11. SARAH
My face snuggles into my pillow, a manly, musky, familiar smell emitting into the air, eliciting a grin as I burrow into the mattress, cocooned in blankets that are…
Wait a minute.
My pillows don’t smell manly.
They smell like apples and honey, my go-to shampoo and conditioner.
Slowly, I turn my face to the side and let my eyelids flutter open, taking in my surroundings. Panic engulfs me. I twist, clutching the blankets to my body, my chest heaving steadily with each terrified breath I take.
Stay calm. Stay calm.
There’s a bookcase on one side, shelving books and trophies, a TV in the corner, and a desk on the side of the room with…a computer. A computer with a camera attached to the top of it pointed directly at me. Dread fills me as I swallow nervously, my mouth going dry.
This can’t be happening. Not again.
A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead as the once comforting layer of blankets on top of me now feels suffocating.
I throw them off of me, relieved to find that I’m fully dressed in the same clothes from last night. But my eyes dart to the camera, my chest tightens, and my breathing becomes erratic.
What the fuck happened?
I remember going to the bar with everyone. I remember Paul driving me home. I remember running out of Paul’s car and talking in the woods…amongst other things, and then… Did I fall asleep in Paul’s car?
I was so exhausted.
Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.
But how the hell could I have let this happen?
I would never voluntarily sleep in another man’s bed.
Not after what happened last time.
A horrifying flashback fills my head.
“I own you” appeared on my phone from an unknown number, followed by a video. My trembling finger clicked play, fear permeating every pore in my body, knowing what I was about to watch.
Bile rises in my throat.
I jump out of the bed on shaking legs, wrapping one of the blankets around me. Tears teeter on the edge, threatening to spill out.
No. No. No.
A soft knock causes my eyes to jump to the door right before it opens. “You’re up.” Paul’s wide smile falters as he looks at me, instantly observing my distress. “What’s wrong?’
“W-why am I here?” I demand.
He takes a step inside, seeming confused. “You fell asleep in my car. I didn’t want to leave you alone after your panic attack, so I brought you here to sleep in my bed. I slept downstairs on the couch.”
“No. No. No. Not again.” I run my fingers through my hair, shaking my head.
“Sarah, breathe.” He reaches out for me, but I instinctively flinch, stepping back. His eyebrows pinch together as pain flashes across his face. “What’s wrong?” he asks again.
I point a shaking finger toward the computer, the source of the problem. “That!”
He looks at the computer and then at me. “What about it?”
“Did you film me in bed?” Tears stream down my face. The rational part of me knows that we didn’t have sex in his bed last night and knows that Paul would never film me, but the part of me right now that is stuck back in time, living through the same nightmare every single day, isn’t being rational.
She’s fearful. She’s scared. And she’s so fucking tired of having this video hanging over her head like a goddamn storm cloud ready to unleash terror upon her.
“What?” he asks, bewildered by my accusation.
“Di-did you film me?” I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes.
He hesitates before asking, “Why would you think I would do that to you?”
“It’s facing me!” I scream, opening my blurry eyes. The palms of my hands brace the sides of my head, dropping the blanket as my fingers dig into my scalp.
He walks over to his computer and examines it. “Everything is off, Sarah.” His voice is calm as he removes the camera piece sitting on the top. “This isn’t even plugged in. It’s for gaming.” He picks up a pair of thick headphones and a controller lying on the desk. “See?”
I shake my head; my whole body is a trembling mess. “I have to go.”
I move for the door, but he blocks me, holding my shoulders in place so I can’t run.
He looks up at the ceiling, clenching his jaw. When his eyes fall back onto me, they’re void of all emotion except rage. “Did someone film you?” he asks, cautiously as though knowing my secret when it’s imperative that he never finds out.
Because if I tell him the truth, he’ll try to take care of the problem for me, and there’s no fixing this. It’s already too late. I’m already risking enough just being here right now.
“I need to go!” I say forcefully, yanking my shoulder out of his grip.
“Sarah, talk to me!” His voice is rough and enraged.
“Let me go,” I plead through a sob. “I want…I want nothing to do with you. I lied to you. That night, it meant nothing to me. I barely remember it. You were just one of many. So just let me fucking go.” I bang the palm of my hands against his chest, my fingers shaking, giving away every ounce of fear within me, but not of Paul. Never of Paul. But only fear that the longer I stay here, the greater the chance of me slipping up any second and telling him what he wants to hear—the truth. “P-please,” I beg, my voice quivers.
He looks down at me, and there’s so much fury reflected in his eyes, but I know it’s not aimed at me when his grip on my shoulders loosens and he steps away, letting me run out the door and down the stairs, feeling a tightness in my chest like I’ve never experienced before.
* * *
It’s been days since I ran out of Paul’s room like the world was set on fire. And my heart hasn’t felt the same.
