I step back once and then whirl to run. Madison grabs my arm and yanks me back into the elevator.

“Jenna, call –” I cry frantically.

Madison shoves me against the elevator wall, loses his balance and lurches into me. I fall silent and still, freaking out. The door closes. The elevator starts moving. Madison releases me to try to hit the buttons for the floors. He’s unsteady and struggles to make it across the elevator. He hits the stop button.

“Sorry. I … want to talk,” he says, facing me.

He’s drunk and … high? He can’t focus fully on me and he’s weaving on his feet. I’ve been drunk enough times to know he’s on something more than alcohol.

I’m trembling. I’m about to breakdown.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. I repeat the mantra over and over, praying I wake up from this nightmare fast.

“Can you just listen to me?” Madison demands. His words are slurred.

“Yes,” I whisper. My thoughts are on the safe room and how I can get there from here or how long it’ll take the security guards to call the police.

“I might lose my contract, if this goes to trial. I’m a rookie, which means they can cut me free. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” I repeat.

“I don’t remember what happened that night. I think you got the wrong guy.” He’s glaring at me now.

“I remember,” I say, unable to help myself. “I’m not the only-”

“Shut up!” The befuddled man turns red. “You were drunk! I drugged you! You don’t remember!” He grabs me as he speaks. “What floor are you on?”

I hold up my hands and close my eyes, terrified. He slams me into the wall. His grip on my arm is so hard, involuntary tears of pain blind me.

“Answer me!”

“No,” I reply.

Madison grabs my neck. His fingers squeeze so hard, I can’t breathe, and the world starts to get dark.

“What fucking floor are you on?”

“Third,” I rasp. He releases me, and I drop, gasping for breath. I touch my neck. God it hurts!

Madison punches the button for the third floor then releases me. He’s pacing in the elevator, agitated. I’m too afraid to move.

“I’m sorry. I just came to talk.” His anger is gone, and there’s a note of desperation in his voice. “Robert … Robert is going to pin this on me. He’s rich. I’m not. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” It’s the only word I can manage.

Whatever he’s on, he’s completely out of control. Is this how he and Robert were able to hurt women? Because they were so high, they didn’t know what they were doing?

The door opens, and Madison grips my arm again, hauling me out of the elevator. I’m praying that Jenna calls the police or my bodyguards or maybe all of them.

“Which one?” Madison asks.

I point to my door with a shaky hand. It takes effort for him to focus on the door. He’s weaving and using me to steady him. His fingers are biting into my arm, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him to stop.

The alarm buttons are in my bedroom and the safe room. If I can’t reach one of them, no one will ever hear me scream in the secure tomb that’s my apartment.

“Open it,” he orders and shoves me into the door. “We can talk.”

I place my hand on the pad by the door, and it opens. We walk in. I want to curl up and sob, but I’ll never escape him if I do. I’m not drunk, not drugged, not wearing high heels. I can run – if I have the chance. My senses aren’t confused like they were the night of the incident. If anything, adrenaline makes me notice things I never would have before, like the loops of the rug near the door, the color of Madison’s shoes, the faint gurgle of the coffeemaker programmed to go off whether or not I want it to. My neck hurts bad, as does my arm and the wrist that folded too fast for me to move it when I hit the wall of the elevator.

For a moment, I’m lost in sensory overload, in the memories of fireflies and pain, in the disgusting smell of alcohol and the chaos of my emotions. I’m the sober one – and my entire body is too fucked up for me to act.

“If I apologize, can you call all this off?” he asks.

I’m about to make a run for the hallway when he grabs me again.

“I mean, it was an accident. Nothing happened between us. I think you were just making stuff up. I can testify that nothing happened. You can tell them not to press charges.”

He’s not making sense.

His words cause anger to unravel within me. I’m terrified – and angry. So angry. Always angry. It pulls me out of the fear paralyzing my mind.

“You killed someone, Madison,” I respond.

“What?”

“Tanya, the girl you … attacked after me. She died.”

“She did?” He looks lost for a moment. “I didn’t know that. I thought she was still in the hospital.”

“Maybe if you came forward and just promised to cooperate, they’ll-”

He hits me hard. I drop and he releases me. My ears ring, and my jaw burns from the blow.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.” He paces, wringing his hands and muttering words I don’t hear. He spins to face me again, and his eyes focus for the first time. “All you have to do is tell them nothing happened! It’s easy. Just say, nothing happened! I didn’t know it was you, right? You had a fake ID. I didn’t even know you were only seventeen. If you told me those things, I never would’ve touched you.”

He’s making no fucking sense whatsoever. His face is flushed again, and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, looking around as if he doesn’t know where he is. I’m not sure I can handle another punch.

My eyes dart in the direction of the safe room. My bedroom is closer, but there’s nothing to protect me from him there, even if I manage to hit the alarm.

What do I do?

Lie. The solution loved by my family.

“I know,” I say, hoping to calm him down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“You see? If I would’ve known, I never would’ve done it. I swear, Mia.”

“I know.” The words are tight and hurt against my injured throat.

“Exactly. I’d never hurt you. Your father’s a senator. You have to know that.”

“The other girls were different?” I ask, hoping to keep him focused while I collect myself and prepare to run.

“I have no idea who they were,” Madison responds, unconcerned. “But we wouldn’t touch you, Mia, if we knew who you were.”

“Okay, I know that.”

