“Are you still in bed?” Aimee asks as she flops down on the edge of my mattress, making the entire thing shift beneath me.

I quickly move to my side, facing away from her. I don’t want her to see the bruises already turning different shades of deep purple.

She keeps talking, but I’m not registering anything she’s saying, so I continue to stare ahead at the same blank spot on the wall. The same spot I’ve been watching for longer than I can comprehend. The blank spot makes me wonder why the walls are bare. Why are the walls white? It seems pure and untouched, unlike the way I feel.

Bile slowly rises in my throat, and I have to will myself to remain calm.

Repeatedly reminding myself that Aimee’s here with me.

Zane’s not here.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

He dropped me off at my apartment last night and walked me inside. I told him I was fine, and he kissed my lips. I let him, still feeling as if the entire event of our evening was one big nightmare I’d wake up from soon. Only it wasn’t. It was my reality.

When I walked into the apartment, I was alone, and I stripped out of my clothes in the bathroom and stood under the scalding water. I took the loofah, pressed the bottle of body wash over it, and lathered it up. Roughly placing it on my body, I scrubbed as hard as I could.

It didn’t work. I could still smell him, still feel him.

I stayed in the shower for over an hour, hoping to wash away what had happened and forget everything. The water sprayed over my reddened body. Steam filled the bathroom. Every time I closed my eyes, he was there. He was above me. I heard the words he’d whispered in my ear, and I cried. My body violently shook.

I lost control and fell in the tub, curling in the fetal position. I wished the water would fill the tub, and I would drown. I wanted the feelings and the visions of what he had done to leave my memory. More than anything, I needed for all of it to wash away and disappear.

Each grunt of his and the feel of his hands on me echoed in my mind.

The intrusive violation of my body played over and over in my head. It was a horrific nightmare playing on repeat in my mind, and each time, he destroyed the girl I’d once been a little more.

“I thought we were going shopping today,” Aimee says as she places her hand on my hip and playfully shakes me.

I attempt to hide the reaction of my body to her touch, the way every muscle tenses and goes into defense mode, but it’s unstoppable. Instantly, my stomach rolls, and saliva pools in my mouth as the realization of how he changed me rushes through me. An intense amount of nausea fills me, and though I try to fight it, there’s no way to stop it from taking control.

Scrambling from the bed, I move toward the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet before I begin to cough and sputter. My hands grip the sides of the ceramic bowl as my stomach tenses just before I begin to heave.

“Holy hell.” Aimee’s voice is laced with worry as she steps into the doorway of the bathroom. “I thought you stopped drinking after our shots. You never drink that much.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know I had either.”

Aimee gasps. “What the hell happened to your face? Oh my God! Reagan, what the hell’s going on?”

“You know how much of a klutz I am.” I laugh and pull myself up from the bathroom floor. “I was way too drunk last night and fell up the stairs, landing face-first. It’s really nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll just put on a pound of makeup to cover it.”

Aimee looks at me again, like she doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go.

I lift my hand and begin rubbing roughly over the spot where he bit me on my shoulder. I need the memory of last night to go away. A feeling of desperation pulls at me, begging me to just forget. Every time I close my eyes, I see him, and his smirk eats away at me. There’s nothing I can do to push him and what happened last night out of my mind.

“Please,” I whisper, not meaning to say it aloud, as I continue to rub the same spot.

The agonizing anguish it’s causing doesn’t faze me. In fact, I welcome the ache. For the first time, I don’t feel the aftereffects of his stubble, or his unwelcomed intrusion.

“Reagan, stop.” Aimee grabs my hand, and a scream rips from me before I have time to stop it.

“No.” I jerk my hand away and move toward the wall on the opposite side. “No,” I repeat in a desperate whisper, lifting my hand back to the same spot on my shoulder. I pinch, and I begin rubbing at my sore flesh once again.

“What’s wrong?” Aimee asks. I can sense the concern in her voice. “You’re scaring me, Reagan. Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

I can’t do what she’s asking. I’m not strong enough. His face flashes in my head, pulling me deeper into a dark hole. It’s hard enough since my mind won’t let me forget. The words to explain what he did will never be spoken.

I blink several times and stare at the bathroom tiles.