Staring at the blank canvas, I feel utterly ashamed.
I came to the art studio to escape my own thoughts.
The cruel words I lashed out at him have played over and over again in my mind like a broken record, and no matter what I do, I can’t make them stop. I can’t push the pain away.
And after sitting here for hours, the only thing I’ve accomplished is mixing black and white paint, forming an ominous grey, representing my mood.
How could I say those words to Paul?
How could I look him in the eyes and hurt him like that?
Because I had no choice.
I won’t let Greyson ruin Paul’s career.
I can’t do it.
With a defeated sigh, I drop my paintbrush in its holder and remove my smock. There’s no point in creating art tonight when I feel like this.
Walking the path back to my apartment, I look up at the bright, prominent moon above me, fighting with everything inside me to keep the tears at bay.
I’m depleted. Both mentally and physically, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
The second I enter my bedroom, I make my way over to my bed, slide under the covers, still wearing my clothes, and cuddle up into the center of the bed with Teddy, closing my eyes and searching for an escape from reality.
Just as I’m about to fall asleep, my phone vibrates on my nightstand, making me jump. Rubbing a hand down my face, I reach for it and bring it right before my eyes, which bolt open when I see Paul’s name flash across the screen.
Should I answer it?
It’s one in the morning.
He’s probably drunk.
But what if something’s wrong?
Pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand, I press the green button with my other, waiting to hear his voice.
“S-Sarah?” Paul slurs.
“Paul? Is everything okay?”
“I just don’t feel great. I didn’t know who else to call.”
I sit up straight. “What do you mean? Where are you?” Suddenly, shrill voices and deafening music float through the phone. “Are you at a party?”
“Yeah. I just needed a…distraction.”
My chest squeezes, remembering how he was the perfect distraction for me, and here I am, running away from him when he needs the same.
“Let…let me be your distraction, Paul,” I say softly, gripping my phone.
“No. It’s too dangerous for you here.”
I panic. “What do you mean? Where are you? I’ll come and get you. Just please tell me where you are.”
“The Kappa Alpha house,” he gets out.
My chest pounds as I rub at my throbbing temple. Returning to that house fills me with dread of epic proportions.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Okay.” I press my hand to my chest, trying to calm myself as Paul taught me. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “Just stay where you are. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Sarah?”
“Yeah?” I jump out of bed, pressing my phone between my shoulder and ear, while I find a hoodie on the floor to throw over myself.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, coming to a halt.
“For thinking there was something between us when there wasn’t.” He pauses before saying, “I guess it was only me who felt it.”
My eyes sting with unshed tears as my heart cracks, my chest tightening to the point of unbearable pain.
“No, Paul. Please forget everything I said to you the other day. Okay? I didn’t mean it. I was just…not in the right headspace. But please stay where you are. I’m leaving now.”
Fifteen minutes later, I park in front of the frat house with a horrible feeling in my gut. Cars are lined up and down the street on both sides, and people are filing in and out as music blares from the large house. I hadn’t been to this house in a few years and had planned on never returning.
But I’m here for Paul. That’s it. Nothing bad will happen this time.
I’m in control.
Just as I’m about to leave my car, I realize I might need assistance, so I grab my phone.
Sarah
I need your help. I think Paul’s in trouble. Can you meet me at the Kappa Alpha house?
Nate
I’m on my way.
Walking inside the house, I’m immediately assaulted with anxiety. This was the house that changed me. And not for the better.
People crowd every square inch of this place, shoving past me as I make my way inside, with drinks in their hands that conveniently dribble onto me.
“Back the fuck off,” I shout at one guy who walks right into me, too drunk to realize I’m standing in front of him.
He leers down at me before side-stepping around me, eventually swaying into the wall.
Shaking my head, I walk farther into the house until, after what feels like forever, relief fills me as I spot Paul sitting on a chair in the corner of the large room. That relief quickly dissipates as I notice his head lolled to the side, a nearly empty bottle of vodka in his hand, and…a girl sitting on his lap.
What the actual fuck?
Fury radiates through me as I approach them, never letting my eyes look elsewhere. But the closer I get to Paul, the more I notice the subtle hints of how incapacitated he is. His eyes are red and glossy, his eyelids are barely open, and his tongue keeps poking through his lips, appearing as though he can’t feel it at all.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I place both hands on my hips, sneering at the girl who looks way too comfortable on Paul’s lap as her hand rubs over his chest. Her bright pink dress does nothing to contain her store-bought boobs.
“Who the fuck are you?” the girl questions, appearing pissed off at my interruption.
“Sarah,” Paul slurs, trying to sit up but barely able to move.
“I’m here for him,” I respond, my nails digging into the palms of my hands. “So I suggest you remove yourself before I do it for you.”
The girl laughs.
