12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
That Night
— BLACK OUT DAYS BY PHANTOGRAM
As I doodle on my next promotional post, I think back on today and how proud I am of my sister. She graduated college today. She probably doesn't feel like it’s a big deal, but to me, it’s huge. I’ll never have the chance to do that. I graduated high school, but college was never in the cards for me, and that’s okay.
Liv never really had an idea of what she wanted to do, but I know that if she wrote her damn book, she’d find out that being a full-time author is well within her reach.
I’ve never told her I used to secretly read her journal when we were younger, that every story she had started inside caught my attention immediately. My sister is a natural writer, but no amount of support from me could convince her to make the jump.
I’ve tried. I’ve brought it up practically every time I see her, and I know she’s been writing again. After the stunt our parents pulled, I know her mind is going a thousand miles per hour.
I can only hope that Tristan can help her see how amazing she is, and maybe one day, she’ll write the damn book. But Liv has always wanted our parents to notice her, to really see her, even though they never will. I hate that they treated her like she barely existed when we were growing up, and I’ll never forgive them for how they chose to parent us.
Our parents don’t really deserve to have that title, especially since they couldn't go one fucking day without berating my sister about her future. Liv had been graduated for all of five minutes, and they still found a way to ruin it.
But she seemed to be having fun when I was over at Tristan’s place earlier, and I’m glad she has him and all their friends to keep her afloat. She’s embarking on a whole new journey with the love of her life, and I couldn't be happier for her.
Only, the tiny voice in the back of my mind wishes I had something like that too. Sure, I have my friend Ellie, but she’s an influencer friend. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s using me to gain more followers. Teags is all I have, really, and even that might change when she starts college.
The front door slamming open makes me pause. Did my parents forget something? Huh, maybe I’ll have the option to yell at them about earlier before they leave for two weeks. I throw my covers off, determined to march downstairs and pick a fight, before I stop in my doorway.
Something doesn't feel right. I heard the door slam open, but I don't think it ever closed. The hairs on my arms are pricking my skin with awareness, and my stomach is turning. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe I left a window open somewhere.
But in my mind, that doesn't feel right. Ever since my stalker surfaced, every window has been locked, every entry point sealed.
But the alarm isn't going off yet. You have a certain amount of time to punch the code in before police are alerted and the alarm sounds, so it could only be my parents since the only other people who have the code are Liv and Connie.
I shake off the tension covering my body, but when I peer downstairs, I know that my parents aren't home .
Because there’s a person standing in my doorway, back to me, punching in the code to the alarm, something shiny in their right hand.
It looks like a knife.
It’s him. He’s here.
I quietly step back into my room, swiftly shutting the door behind me. I grab my pillows and turn my reading light off, hoping he’ll think I’m asleep.
Maybe he’s not here to hurt me. Maybe he’s just here to scope my house out for next time. Maybe he’s here to watch me sleep and nothing else.
No matter how many excuses come to my mind, I know they’re all wrong.
I might die tonight. I might die all alone in my house, and since my parents won’t be home for two weeks, Liv is probably going to find me.
Liv. I should call Liv. She’ll know what to do.
I grab my phone and head for my favorite hiding spot, shutting the doors to my closet softly behind me as I try not to make noise.
I can hear his heavy footsteps downstairs from here. I wonder if he’s looking for something or if it’s just me he’s trying to find.
Deep breaths, Bree.
But I can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in here, and I suddenly wish I’d die because of that rather than whatever he has planned for me.
When , not if.
His last note was angry. He’s angry with me and how I’ve ignored him, so I know for a fact that when he finds me up here, it’s not going to end well.
Please let me run out of oxygen and not die by his hands.
I dial my sister, turning down the volume in case he gets up here and can hear it. “Don't worry, sis, I have your bracelet. It must’ve—”
“Livvy, there’s someone in the house,” I whisper to her.
“Bree, what are you talking about? ”
I try to sound as coherent as possible when I whisper again, “There’s someone in the house with me, and I don't know who.”
“What? Where are you?”
“I’m hiding in my closet. I heard the door slam open, and I thought it was Mom and Dad, but when I looked downstairs, I saw someone.” My chest starts to seize as the words become hard to get out. I can practically feel my pulse thrum through my body. “I-I think they had a kn-knife, Liv.”
“Stay where you are. Call the police, and they’ll come in from outside. Hang up and call them, Bree. I’ll be there soon.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. His boots are on the stairs. I know for sure because the third step up on our staircase creaks. I think I even hear him whistling some sort of song—like this is a game to him. “Okay, I will. Liv, I’m scared.”
I’m scared that I’m going to die. I’m scared that I’m going to leave this Earth without a trace, that nobody will remember me. I’m scared that I’ll never see you again, that this might be the last time we speak. I’m scared that you’re going to find my body and fall to pieces.
