This is why I didn't like getting involved with people. A quick fuck and that was it. No baggage, no wondering about what the other person was thinking. Now, I was in a relationship. That meant meeting families and dealing with disapproval. Meeting friends and having them hate me.

Check and check again.

I spent the night after the disastrous lunch date curled up in bed reading a book that had monsters and things that went bump in the night but absolutely, one hundred percent, no romance. Not an easy thing to find.

Rylan texted me a couple times, but I kept the answers cursory and polite. I didn't want to get into a lengthy discussion about feelings and all that shit. I just wanted to close my brain down for a few hours.

That was easier said than done.

Aside from the fact that I kept seeing every look, hearing every snide remark, I also had an uncomfortable feeling that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I prided myself on how little I let my past shape certain aspects of my life. My fears and safety concerns, I felt, were well balanced. I didn't go to one extreme or the other. I had locks on my doors, but the only one I'd added had been a deadbolt. The regular one and the chain lock had already been there. I took self-defense classes and knew how to shoot a gun, but I didn't own one. I carried pepper spray but not a Taser or anything like that.

Still, every once in a while, I'd feel the need to turn on every light in my apartment, double check all of the windows and the door. When that happened, I let myself do the checking, but I picked a single room and only turned on the lights in there. Tonight, I picked my bedroom and hoped that reading would be enough of a distraction that the nagging feeling that something was wrong would dissipate by the time I was ready to go to sleep.

It didn't work so I left my light on as I pulled my covers up around my shoulders and tried to sleep. Whenever my brain was too busy for me to sleep, I'd try to go over the plot of whatever book I happened to be reading, picking apart plot holes, theorizing about things to come or backstory not mentioned. Usually, it kept part of my mind occupied enough for the rest to fall asleep. Tonight, however, I found it difficult to keep focused, to follow through on whatever I tried to think about. My mind kept wandering, generally back to lunch.

Had I handled things wrong? I was sure I could've done better, but I had absolutely no experience dealing with families. Not even my own.

Maybe I should've told the whole truth. Let Suzette and Zeke have it all, every last little piece of shit that made up the first thirteen years of my life. I didn't know if that would've made them more or less sympathetic to me, but I knew it would've been horrifying enough that they would've felt like asses for pressing the issue. If I'd been one of those people who coped and grew through sharing, I might've done just that.

That wasn't me though. I'd spent years working through my issues and I didn't think it was anyone else's business. I supposed that I'd eventually need to decide if I would tell Rylan more, but we weren't there yet. Even if I'd wanted to shock Suzette and Zeke, I wouldn't have felt right telling them something I hadn't even shared with Rylan.

I shivered and pulled my blanket even closer. I didn't like thinking about the past in general, but it was even worse at night. I needed to get my mind off of those things, off of the questions that would surely keep coming. If Suzette's behavior and attitude were any indication, Rylan's parents and step-mother weren't going to be fond of me either, and chances were, they'd ask about my family too. After all, wasn't that how we as a people learned about each other? We asked about family because we understood that family was what shaped us from the beginning, made us into who we were. If family wasn't so important, kids who were raised in orphanages, without human contact for years, wouldn't be any different than kids who were raised in traditional homes.

I knew enough psychology to know that wasn't true. Because of my own past, I wished familial influence wasn't important, if only so I could say that I was who I was by my choice – that my family hadn't played any part in it.

I sighed. When things got this busy in my head, nothing I could do would stop it, no matter how much I wanted it to. No, the only thing I could do was let things run their natural course and hope that I'd fall asleep before dawn and get at least a couple hours in.

I couldn't breathe.

I didn't know how long I'd been here, bent over this bench-thing, only that my arms and legs had fallen asleep a while ago. At first, I hadn't minded. Before my limbs had gone numb, the chains had been biting into my wrists and ankles. What I hadn't realized was how much that pain had distracted me from everything else.

I was wearing only a thin, filmy dress. Nothing underneath. And the room was cold. It would warm up later, I knew. They kept it cold at first because if we started off hot, it would be sweltering by the time we were done. It didn't keep the goose bumps away or keep me from shivering. Only clenching my jaw was preventing my teeth from chattering. I hoped I'd warm enough to stop before they used my mouth. I knew that a bite, even an accidental one, would come with punishment.