She. Fucking. Laughs.
“Paul doesn’t seem like he wants me to go. In fact, he seems pretty content with me staying right here.” She pats his chest and places the side of her head on his shoulder, a smug smile creeping on her face.
“He’s clearly not in his right mind.” The anger inside me boils beneath my skin as my body shakes with adrenaline. “This is your final warning. Remove yourself before I have to do it for you.”
“Umm…I don’t think so.” Her hand slides dangerously low on Paul’s chest. “I think we’re going to move this private party upstairs to one of the bed—”
I don’t think.
All I see is a haze of red when I grab her by her hair, dig my nails into her scalp, and pull her off of Paul, watching with satisfaction as she stumbles to the floor on all fours.
Her bleach-blonde extensions, now ripped from her head, remain in my iron-clad grip.
She looks up, scowling at me. But that dreadful grimace falters as her eyes widen, noticing what I have in my hand. Her hands repeatedly tap the top of her head, and a horrified scream slips from her lips as she jumps up on her feet. “You fucking bitch!”
“I warned you to get off of him.” Standing in front of Paul, preventing this piece of trash from getting near him, I shrug, dropping the extensions to the floor.
She screams and suddenly throws herself at me, but just as I lift my arms to block my stomach, I witness Nate step between us and reach for the girl’s arm, taking her by surprise as he turns her around in one swift motion, pinning her arm to her back.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he seethes. People begin to whisper and stare as he guides the girl toward the front of the house. “If I ever see you near them again, you will regret it. Do you understand me?”
The girl nods, and Nate releases her arm, letting her scurry off into the crowd.
“What happened to him?” Nate asks, his eyes roving over a barely conscious Paul.
“I don’t know.” To think of what that girl might have done to him if I didn’t get here in time makes my insides boil. “He called me to say he wasn’t feeling well.”
Nate takes the almost empty bottle of vodka from his hands, tossing it to the side before running an exasperated hand over his face. “I’d say from the amount of alcohol in him, he’s not going to be feeling well tomorrow either.” He sighs, reaching behind Paul, trying to help him to his feet, but it’s pointless. The man can barely utter a complete sentence, let alone walk. Nate stands and looks at me. “Do you think if I take one side, you can take the other?”
I nod, stretching out my arms before me. “This will be fun.”
An hour later, we make it to the bottom of the stairs in Nate and Paul’s house. I look up, count how many steps we need to take, and mentally prepare myself.
“I know it’s not my place,” Nate starts, “but I think you should know how good of a guy Paul is.”
“I know—”
“No.” He shakes his head as we reach the fifth step. “I don’t think you do. As much as it pisses me off, there’s a reason why Natalie refers to him as a goddamn teddy bear.”
We reach the top step just as Paul chuckles and then slurs, “Teddyyyyy bearrrrrr.”
Nate grins, opening Paul’s bedroom door. “This guy takes care of the people he cares about. And he deserves someone who would do the same for him. He’s been off this past week, keeping to himself. I wasn’t really sure why, but I think now I’m starting to.” He pins me with a look, but it’s not judgmental. If anything, it’s understanding. “So, all I’m trying to say is, please don’t hurt him, Sarah.”
I nod, swallowing the large lump in my throat. The last thing I want to do is hurt Paul, but I’m unintentionally doing it every day by not telling him my secret—our secret.
We push Paul onto his bed, and Nate rolls him toward the center so he doesn’t fall off. “Jesus. That was a workout.” He wipes his forehead with his forearm.
As Nate steps away, I move toward the bed to remove Paul’s shoes and pull the blanket up around him.
“Sarah?” Paul murmurs, his eyes fluttering open the tiniest bit.
“Yeah, Paul?” I stroke my hand over his cheek.
“Can you stay?”
“I…umm…” I glance over at Nate, leaning against the doorframe. He nods in understanding, closing the door behind him.
My eyes move around Paul’s room, immediately spotting the camera on his computer, causing me to stiffen. But I know Paul would never take advantage of me, so as I take off my hoodie, I say, “Just for a few minutes. Okay?”
A sleepy smile appears on his face as I crawl under the covers beside him. I try to create space between us, but Paul’s arm suddenly wraps around my waist, bringing me up against his chest.
I sigh, giving up as I let myself enjoy this feeling of contentment from being in his arms. If I’m honest with myself, it’s the best feeling in the world.
It’s where I feel the safest I’ve ever felt.
“I always feel better when we’re like this,” he mumbles. “You and me.” He brushes his lips against my neck, and it takes everything in me not to turn to face him.
Not to admit that I feel the same damn way.
“Good night, Paul,” I whisper, my heart slowly breaking, knowing I will never end up with someone as good as him.
He responds by pressing his lips against my neck before slumping his head on his pillow, soft snores filling his room.