it have changed things? I guessed I’d never really know.

The scream died in my throat, turning to a gasp of pain as his grip cut harshly into my bicep muscles and he lifted me onto my tiptoes. Struggling against him, I used all the strength in my arms to try to free myself. I could feel my muscles weakening, my energy waning the longer we grappled. His breath puffed warm on my face – short, quick bursts of air that betrayed his excitement.

He was enjoying this.

He started to move then, steering me backwards with the ease of a master puppeteer pulling the strings of a hapless marionette. I had no control over my body as he closed in, trapped between the brick wall at my back and the monster pressed harshly against my front.

When he crushed his body to mine and I felt the undeniable hardness between his legs, my stomach began to churn with nauseating anticipation at the thought of what he planned to do to me. I knew then, with startling clarity, that if I didn’t fight back I was going to die here in this alleyway – but not before I suffered a fate almost worse than death.

“Let—” I cried out, tugging at my arms. His hold was unshakable.

“Me—” I tried my legs next, kicking out with my stilettos but never quite managing to make contact with his shins.

“GO!” I screamed, my voice nearly cracking with hysteria as I thrashed in his hold. His grip was too tight, though; I could feel it coming, just like it had with Gordon in the club all those weeks ago. The overwhelming anxiety, crashing like a wave through my system and taking away what little control I was still in possession of. Sapping my will to fight.

I could see it now, played out in my mind in perfect, high-definition color and surround sound: I was going to have a panic attack and then, defenseless, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted – beat, rape, kill me. Here lies Brooklyn Turner, campus casualty and veritable afterschool special.

I wasn’t going to let that happen. I wasn’t ready for my life to be over – not when it was finally getting good.

Taking deep breaths and trying desperately to quell the overwhelming anxiety and fear that had taken hold, I did the only remaining thing that I could think of – a last ditch effort, really. I cocked my head back as far as it would go, and head-butted his face with as much force as I could muster. My forehead smashed into his nose, and I heard a sickening crunch as we made contact. Something wet – I assumed it was blood – poured from his nostrils in a torrent and dripped onto my forehead.

I’d broken his nose.

He let out a muffled curse, and, for a small fraction of time, his grip loosened enough for me to escape. I didn’t waste my opportunity; as soon as my feet settled on the cobblestones, I ducked low and scurried out of his reach.

Knowing that he couldn’t see me in the dark, I remained crouched, moving as quickly as possible without making too much noise. Though every instinct in my body was screaming for me to run, to sprint to safety as fast as my legs could carry me, I knew I had to be smarter than that. In such a confined space, even the smallest sound would give me away.

I slowly crept away, wincing with each step as my stilettos clicked mutedly against the cobblestones. Heart and mind racing, I tried to block out the questions that were rattling around my mind. I didn’t have time to wonder who he was, or why he was doing this. It didn’t matter right now – the only real thing, in this moment, was survival.

Quiet, don’t move too fast.

Don’t let him hear you.

Breathing too loud, take smaller breaths.

Hands on the ground, palms spread flat for balance.

Step, wince, freeze, listen.

That’s it. Slowly, slowly.

I was gaining ground. He was behind me, floundering in the dark as he searched. I could hear his ragged breaths and sense his presence in the shadows several yards away. I could also sense his fury, fully unleashed at having lost me.

I knew if he caught me again, he wouldn’t show what little restraint he had before. He was angry now, uncontrolled – a real wildcard. If I had any chance at all of living through this, I couldn’t let him find me in the darkness.

It was the cobblestone that did me in.

One loose stone, warped enough to set me off balance. When my weight shifted forward, the stone beneath my heel slipped and before I could catch myself, I was careening forward, face-first onto the ground.

I felt the skin tear away from my elbows and knees as I slid across the rough-worn cobblestones, small pebbles and grime from the alley floor biting into my shredded skin. My temple cracked painfully against the cool stony surface hard enough to make my head spin dizzily, and a tiny, involuntary cry escaped my lips.

Immediately, I clamped my mouth closed to stop the sound, biting my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Please, please, please, I chanted, a mantra in my head. Don’t let him have heard me.

For one suspended moment in time my ears strained to hear his movements, but it was utterly quiet once more in the alley. His ragged breathing had been silenced. I could almost picture him, standing stock-still as he tried to locate me in the shadows – listening just as hard as I was, as he crept ever closer.