“Reagan, please talk to me. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

Frantically shaking my head, I hold up my hand to stop her from talking. I instantly notice the way her shoulders sag in defeat.

“Reagan,” she says my name in one last attempt to reach me. “I’m going to be in the living room. Whenever you’re ready to talk, come out of the bathroom, and we’ll talk.”

I don’t nod or acknowledge her. I hear her footsteps and look up to see I’m alone with the demons in my head. Alone to face the darkness consuming me.

There’s nothing that can ever take away this pain inside me. It’s something I’m not sure even time would heal. It is the ugliest kind of pain, the kind you feel so deep that it bleeds into the depths of your soul and becomes part of who you are.

* * *

For days after, I'm in a zombielike state.

I’ve stopped going into the coffee shop. I’ve listened to the disappointed voice messages from Carla, my manager, yet I never took the time to call her back.

Aimee comes into my bedroom every night, startled by my screams when I wake up from nightmares, remembering Zane’s invasion of my body. Each time, she sits by my side and is simply there. Finally, I let go of the hope that I might share my terror with her and things will go back to normal.

Aimee attempts everything possible to get me to do something other than stay in my bedroom. I know she's a good friend and wants me to be happy and hang out with her. At times, I feel horrible for constantly rejecting her, but the anxiety is crippling.

Tucked beneath the security of my blankets in my room is the only place I feel safe.

But, at night, the fear hangs over me like a dark cloud, waiting to invade my mind and fill it with Zane.

Soon, Aimee stops asking me to do something and leaves me alone.

At this point, I’m always alone. I do nothing other than wake up, take a shower, watch TV, read a book, and try to sleep. On the outside, I might appear as if I’m functioning, but on the inside, I’m only spiraling further into the depths of hell, into a deep, dark hole I’ll never recover from.

Today’s graduation day, and I lack the excitement I should be feeling from my accomplishments. It's all pointless now, as if I no longer have a purpose.

Standing in front of my mirror in my bra and panties, then I turn around and stare at my cap and gown and the dress my mom bought me last month. The clothes I should be wearing are lying on my bed. It should give me joy. It should make me smile.

I have the shoes, necklace, and earrings to match—things my mother’s splurge provided. She had to work extra hours at the diner and bank to save enough money for these.

A pang of regret hits me. My mother took today off, so she could see me walk across the stage, but I won’t be there. She’ll never get to see me in my cap and gown, walking across the stage with a smile while holding my diploma. We won’t take pictures together or do anything to celebrate my accomplishments.

Aimee left a few hours ago. I told her I had some more things to do, and I’d meet her there. My phone’s been going off for the past thirty minutes. Graduation starts in thirty minutes.

I sit down on my bedroom floor and hug my knees to my chest. The tears have dried, but the heaving from my chest still takes over my body. I’m not sure what to do. I can’t bring this to my mother or anyone else. Zane’s rich, and he would bury me in court. I’ve seen too many crime shows to know that he would have his ruthless lawyers digging into my past and make me out to be a gold digger. He’s going to get away with this, and I’m left with feeling hopeless. I’ll never get justice.

Nothing.

Boston’s not where I need to be. Even though I’ve been here my whole life, deep inside, I know it’s not home, and it will never be home again.

When I get up from my bedroom floor, I throw on a pair of yoga pants and a shirt before I grab my suitcase and bags from the closet and pack everything I can. There’s about three hundred dollars in my purse, so I leave it on the counter for Aimee to cover rent. I also leave a simple note, telling her how sorry I am. When I get to where I’m going, I’ll get a new bed and small furniture.

My phone goes off, and I look at the text message.

Mom: Sweetheart, is everything okay? I don’t see you.

I know I should answer her and let her know I won’t be there. Maybe she can get to the diner and work the dinner shift.

My fingers trace the letters on my phone, and I let out a deep breath, hoping this doesn’t kill her.

Me: I’m not there. I’m sorry I can’t be the daughter you want. I’m sorry for wasting your time. Hopefully, you can work the dinner shift. When I find a new job, I’ll send you some money. I love you so much, Mama. But I have to leave. I have to start a new life outside of Boston. I’m not sure where I’m going. Please don’t worry. I’m going to be fine. I love you so much.

After I press send, I turn off my phone and walk out of the apartment I’ve shared with Aimee, and I don’t look back.