The wooden bench had no padding on the top and the planks were rough. They'd probably made it that way, wanting me and others like me to get splinters. I knew that by the time they were done, my stomach and the bottom of my ribs would be raw and bruised.

The angle they'd bent me was making it hard to inhale, so each breath was shallow. All of my weight was on my knees and there was a deep ache in them. Even now, I knew the pain would be excruciating by the time they finished. Not a single part of me would make it through free from pain.

I heard them come in, but they stayed behind me so I couldn't see who they were or how many there were. I thought maybe ten, probably more. I heard women as well as men. They weren't talking loud enough for me to hear what they were saying, but I could hear the excitement buzzing.

I hated the waiting worst of all. I couldn't stop myself from thinking about all the different things they were going to do, all of the ways I was going to be hurt. When they started, at least then I could focus on the pain and it would block out everything else.

Then the pain began and it was everywhere.

Burning cigarettes were put out on my back.

Fabric cutting into my flesh as my dress was ripped off.

Fingers pinching and probing.

Then came the fucking.

They took turns everywhere they could, every way they could.

Some of them talked to each other, conversations about their lives as they waited for access. I heard one of the men talking about coaching his son's Little League team, then he stopped for his turn. Another woman kept petting my head.

No one talked to me, not unless grunts and foul names counted. At one point, I tried to keep track of the number of times I was called 'bitch' and 'cunt’, but I lost count after a while.

Finally, I thought they'd finished, but that was when one of them said they were ready for the real show.

When the door opened, I screamed.

I screamed until my voice was gone.

I passed out and they woke me up again.

It went on for hours. For years. It would never end. Never stop. The pain and humiliation. I'd never get away...

My eyes flew open, then closed involuntarily at the light. I wrenched them open again, even though it hurt. I didn't want to be in the dark again.

I sat up and drew my knees to my chest, shivering as I wrapped my blanket around me. Of all the memories and the nightmares, that was the worst. It was that night when I'd reached my lowest point. That night that I'd known, without the shadow of a doubt… I would never get out.

My fingers began to trace along the inside of my left arm. The scar there ran from my wrist to my elbow. I'd been lucky, the doctor had said, that it hadn't been deep enough to cause permanent damage. I'd been extra lucky that my mom had found me and had the presence of mind to put on a tourniquet.

I didn't tell him it wasn't luck. It was hell.

If I'd been older, I might've wondered why the doctor hadn't figured out that there was way more to my injury than what he'd been told. I might've asked why he hadn't done a full work-up when he saw the bruises on my neck that looked like fingers. The bruises on my arms and legs that held distinctive chain link patterns. The other obvious signs of abuse. I'd gotten my answer years later.

I looked down at the scar my fingers were tracing. It was funny, what I remembered about that night. The night I'd decided that it was pointless to hope for anything else, pointless to think that someone would come rescue me. I wasn't some fairy princess and there was no such person as Prince Charming. I still believed that last bit.

Rylan's face flashed in front of my eyes and I pushed it away. He wasn't Prince Charming because I wasn't a fucking damsel in distress. I'd needed someone to save me before. I didn't need to be saved now.

I shivered again. I wasn't going to get warmed up here with just a blanket. Not this kind of chill.

I climbed out of bed and went into my bathroom. I rubbed my arms as I waited for the water to heat up. I'd done it in the bathroom that night. Broken a piece of glass in the mirror and climbed into the tub.

This time, when I stepped into the shower, my hands were empty. While the nightmare hadn't been pleasant and the aftereffects were bothersome, I wasn't that frightened, depressed child anymore. I'd survived the worst.

I hissed as I stepped under the steaming spray. It was hot, almost too hot, but that was what I wanted right now. It wouldn't wash away the nightmare, but it would help the cold.

It had been a long time since I'd thought about that night or had a dream about it. I must've been more stressed by what had happened at lunch than I'd realized. Judgment was usually the trigger that brought that particular night back. It was funny – not amusing but rather ironic – that the person who made me feel the safest had been part of the moment that had triggered the memory of the time where I'd been the lowest.

Rylan.

I made a pained sound as I thought of what Rylan would think of me if he knew the whole truth. No matter how much he seemed to be the perfect guy when it came to my past, I knew the truth. If he knew what happened to me, what happened that night...

He'd run.

I was surprised by how much the thought of that hurt.