I knew I had to move; yet, I remained frozen, lying on my stomach and paralyzed with indecision. Would the sounds produced by my movements only draw him closer? Was I better off simply making a run for it in my heels? Or, did I stay on my stomach and try to crawl my way out?

Before I could make any kind of decision, the choice was ripped from me.

Fists closed around my ankles, dragging me backwards. My hands, sprawled as they were on the ground in front of me, desperately scrambled for something to hold onto. My dress rucked up around my waist as I was towed by the ankles, the rough alley floor scraping my bare thighs raw within seconds. As he dragged me back, I managed to grab onto a shard of loose cobblestone, protruding slightly upwards – likely a piece of the cracked stone I’d tripped over. My fingernails nearly lifted from their beds as I tugged at the disrupted rock fragment, but it finally came loose in my hands.

I had a weapon.

He stopped dragging me, his hands moving up from my ankles to grip the base of my thighs, where my dress had ridden up. His grip wasn’t rough, it was very nearly gentle – more akin to a lover’s caress than a murderer’s sadistic clutches.

I shuddered, fear and disgust overtaking me for a moment, before they were pushed out – overridden by an intense, all-consuming rage at this man, this stranger, who was going to take everything from me.

I wasn’t just angry; I was enraged, I was incensed.

I was furious.

Bending my right knee, I curled my leg up and sent a powerful kick in the direction of my attacker. In my first stroke of luck all night, my stiletto landed a perfect blow to what I believed was his face, and his hands released me instantly. If the howl of pain he emitted was any indication, I’d caused some significant damage.

I was absently wondering if I’d punctured one of his eyes with the sharp heel of my shoe, when I snapped to my senses and sprang to my feet. Throwing out one hand so I was touching the brick wall, I ran flat-out, ignoring the burning pain in my ravaged knees. The wall beneath my hand was my only guide, keeping me upright as I sprinted for the faint light emanating from the end of the alleyway.

I could hear him behind me, cursing and noisily clamoring to his feet. Then, the pounding of his footsteps echoed in the night as he charged after me, gaining ground with each passing second.

I was getting closer to safety. I could finally make out the street at the mouth of the alley where people were waiting to get into Styx, faintly illuminated by the yellow streetlights overhead. As I ran, I stumbled twice on loose cobblestones and nearly fell over. I would have been a goner, had I not had one hand on the wall to catch myself. My other hand was preoccupied, still tightly clasped around the stone shard I’d pried from the ground.

He was faster than me, even with the injuries I’d inflicted. I desperately wanted to stop and take off my stilettos, aware they were slowing me down, but I was too afraid to pause even for a moment. I knew that each time I’d tripped, I’d lost a bit of my lead, and he was going to catch me again if I didn’t do something to slow his progress. Though I could see people ahead on the street, I knew there was still a good chance that they wouldn’t be able to hear my screams from this distance – or, worse, that they wouldn’t help me, even if they did hear my cries.

When I sensed he was close – less than ten feet away, if my perception was accurate – I twisted and hurled my sharp piece of cobblestone in what I thought was his general direction. I heard a thud as it made impact, and I prayed it had hit him in the head – or at least somewhere painful.

If I could just make it out of the alley, out of the dark, I’d be safe. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to follow me into a crowd of people.

I hoped.

I sprinted for the street with every ounce of energy I had left in my body. Legs throbbing, lungs aching, head swimming with the effort, I ran until my vision clouded with black spots.

I didn’t listen for him behind me. I didn’t scream for help. I didn’t even breathe.

I just ran.

Finally, miraculously, I broke through the entry of the alleyway and onto the semi-populated street. My legs gave out and I collapsed to my knees, my hands outstretched to brace my fall. Down on all fours, I lifted my head to look at the crowd of people standing in line for the club.

They stood there in their party clothes, looking down at me with their mouths hanging open in shock. Their faces were a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from confusion, to disbelief, to horrified comprehension.

I supposed, with my torn dress and bloodied knees, that I did look a bit of a mess.

“Help me,” I whispered, just before my limbs gave out completely and I crumpled to the pavement. “Please…help me.”

That’s when everything went black.

***

It was the drone of approaching the sirens that pulled me up into consciousness.

One cheek pressed to the cool pavement, I cracked open an eye and looked skyward. Two girls, both wearing too much makeup and clothed in identical painted-on dresses, were staring back at me with worried expressions on their faces. At least, I thought they looked worried – it was a little hard to tell, beneath all that foundation and bronzer.