“You just … why didn’t you just swallow the pill?” he demands. “If you’d just swallowed the pill, you wouldn’t remember anything. It wouldn’t even hurt. Why couldn’t you just swallow it?”

I’m starting to lose my calm. “I’m sorry,” I manage, choking up. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be!”

“I know. I’m sorry!”

“And Robert … now he’s got some fancy lawyer in a fancy suit telling me to confess for money.” He paces. “It was his fucking idea. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Madison. I know it was,” I say and struggle for control. I’m not breaking down. Any other time, I’d be proud of myself for how far I’ve come. “I’m sorry this happened. It’s not your fault.” The words are like acid in my mouth.

Madison rubs his face. He’s calming down. I prepare myself to stand and wait for the chance to run.

“Ms. Abbott-Renou?” The voice comes over the speaker.

Madison pales and then flushes.

“You told them I was here!” he shouts, snatching my arm again.

“No, Madison, I didn’t,” I cry. “I swear!”

“How else did they find me?”

My mind races. “There’s a back door,” I blurt out. “You can escape. I won’t tell them.”

He looks crazed.

“I promise. You were right. It’s all Robert’s fault. I’ll tell everyone that. You have to go now, before they get the keys to open the door.”

“I do,” he says as more pounding hits the door. “Where’s the back door?”

I point towards the hallway leading to my bedroom.

“You’ll tell them. Robert’s fault. You swear it?” he demands, shaking me hard.

“I swear it,” I lie. I don’t know how my voice is staying calm when my insides are on full on panic mode. I’ll tell him anything he wants me to. “It’s Robert’s fault. You wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“Exactly.” Madison releases me.

“Now you have to go.”

“I do. Before they find me here.” He starts towards the hallway and stops when he reaches it. “Are you sure there’s … hey!”

I’m already moving. I bolt in the direction of the safe room.

I’m almost there when Madison grabs me and lifts me off the ground. I’m close … so close to my safe place! Five steps!

Unbalanced as it is, Madison stumbles backwards and hits the wall of the hallway, preventing us from falling. His grip loosens. The moment my feet hit the floor, I think about basketball and what Dom taught me. I shift forward until I feel Madison’s balance give again, throw my hip and twist away. It’s clumsy, but Madison is in no shape to resist anything I try. He lands on the floor on his back.

I bolt to the safe room. I reach it and press my hand to it. The door snaps open.

Madison is struggling to his feet, cursing at me. I dart into the room and slap the red alarm button. The door snaps closed.

“Mia! You bitch, open the door, Mia!” Madison’s voice comes over the intercom. Triggered by the alarm, the security feeds light up the over-sized television screen by the door. There are maybe a dozen different angles displayed on the massive monitor, showing me my entire apartment.

The metal is too thick for me to hear Madison beating against the door, but I can see him on the display.

There are several volume buttons on one side of the touch screen. Too panicked to read which goes to what, I punch the mute options. I can’t stand hearing his voice. My eyes blur with tears, and I stand in front of the surveillance monitor.

I’m frozen again, watching Madison pace, scream, and sob in the hallway. He’s fucked up for sure.

He’s also desperate.

This isn’t a dream. But it feels like one. I’m shaking, and my neck, jaw and arm burn with pain. It hurts to swallow.

The memories of that night are playing on a loop in my head, and I’m watching the monster who destroyed my world have a full on, blubbering meltdown in the middle of my apartment. The sight is both surreal, a different kind of nightmare, and a jolt of brutal reality.

Somewhere, deep in my traumatized mind, I start to understand what I haven’t been able to before. Madison is not the boogeyman under my bed. He’s not the monster in a nightmare who can always find me, no matter what dream I’m having.

That night, three months ago, was a moment in time. While I haven’t truly been able to let it go, it’s already gone. Over. Done. It’s not my reality now. I’m not living in the loop that plays in my head. Dr. Thompkins has been telling me something like this for weeks, but I didn’t really understand I’ve been living in the past, or that I can decide not to feel like a victim, before this moment.

Fury stirs all kinds of emotions and thoughts. I’m living my greatest fear – and I feel anger.

I’m done with the past. I’m done being the helpless, powerless, terrified little girl who has been stuck reliving that night. I’m not going to let Madison or Robert take away the few, small victories I’ve made. I won’t let them take away how good I feel knowing Dom, Ari and Chris care for me, or how, every once in a while, I’m almost proud of myself for how far I’ve come.

I’m done letting Madison and Robert destroy me and my world.

The alarm doesn’t seem to bring any immediate help. Whoever was talking to me over the intercom doesn’t break down the door to rescue me. I never thought to ask Mr. Stevens what security does if someone traps me in my own home.

Even if I wanted to, I can’t take my eyes off the monitor. It’s as much because I want to make sure he stays out there as it is to … watch him. To understand him and that night.

To understand me and how I came to be here right now, trapped in a safe room, with a father who doesn’t want me and nightmares night and day.

I don’t have my phone but can’t help reaching for it several times. I don’t think my shaking hands can type anyway.

So I watch Madison and think about how different my life could be, if I hadn’t gone with him and Robert into that garden three months ago.

I can’t shake my anger or how no part of me regrets pushing forward with the trial. I’m tired of being afraid, and there’s only one way to make sure Madison and Robert never again make me feel that fear.

Finally, I turn away and try to calm myself.