“Bree, you’re going to be fine. It’s just someone trying to scare you.” It’s not. It’s him.
I hear my door creak open, footsteps slowly wading into my room as I try my best not to make a sound. “Wait, I hear footsteps.”
“Bree, call the police right now.”
I don’t have time to answer her before my closet doors are ripped open, and I feel two bare hands grab my ankles, dragging me out of my hiding place. “No! Please!” I somehow flip myself over as he drags me out, and despite trying to kick out of his grasp, it’s no use. I really hope the call hung up because the last thing I want Liv to hear is her sister being murdered over the phone.
I’m clawing at nothing. The carpet beneath my fingertips is useless. He’s too strong for me .
I’m not getting out of this alive.
I feel his hand grasp around my throat as he flips me over, my back landing against the frame of my bed. Fuck, that hurt. I feel my bed move from the sheer force of my body. He’s bigger than me, stronger, and has every advantage.
He’s in control, not me.
It’s now that I realize I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a ski mask over his entire face and neck, and the only thing not covered are his hands—the ones roaming all over my body.
No. No. No.
I see one of his arms shoot out against my bed, forcing it away so I can no longer lean against it. Tears fall from my face, from panic, terror, and I can’t do anything but sit here. I’m frozen.
I’ve always heard that when you’re in a dangerous situation, your body can react in two different ways—fight or flight. I guess I did fight a little at first, but now, I find myself frozen, laying against my carpet.
I don’t feel him on me anymore, but when I lift my head, I hear the lock of my door click before he turns around.
Even in the dark, his gaze disgusts me. I can feel it running all over my body, every hair on the back of my neck standing up.
I’m the prey. He’s the predator.
Shuffle away! Try to get out! Do something, Bree! The voice in my head is speaking, but I can’t find myself trying to do any of that.
I know what happens next. I know where this is going.
I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me.
I lift my head before I crawl back to where my bed sits. I need something to lean against, to tether me to this moment, so if I manage to get out of this alive, maybe I can help identify the guy.
But I doubt that’ll be the case .
“My sweet Bree. You’ve been a bad girl.” His words come out in a low voice, almost croaky, like a frog. I see his hand go into the pocket of his jacket, probably reaching for the knife.
“I-I don't even know you.” I manage to get the words out, but I immediately regret them when he lunges for me, landing a punch on my cheek that’s wet with tears.
“Don't crawl away from me. You know me, Bree! You love me!” This time, he kicks me on the side of my ribs, and I feel myself whimper at the pain. It feels like a firework exploded against my skin. My body hunches over, but his hand around my throat forces me back to sit.
Fuck, this hurts.
I can’t breathe, and before I know it, he throws my upper body to the ground, removing my tether, and I feel him crawl on top of me.
His fingers are calloused and rough as they wander over my body. Stop. Please stop. I don’t want this.
“Sit still, or this won't be that enjoyable. Haven't you dreamed of this day, Bree? Haven't you wished for me to do this to you? To sneak in late at night while you're alone and have my way with you?”
I can barely speak past the tears flowing down my face. “N-No. Get off!” I try to knee him, but his body is too much.
“I know you want this as much as I do, and you’re going to take it, Bree.”
“P-Please, get off me.” I can’t even tell if I’m making sense, but I need him off . I need to wake up from whatever horrible dream I’m having. I want to wake up and call Liv. I want to call Teags and have a reading date like we did last week and tell her how much it meant to me because none of my other friends ever just wanted to hang out. They always had to post about it for the entire internet to see. I want to tell Tristan that I’m glad he loves my sister, that I’m thankful he’s offered so much support to us. He’s the big brother I never had.
Maybe there’s some way to tell them all this when I’m gone. Maybe I can make the breeze blow over their faces or send a ladybug to sit on their hand when they think about me.
“Shut the fuck up! You’re ruining everything!” Another slap is delivered to my cheek, and it burns as bad as the last one. I open my mouth to speak again, and I feel something cold and metal against my face. The knife.
“Do it. Get it over with, p-please.”
Click. Not a knife, then. A gun. He’s holding a gun to my head. “I’m going to take my time with you. Your parents are away, after all. You’re mine to play with, little lamb, and play we will. Don’t make me use this on you. I’d hate to blow your pretty brains out before I’ve had time to enjoy you.” I feel him press his hard-on into me, and I have to fight the urge to throw up.
“N-No.”
“Bree! Stop ruining it!” His voice cracks as he yells before I feel his fingers trail down my body.
No, no, no, no. He rips my cotton shorts off, and I feel exposed. I don't want him to see me. I don't want him to touch me. I want his hands off me. His thick fingers tease my center as he touches me.