From the looks of it, they were standing guard – in their platform pumps, no less – over my prone form. Apparently, they’d also called the police and an ambulance.

“Are you okay?” one of the girls asked, her eyes wide as they scanned down my body, coming to rest on the once glorious Dress, which was now in tatters. I ignored the questions in her eyes.

Was I okay? No.

I was horrified, traumatized, stunned – she could pick her poison.

I didn’t know if I’d ever be okay again.

“Yes,” I croaked out, with a cough. My throat felt raw, whether from screaming or sprinting, I didn’t know.

“The ambulance is on its way,” the other girl informed me, as if I couldn’t hear the ever-increasing wail of the siren. “We didn’t know what else to do.”

They looked uncertain, as though they thought I might be angry with them for calling in the cavalry.

“You did the right thing. Thank you,” I whispered, in a tone I hoped conveyed how appreciative I was. “Really.”

I didn’t get to tell them anything else or even ask their names, because the ambulance had arrived and, all at once, I was surrounded by a sea of paramedics and police officers.

With quiet efficiency, the paramedics rolled me over onto my back and examined my scraped legs and arms. None of the wounds were deep enough to require stitches, so they applied a stinging antiseptic and wrapped the worst of them tightly in white gauze. I think they tried to tell me some things or maybe ask what had happened to me, but I was adrift in my own private bubble; their voices sounded far away, muffled as though they were speaking to me through a clear Plexiglas wall.

I tuned in enough to catch a word every once in a while.

“……in shock…….possible head trauma…….multiple contusions…”

After they’d checked my pupils by shining a glaringly bright pen light directly into each eye, there was more muffled conferencing between paramedics. Something they’d seen in my pupils’ response must’ve worried them, because in no time at all, they’d wheeled over a stretcher and gently lifted me onto it.

“…Jane Doe….attacked…..concussion….”

When my back gently hit the cushion, I automatically looked up to the stars.

Andromeda.

Pisces.

Aquarius.

Pegasus.

I closed my eyes and tried to shut them out, to turn off the images that seeing them had triggered, but it was too late.

A door slams. It’s dark, so dark I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. Utterly quiet, hopelessly alone. My hand touches a foreign chest. His bruising grip on my shoulders. Tight, so tight. I gasp in pain. Screams no one can hear echo in the night. I’m cornered. I’m helpless. I’m going to die.

The sounds of a struggle snapped me back into the present. My eyes followed the loud voices, until I found him in the crowd. He looked frantic to get to me, his face flushed red and his deep blue eyes flashing dangerously as he screamed at the duo of police officers restraining him. He was gesturing toward me, clearly trying to explain something to the officers, when his eyes locked on mine and he realized that I was conscious.

“Bee!” Finn screamed, his voice cracking, broken. “Tell them to let me through, Bee. Tell them, princess. They won’t let me get to you.”

Still floating in the numbness of my aftershock, I stared at him, mesmerized by the haunted look on his face. He appeared nearly unhinged with worry at my condition, as though the strain of what had happened to me was more than he could bear. He almost looked as if he’d been the one alone in that alleyway, when a monster had slithered from the shadows.

I wanted to tell him that it was okay – that I was okay. I wanted to take that tormented look out of his eyes. I didn’t do that, though. Instead, I turned my head away from him, not wanting to see that expression on his face anymore and too preoccupied with my own demons to spare any thoughts for his.

Maybe I can stay like this forever. Comfortably numbed to the world. Adrift – quite possibly unhinged – but safe. Alone in my bubble. Untouchable. Maybe it’s better this way.

As much as I wanted to hold onto my detached catatonia, I knew it couldn’t be healthy. And it was probably a one-way ticket to a padded cell and a lifetime supply of all-you-can-eat Jell-O.

It was then that I realized there was a paramedic speaking to me in a low, soothing tone, her mouth close to my ear. Turning my eyes to her face, it was as if an un-mute button had abruptly been pressed; all the sounds came rushing back, nearly overwhelming in their volume.

Sirens wailing. Police radios crackling. Curious onlookers whispering. A man’s voice, yelling my name.

“Can you hear me, sweetie? We need to know your name, so we can take care of you.”

“Br—Brooklyn,” I stammered out, my voice sounding fragile. Clearing my throat I tried again, “Brooklyn Turner.”

