5. Jude
Jude
My chest heaves beneath sweat-soaked sheets, my heart hammering so hard it feels determined to punch through my ribs.
Darkness feels like a silken weight pressed against my body.
For a long moment, I don’t know where I am.
The bedroom gradually comes into focus—the familiar outline of the dresser against the wall, the lounge chair by the window, and the faint silhouette of the adjustable weight bench in the corner.
I’m home.
I’m safe.
Silently repeating those words changes nothing. My breathing becomes ragged, and the sweat clinging to my skin turns ice-cold as the memories flood my brain, as they usually do. I can never remember the entire thing, just fragments—a blessing, I guess.
But the parts that keep resurfacing are enough to shake me up.
A creaking bedroom door; soft enough that it shouldn’t have woken me, but it did.
The sound still echoes inside my skull decades later.
I remember the blanket being peeled away from my body, the cold air brushing across my bare legs, and the weight of someone standing over me before a large hand clamped down on my mouth.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I whisper, “No.”
I force myself to sit upright, dragging both hands through my damp hair. My pulse refuses to settle. It’s over, Jude. It happened years ago, not now. Deep down, I know that, but my body doesn’t get the memo.
My clothes have never been this soaked. Getting out of bed, I peel them off and toss them onto the floor, but it still feels as if the walls are closing in on me.
Warm, golden light fills the room as I flick on the bedside lamp.
Better. Well, not much. I catch my reflection in the mirror on the wall, and for a moment, I breathe through my nose, taking myself in.
I’m not that skinny sixteen-year-old anymore.
My body is strong enough to handle just about anything.
Screw the past. I refuse to allow those painful moments to define who I am anymore.
Almost like clockwork, a voice goes off in my head. It’s soft, feminine, patient. A decade later, and it still grates on my nerves. ‘You still have plenty of work to do, Jude. You’re trying to reclaim control through sex. It gives you temporary relief because you’re choosing it.’
Dr. Morrison had leaned forward in that office, notebook balanced across her lap. ‘But using intimacy to outrun trauma won’t provide the healing you need.’
Healing.
God, therapists love that word.
She’d warned that eventually the nightmares would catch up, and maybe she was right about that.
However, she will never change my opinion about sex.
It’s the perfect anesthesia. Sex puts me in control, and now I choose who touches me.
I decide how far things go and stop whenever I want.
No one corners me and steals my voice anymore.
During those blissful moments, I forget. Memories fade. Fear takes a backseat. The noise in my head finally goes quiet. Granted, it rarely lasts, but it’s worth it.
The clock reads 2:19 am. It’s too early to start the day, and too late to pretend I’ll fall back asleep like this. I’ve tried before. All that happened was that I lay there waiting for the nightmare’s sequel. Yeah, no fucking thank you.
Because I’ve long accepted that my remedy doesn’t involve journaling or talking about feelings, I drag on my boots.
I turn off the bedroom light, then step into the dimly lit hallway.
Roman’s room is farther down the corridor, and Taylor’s is up ahead.
Everyone is still asleep, it seems. Good.
I quietly walk down the staircase, past the darkened living room, and unlock the front door as gently as I can.
Outside, the cold mountain air hits my bare skin like a slap. I inhale deeply, absorbing my surroundings. Countless stars stretch across the Montana sky. The moon hangs low and paints a silver hue across the driveway. Around me, there’s no sign of movement, nobody to watch or judge me.
I step onto the driveway and roll my shoulders before breaking into a jog.
The familiar rhythm comes almost immediately.
My breathing soon settles. And although my heart is still pounding, it’s for a different reason.
Three laps later, my muscles are burning, my skin is tingling, and my lungs feel as if they are about to explode. But the nightmare is a distant memory.
Success.
This always works. A few laps around the property, and by the time I climb back into bed, exhaustion will drag me under before the memories catch me again.