He’s going to rape me, and then he’s going to kill me. Tears are falling from my face, and I feel like a failure. I should thrash, scream. I should do something , but my body is frozen as I wait for him to change my life before he kills me when he’s finished.
I feel my body start to tremble as the cold metal of the gun presses further into my face, his other hand exploring my rigid body.
It feels like forever until he stops. Something has forced him to stop.
“Did you call the cops, you fucking bitch? Did you ruin this for us?”
Cops? What cops? His sweaty hands wrap around my throat, and I can’t breathe again, but this time, it’s because of him, not me.
His hands are wrapped around my windpipe, and any minute now, I expect to hear it crack and break under the pressure. My eyes start to flutter, my lungs seizing for air that won’t come.
This is it, I think to myself. This is all the time I’ll ever have on this Earth.
I’m not ready to die. I have so many things left to say, so many years left to live. But it’s not my choice. This man holds my life beneath his hands, and I’m sure he’ll kill me before the police I don't hear seem to arrive.
He picks me up by my throat before he throws me onto my bed now in the corner of my room, and my throat starts seizing, needing air but not getting any. I stop coughing enough to hear him say something before he leaves.
“This isn't over, Bree. No matter where you end up, I’ll find you. If you can’t count on anything else, count on that. You’re mine.” He says those last words with a snarl before he rips my door open and runs out of my room.
I cough what feels like a thousand more times, wanting to crawl under my sheets and forget this entire night before I feel something touch my leg.
He’s back to finish what he started. He’s going to kill me.
“Please don't! Leave me alone!” I kick at whoever it is, finally finding the fight in me, before the sounds of my room get back to my ears.
“Honey, we’re here to help. Do you mind if we take a look at you?”
“Is he gone?” I can barely get the words out, my throat feels like it’s on fire.
“They’re searching the house now, but it seems that way. Can you stand for me?”
The lady reaches her hand out to me, and I shakily take it, but as I get up, my legs give out from underneath me, and the last thing I remember is someone calling for assistance.
Now
I wake with a startle, my hands shooting up to my throat like they always do. “Get off! No, no, no, no.” I run my hands all over myself, checking that I’m okay. My body is sweating, my lungs seizing like they normally do after a nightmare.
Even when I drift off to sleep, these invisible ghosts always seem to haunt me. I’m never going to have peace ever again.
When I’m awake, I’m looking over my shoulder, scared that Ralph is around every corner. When I’m asleep, memories of him and that night come back to haunt me, and no matter what time of day it is, it always ends in the same way.
The panic comes back and my throat closes up, both symptoms of what he did to me that night. Dr. Anna tells me it’s residual—the feeling in my throat. He strangled me enough to leave bruises for a week and even damage my vocal cords for a bit. I could barely speak after what he did.
It happened four years ago, and I can still feel his hands around my throat.
“Bree, look at me, angel,” I hear a voice say before I meet those eyes I know so well.
Vince. He’s here. He’s in my bedroom.
“Can I touch you?”
I somehow nod before I feel his cold hands run up and down my arms. Goosebumps prickle my body as I feel myself come back to reality. How long has he been here?
“You’re safe. There’s nobody else here. You. Are. Safe.” He enunciates every word, trying to make my brain comprehend that it was just a nightmare. “It’s just us here, Bree. Just you and me.”
His voice is low and soft. If I didn't already have goosebumps across my skin, that would’ve done it too.
Vince is here. Vince says I’m safe. Vince always keeps me safe. I’m safe.
I take a few steadying breaths as his hands trail up and down my arms, still a bit cold. Unlike Ralph, Vince’s hands are soft. They’re not calloused or rough, but smooth, and that helps bring me back. I never thought I’d ever be able to handle another man touching me. I always assumed it would remind me of how he touched me that night, but with Vince, it feels safe. His touch feels warm despite his hands being freezing. And he always asks permission.
I feel safe with him, and I never thought I’d feel this way ever again.
I lock eyes with him, and it feels like he can see right through me and the tears that fall from my eyes. His hands stop where mine sit in my lap, and his touch lingers for a moment too long before he shuffles away from me on my bed.
He clears his throat before he speaks again. “Are you okay?”
There’s no use lying to him. “No.” My voice is low and defeated, and I hate how broken I sound. I hate that I’m constantly falling apart and he has to deal with it. Vince didn't sign up for this, and somehow, I feel more broken than I was four years ago.
“What can I do?”
I just shrug. There’s not much anyone can do when it’s my own mind conjuring up these things.
The two of us sit in silence for a few seconds before I feel Vince’s hands grasp onto my comforter. His knuckles look white, and before I can ask him about it, he leaves my room, softly shutting the door behind him.
I note the time on my phone—four in the morning—before I swipe my contacts open and call Dr. Anna. Tears are still streaming down my face, but my body feels steadier than before. When she answers, I know I’m in for a long day considering this is how it started.