“Okay, Brooklyn, that’s good. I’m Shannon.” She stared into my eyes searchingly, looking for answers to the mountain of questions that had piled up in however long had passed since I first emerged from the alley. “Do you remember what happened?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“That’s good, Brooklyn,” Shannon smiled encouragingly.

“I was…I was attacked,” I whispered, at once a confession and a plea for understanding. Her eyes were a warm brown, like melted caramel, and at the moment they were filled with sympathy and worry.

“The police officers are going to have some questions for you in a little while, do you understand?” Shannon asked me. “Your injuries are minimal. You have some scrapes that will need fresh bandages and antiseptic daily, but nothing too serious. They shouldn’t leave scars, but you’ll have some pain and discomfort for the next several days. You may have a broken rib, and your forehead is slightly bruised, as are your upper arms.

“You also need to be aware of the fact that you have a minor concussion. It’s important that you stay awake for the next hour or so, and when you do eventually go to sleep for the night, someone needs to wake you every few hours to check your condition. Do you have anyone who can help take care of you? Your parents?”

I shook my head.

“What about a roommate? A boyfriend, maybe?”

My eyes left her face and once again found Finn in the crowd. He was still facing off with the police officers, trying his damnedest to get to me, but he seemed to be losing hope. The look of dejection and defeat on his face would’ve brought my to my knees – had I been standing and had my knees not already been ripped to shreds, that is.

“Officers,” I called out, with as much strength as I could suffuse into my voice; I hoped it would be enough for them to hear me over the noise of the sirens and the gathering crowd. “Please, let him through. He’s my boyfriend.”

The officers – one of whom I recognized as Officer Carlson, the semi-pudgy policeman who’d investigated the break-in at my apartment – turned to me and nodded. Dropping their arms to allow Finn to pass, he was at my side in an instant. His arms folded around me gently, as though he was afraid I might shatter if he touched me too roughly.

Bringing his forehead down to rest against mine, he stared into my eyes. His own were brimming with unshed tears.

“You’re gonna tell me what happened,” he whispered roughly. “Everything. Every detail. And when you’re done, I’m gonna find the fuck who did this to you and make sure he never sees another goddamn sunrise.”

His words were vengeful, but his hands were gentle as they came up to cup my face. When he pressed his eyes closed, trying to regain control over his emotions, a solitary tear slipped out from beneath his eyelid and tracked down his face. I leaned forward to kiss it off his cheek, and his eyes sprang open to look at me once more.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, you know that?”

I nodded again, my eyes locked on his.

“I saw you leave for the bathroom. Sang two whole songs, and you still hadn’t come back. I knew something wasn’t right – I could feel it. So I stopped playing, found Lexi, and asked her where the hell you were.” His eyes pressed closed again and I saw the tic of a muscle in his cheek as he tried to temper his anger. “She had no idea. She was too busy eye-fucking Ty to even notice you’d been gone for way too long.”

“She didn’t know,” I whispered, coming to Lexi’s defense. I’d been the idiot who’d gone outside alone, without my cellphone. This was all on me. “It isn’t her fault, it’s mine.”

“She should’ve fucking known better,” he snarled, clearly not willing to forgive Lexi tonight. I decided to let this battle go. For right now, Finn needed someone to blame – someone to take out his anger on. His frustration with her would fade once the police found whoever had attacked me. At least, I hoped it would.

“Finn,” I whispered. “I need to talk to the police. Give them my statement.”

“I’m staying with you,” he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. I sighed. I hadn’t exactly wanted him to hear all the gory details, but I had no fight left in me. I’d used it all up in that alleyway.

When Officer Carlson and the other policeman – a thin man with a graying beard and an avuncular manner who introduced himself as Officer O’Callahan – approached, I sat up slowly and Finn moved to stand by the side of the stretcher. He kept his fingers laced with mine, giving my hand reassuring squeezes whenever my voice faltered or I struggled to find the words to explain what had happened during the attack.

When I reached the point in my tale that I had to describe my attacker’s sexual arousal, Finn’s grip grew dangerously tight. I could tell, without even a glance in his direction, that he was waging an internal battle to keep his composure – warring with his instincts to lash out in rage. He somehow managed to remain silent so I could finish giving my statement. The policemen listened with stony faces, their expressions hardened by years of experience with victims whose fates were far worse than my own.

