Page 20 of Falling With a Spin

I gave her a brief explanation of what happened, letting her know that I crashed at Garrett's place with his friend.

“Can you come pick me up?” I ask, and it comes out in a whisper.

“Yeah, I will be there soon.” The phone line goes dead, and I hand it back to Garrett.

“Emma, Hunter is right,” Garret says. “We can help you; you’re not alone in this.” but he’s wrong, I am alone. I was alone when Garrett and Justin found me. I was alone when Chad raped me. Or I think that’s what he did. I still can’t seem to put my thoughts together.

A few minutes later, I head towards the door, not looking back. I need to be strong, and with time, I will eventually be okay. I'm just broken and confused right now. Taylor pulls up, and Garrett calls my name before I open the passenger door.

“We’ll be here if you change your mind.” They all give me a wave except one piercing blue-eyed guy who leans against the wooden porch.

Giving them a tight lip smile, I turn away and climb into the car. Taylor turns to look at me, probably about to suggest brunch or coffee, and sees my puffy eyes with the mascara running down my face. She opens her mouth to say something, but I shake my head. She nods and turns back, facing the road. We drive towards our apartment in complete silence. It might seem like I’m giving up and letting him win, but I'm not. I'm fighting for myself right now to keep everything together until I can figure out what really happened.

Chapter 9

Emma

One Week Later

It's been one week since I woke up at Garrett's house in nothing but a Blink 182 shirt. One week since Taylor picked me up and started questioning me about what happened. Eight days since I last saw Chad. Nine Days since I last attended classes; it's fall break, so missing a few days won't be detrimental except for the one I’m almost failing.

All I have been doing is lying in bed, repeating the night over and over in my head, asking myself what really happened and if it was my fault.

The second night after the party, is when the memories all came back to me. The feeling of my underwear being ripped, the cold leather being wrapped around my wrists; there are still red marks, and the feel of his hands wrapping around my neck. But there is one thing that won't leave my head no matter what.

Is that what really happened? Would Chad do that to me?

As if I summoned him myself, my phone starts ringing, and Chad's contact flashes up with the picture of him and me from when he took us to a carnival a few months back.

Irritation bubbles inside me at the nonstop calling and texting.

There are more messages before and after that, but they aren’t worth looking at or responding to. Chad hasn’t been the only one calling, either. Layla has called me twice and texted me to see if it would be alright for her to drop off notes from our class. Most of my responses have been short and one worded. Even the text to my dad was a thumbs up when he sent over my flight information for the trip. My mom has been radio silent, which usually means she is busy with Liz and Kelly.

I silence the call and place it back on the nightstand, which is filled with water bottles and snacks that Taylor has been leaving at my door. My eyes roam over the pictures of dancers that hang on my wall, and a different ache moves through me, one of wanting and longing.

During the times when my brain would be going a million miles a minute, or when I would find myself in a dark place, I would end up in the dance studio alone. Playing music and moving with the words. Dancing helped me in more ways than one. Except now, the dark times sneak in, and they make themselves at home now, feeding off of my worry and anxiousness.

Turning my back to where I face the wall, I pull the covers back over my head and close my eyes, hoping that when I wake up again, the past few days are just a nightmare.

Two Weeks Later

I wonder how much longer I can stay in my room before insanity starts creeping in. Maybe I have already gone insane. I haven’t really eaten anything in the two weeks that I’ve locked myself in here, and I sure as hell haven’t taken a shower since I’m still in the same clothes from that morning.

Every time I close my eyes, that night plays over in my head, keeping me up at night. Some of them have turned into nightmares, and I will find myself curled up against the wall crying. Chad's messages have become more persistent each day, worrying if I’m even alive. At one point, he even came over, but Taylor told him that I’ve been sick.

A few days ago, Taylor came knocking, yelling through the door that if I don’t pull my ass out of bed and go to work, then I will lose my job. I won't, though. I called up Liam after my first missed shift, letting him know something personal came up. He didn’t ask for details, which I’m thankful for, but he’s letting me use up the vacation hours I’ve earned till I’m ready to come back. I know Taylor is worried about me, along with a list of people, but I just can’t seem to care. Which isn’t who I am.

Maybe that girl is gone.

I throw the covers off me, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling. Everything inside just feels numb. I ended up crying for the first two days but haven’t been able to muster up any emotions since. I could be dehydrated, but I don't want to drink water for it to only come out of my eyes.

I decide to get up and stretch my arms over my head. I look over to my desk, where my notes and textbooks lay untouched that Layla brought over. The only time Taylor came into my room was to bring them to me, and then she tried to coax me into coming downstairs for some soup. I made a disturbing animal noise at her, Taylor left shortly after that and hasn’t made another attempt.

I walk into the bathroom, turn on the light, and squint against the brightness. I turn towards the mirror and look at myself for the first time in a while. I’m a goddamn mess. My hair is matted everywhere, and the makeup from that night is still barely on. I have designer bags under my eyes that I made myself. I look at my wrists and still see the faint red marks from the belt that was wrapped around my hands, slowly fading. I take a glance at my legs to see the bruises are still there, except they are blue-greenish in color now.

I turn away from the mirror and the broken girl that stands before me and turn on the shower. The hot water hits me and soothes the aches that have been building up from staying in bed for the last two weeks. It may even wash away the scars and marks that are forever embedded into me.

School starts back up after this weekend, and I don’t know if I want to go back. I should go back, and I don’t really want to get kicked out and have to explain to my mom why I’m suddenly moving back home.

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