When I was finally done speaking, feeling shaken from reliving every moment of the attack, it was my turn to answer questions. They pelted me with query after query, wanting to know about the most minute, seemingly inconsequential details. To their disappointment, and my own frustration, I didn’t have answers to many of their questions.

Did he have any distinguishing marks or characteristics?

It had been so dark; I didn’t know.

Could you estimate his age?

Maybe somewhere between twenty and forty? I couldn’t be sure.

Did he mention any kind of motive?

He hadn’t said anything, even when I’d broken his nose or smashed my high heel into his face.

Do you believe this is related to the break-in incident at your house last month?

It was possible, I supposed.

Can you think of anyone who would want to scare or harm you?

Finally, a question I could answer.

“There’s this guy. Gordon O’Brien. He’s threatened me before.” I swallowed tightly, talking around the large lump in my throat. “I think he gets off on scaring girls. And he was definitely at the club tonight – I noticed him when I walked in.”

“When you say that he’s threatened you in the past, what do you mean?” Officer Carlson asked.

“He grabbed me roughly the last time I bumped into him at Styx – he lifted me clear off the ground,” I explained. “I pleaded with him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I ended up having a panic attack right there in the club.”

“And you didn’t report this incident to the police?” Officer O’Callahan chimed in sternly, disapproval apparent in his tone.

“It’s my fault,” Finn jumped in, his face cloudy with rage and regret. “I thought I’d handled the situation. Apparently I hadn’t.”

Officer Carlson raised one eyebrow as he turned his attention to Finn. “And how exactly did you ‘handle’ the situation?”

“I punched him in the face, sir,” Finn answered, never one to beat around the bush. I actually thought I might’ve detected a note of pride in his voice.

Officer Carlson looked as if he were fighting a smile. Officer O’Callahan chuckled outright, evidently amused by Finn’s forthright nature.

After asking a few more questions I couldn’t answer, taking down all the information we knew about Gordon, and promising that they would be in touch as soon as they had any leads, the police officers left to go examine the alley more thoroughly. Apparently, as soon as they’d arrived on the scene, the officers had checked the alleyway to see if my attacker was still lurking in the shadows.

Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t been.

Now, they explained, a forensic team would comb the crime scene looking for any kind of evidence that could help them discover his identity: blood, fabric from his clothing, even finger and footprints left behind on the cobblestones. I might have to go down to the station at some point to answer more questions, but for now I was free to go.

Before I could even make a move to hop off the stretcher, Finn was once again standing in front of me. He whipped his t-shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested in the crisp autumn night air.

“Arms up,” he ordered softly.

“But you’ll get cold—” I began to protest, but stopped when I saw the look on his face. Resistance was definitely futile, and truthfully I was grateful that I wouldn’t have to walk to the parking lot while exposed and indecent, with my tattered dress on display for the crowd. Obediently, I lifted my hands toward the sky and allowed him to slip the faded grey shirt over my head and arms.

Ignoring my protests, Finn swept me up into his arms and insisted on carrying me to his truck. As soon as we moved out of the protective shield of police and paramedic vehicles, we were surrounded by curious onlookers. Finn’s glare kept them at a distance and, for the most part, they gave us wide berth as we made our way to the parking lot where Finn had left his truck.

There was no keeping Lexi away, though.

She didn’t speak as she trailed us through the crowd, somehow keeping pace with Finn’s quick strides. I could see traces of tears on her face, her normally light blue eyes watery and rimmed with red. She was quiet, even when our eyes locked, but I could see the apology in her gaze.

I winked at her, to let her know that I was okay and that I didn’t blame her. If anything, I was grateful that Lexi hadn’t been in that alley with me; if she’d been hurt, I would have been devastated.

It was eerie, though – the strong sense of déjà vu that filled me as Finn cradled me in his arms, with a remorseful Lexi hovering by his elbow. Just like the first day we’d met, before I knew what a big part of my life he would become. He was just some random guy then – a jerky prick who’d insulted and angered me beyond measure.

And now I was in love with him. Life was funny that way.

The ride to Finn’s apartment was a blur. Finn was silent, lost in his own thoughts, and I kept my forehead propped against the cool glass of the passenger window, allowing my mind to blank as I watched the hazy orbs of the streetlights speed by. In seemingly no time, we’d pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story condo.

To say that this was not what I’d been expecting of Finn’s place was almost certainly the biggest understatement of the century. Semi-reformed slut that I was, I’d been in the houses, apartments, and bedrooms of more guys than I ever wanted to count. I’d been primed for the worst – beer cans littering the front lawns, overgrown hedges, chipped paint, and a stoop that was falling apart.

What I was not expecting was a beautifully tended front lawn, pristine whitewashed shingles, and a front porch complete with several flowerboxes – each of them overflowing with cheerful, multicolored blossoms.

This was Finn’s house? I actually had to pinch myself because I was nearly positive that I’d stepped into a parallel universe. Or maybe I’d hit my head so hard on those cobblestones that I was actually in the hospital experiencing some kind of weird, coma-induced hallucination.

Whatever it was, though, was no match for the shock I felt stepping inside the condo itself. Absent were the typical posters of bikini-clad girls on motorcycles and sports cars. There were no stray beer cups on the counter, nor was there a mountain of empty pizza boxes piled four feet high next to the trashcan.

“So, this is my place,” Finn explained nonchalantly, as if it were totally unsurprising that he lived in a beautiful condo with marble countertops, a kitchen island, and a refrigerator so large I could probably fit my entire body in the freezer compartment.

I continued to spin in slow circles, taking in his uncluttered, minimalist space. The couch was low-slung, elegantly crafted in black leather. Both the coffee table and entertainment system – which housed an unfathomably large flat-screen television and numerous game consoles – were constructed of a sleek, dark wood. The place screamed effortless wealth. Hell, it even smelled like cultured masculinity.

Yep, I’m definitely lying in a coma somewhere.

“Bee?” Finn’s voice sounded uncharacteristically nervous. “What do you think?”

“You have coasters.”

“So?” Finn asked, a baffled look crossing his face.

“Coasters, Finn.”

“I don’t understand,” Finn muttered, glancing from me to the coasters with a wary look in his eyes.

“You also have copper sink faucets,” I pointed out.

“I guess?” Finn shrugged, looking at the sink like he’d never even noticed it before.

“You’re rich,” I said accusingly.

“And that’s a problem because…?” Finn asked. His eyebrows were raised so high on his forehead they’d nearly disappeared beneath his messy hair.

Abruptly, I collapsed onto his leather couch. It was obscenely comfortable. Of course it is, I thought bitterly. It probably cost more than my rent.

“Bee, you’ve got this scary look in your eyes right now,” Finn said, kneeling in front of me so he could look into my eyes. “What is this about? Why does it matter that I have money?”

“It doesn’t,” I snapped.

“Is this about your father?” Finn asked quietly.

“No!” I practically yelled in his face.

Defensive much? Way to play it cool, Brooklyn.

Finn looked at me skeptically.

“Fine. Maybe it’s a little bit about him,” I sheepishly admitted. I squeezed my eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I’m already so emotional from earlier, and then I walked in here and it was just…not what I was expecting, I guess. I felt like I was back at my Dad’s house, and that place…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s the last place I ever want to be when I’m feeling vulnerable.”

“That’s understandable,” Finn said, leaning in to brush a soft kiss across my lips. “But don’t take it out on Henry.”

“Henry?”

“My couch,” Finn said, lovingly petting the leather next to my thigh.

“You named your couch?” I snorted. “That’s sad.”

“Don’t disrespect Henry like that,” Finn glared at me with mock-indignation.

“You are way too attached to an inanimate object,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Just wait till you meet Betty,” Finn said, pulling me to my feet.

I raised one eyebrow in question.

“My bed,” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows at me in return.

“You wish!” I smacked him playfully on the arm. “As if I’d get into bed with some weirdo who names his furniture.”

“You don’t like my jokes, you don’t like my condo…Is there anything you do like about me?” he said, laughing.

“Nope!” I giggled.

With a fake-angry growl, Finn lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom, careful not to put pressure on any of my injuries. It felt blessedly normal to simply laugh after a night like tonight. For that brief moment in time, I was free, buoyant with laughter and able to forget the fear and uncertainty. It was good to know I even still possessed the ability to laugh, after what had happened.

Our playful mood again turned somber once Finn set me down, the bathroom tiles cool beneath my bare feet. I’d abandoned Finn’s grey t-shirt along with my stilettos earlier in his truck and I never wanted to look at the damn shoes again, if I could help it. I couldn’t decide if they’d been my salvation or my downfall in the alley, and thinking about it too much made my head spin.

I barely had time to take in the beautiful bathroom, with its recessed cabinetry, pedestal sink, and sunken tub, because my eyes glided over the mirror and caught on the image of the tattered, war-worn girl reflected back at me.

The Dress was ruined – stripped of its intricate beading, the once-flowing skirt now a shredded rag, the bodice torn and dirty. Angry purple bruises already darkened the skin of my bare shoulders, where my attacker’s hands had gripped so tightly. The skin of my palms, elbows, knees, and thighs had been rubbed raw, leaving throbbing, gaping red wounds behind.

But it was my eyes that fixated me the most. They looked huge, far too large for my face. Owl-like emerald orbs, glassy with shock, fear, and, worst of all, recognition.

Because I knew this girl in the mirror – this broken-down shadow, full of terror and uncertainty. I’d been her once before, seen this look gazing back at me from her deep green eyes. Years may have gone by, but I’d know her in a heartbeat, no matter how much time passed.

Scared. Traumatized. Alone.

There was one crucial difference, now, though.

This time, there was a boy reflected in the mirror too, standing behind the girl with his hands wrapped lightly around her waist. His steadfast blue gaze held trust, protection, and something that looked a lot like love.

I wasn’t alone anymore. Not this time.

Leaning back into Finn’s chest, I closed my eyes and felt the tears finally gather in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them; I didn’t even try. I just let Finn hold me as I wept for the horrible thing that had happened to me, and for all the other even more terrible things that so easily could have.

When the tears slowed, I opened my eyes and once again met the gaze of the girl in the mirror. Now, her face was splotchy, her makeup was running down her face in black smears, and her eyes were red-rimmed – but at least most of that haunted look had faded from her expression.

“What are you thinking about?” Finn asked gently, his gaze finding mine as I stared at our entwined reflection.

“How much I hate pretty criers. Seriously, those girls just release one glistening tear without ever smudging their mascara or getting all red-faced? Utter bullshit,” I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“Come on,” Finn said, rolling his eyes as he guided me toward his walk-in shower. It was large enough for at least four people, enclosed by a wall of opaque glass blocks. After turning on the water, Finn returned to me and carefully unzipped The Dress. Letting it fall to my feet, he knelt down in front of me and I placed my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as I stepped out of the pooled fabric. Finn tossed it into a nearby trashcan without a second glance.

Bye, bye, pretty dress.

Still kneeling at my feet, Finn pressed a soft, warm kiss to my belly button. His hands moved lightly over my ravaged skin as they tugged down my underwear and unclasped my bra, leaving me naked before him. I felt ugly, exposed – bruised, broken, and laid bare in a way I’d never been.

When I moved my hands to cover myself, Finn stopped me. Interlocking our fingers, he began the painstaking process of kissing every scrape and bruise on my body, as he’d done with the scar on my collarbone the first time we’d slept together – as if his mouth could take away some of the hurt that had been inflicted.

He might not have been able to remove my injuries, but he did eventually erase any insecurities I’d felt. After he’d attended to each cut, he stripped off his own clothes and guided us inside the shower. The warm water was soothing against my skin, the dirt and grime that had coated me rushing off in brown-black torrents.

Finn poured some of his body wash onto a wet washcloth and carefully scrubbed my skin clean. He took his time, insuring that no traces of the alley were left behind on my body. Afterward, he shampooed my hair and the sensation of his strong fingers massaging my scalp was so relaxing it nearly put me to sleep. With each passing second, I could feel fatigue creeping into my bones, the weariness from my physical injuries as well as the mental strain of the night threatening to overtake me.

I was utterly wrung out – exhausted and in need of at least a full day of rest. Finn, perceptive as usual, seemed to sense my impending collapse. Just as my knees began to buckle, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders to take most of my weight and used his other hand to shut off the water.

Grabbing two large fluffy black towels from a rack on the wall, he wrapped me in one and looped the other around his own waist. He held my hand and led me, stumbling and bleary-eyed, from the bathroom and into his bedroom – which, under normal circumstances, I would have been beyond curious to examine.

Right now, however, I didn’t even glance around as I followed Finn to the massive bed that dominated the room. Collapsing onto a plush grey down comforter, I vaguely registered Finn climbing in next to me and pulling the sheets up around our bodies.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 556