Page 38 of Falling For Us Again

I crack a small smile. “I’m okay, Dylan. I just want to be alone right now.”

After a moment, he nods, but I can see the reluctance in his eyes. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.”

“I will,” I promise, though I know I won’t. Not tonight, at least. I need to sort through my thoughts and feelings without anyone else around.

I get out of the car and walk up to my front door, fumbling with my keys. The door swings open, and step inside. I close the door behind me and lean against it, letting out a long, shaky breath. The silence of the house is deafening, amplifying the turmoil inside me.

I move to the living room and sink onto the couch, pulling a blanket around me. My mind races, replaying the events of the night and the memories they dredged up. I hate that those men still have power over me and that their actions continue to haunt me.

I close my eyes, and I’m transported back to that night. It’s a crisp autumn night, and the air is filled with the scent of fallen leaves. I had just parted ways with Dylan after spending a romantic evening together.

He was supposed to walk me home, but a call from his mother had him rushing back. I assured him I’d be fine, offering a brave smile as he hesitated before finally leaving.

As I walk home, the streets grow quieter and darker. The comforting warmth of our earlier laughter fades, replaced by an uneasy chill. I wrap my coat tighter around myself, my footsteps echoing in the silence.

I glance around nervously, the empty sidewalks offering no reassurance.

Then I see them. Four men are sitting by a car with its doors open, the interior light casting eerie shadows on their faces. They’re laughing and talking loudly, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves.

Fear grips my heart, but I steel myself, deciding to walk briskly past them. I keep my eyes forward, willing myself to be invisible.

But they notice me. I can still hear the murmur of their voices and the rustle of movement. I quicken my pace, my breath coming faster. Just a few more steps and I’ll be out of their reach, I tell myself. But it’s too late. A hand clamps down on my arm, yanking me back.

I scream, my voice piercing the stillness of the night. I struggle, kicking and flailing, but there are too many of them. A resounding slap lands on my cheek, the force of it knocking meto my knees. Pain explodes in my head, and I taste blood in my mouth.

They push me onto the cold, hard pavement. I look up through my tears and see their menacing smiles. One of them leans close, his breath rancid with alcohol. "Isn’t this Jenna, the one with the deadbeat father?" he sneers.

The other men laugh; the sound is cruel and mocking.

My vision blurs with tears. I can’t see their faces clearly, but I will never forget that laughter. I whimper, begging them to stop. My pleas fall on deaf ears as one of them starts to unbuckle his belt, his intentions clear and horrifying.

Desperation claws at my throat as I try to think of a way out. Just as the guy above me begins to lower himself, a loud noise shatters the night. A rock hits the car window, the glass splintering with a sharp crack, pieces of glass flying around us.

They freeze, looking around in confusion.

Another rock follows, then another, each one landing with a resounding thud. The next rock hits the one on top of me on the back of his head with. Blood splatters.

Panic sets in among my attackers. They realize they’ve been caught. Scrambling to their feet, they bolt towards the car, leaving me lying on the ground.

The car roars to life, speeding away with a screech of tires.

I lie there, trembling, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. The sobs come uncontrollably, my body shaking with the force of them. Then I see him—Dylan. He’s the one throwing rocks at the car, his face a mask of fury and fear.

He runs to me, dropping to his knees and pulling me into his arms. I cling to him, my tears soaking his shirt. "Jenna," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry." He holds me tightly, rocking me gently as I cry. That cold night, Dylan’s tears mingled with mine, and the two of us united in my shared pain and relief.

The doorbell ring is sharp, and it pulls me back from that dark place, and I know it’s Dylan before I even open the door. He stands there, a small grocery bag in one hand, concern in his eyes. “I can't leave you alone tonight, Jenna,” he says softly.

Tears prick my eyes at his presence. It is just like him to arrive when I need him to. He knows me a little too well, and in another circumstance, perhaps in the past when all was well, this would have made me smile, but it only makes my heart heavy now.

I step aside to let him in. He heads straight to the kitchen, pulling out a carton of milk and a can of cocoa powder.

“I’m going to make you some hot chocolate,” he announces, his tone gentle. “You always said that hot chocolate made everything better. Let’s hope it still does.”

I watch him as he moves around the kitchen, comforted by the familiarity of his actions. I sit at the table, my fingers tracing the wood grain. Dylan works quickly, and soon the rich aroma of chocolate fills the air. He sets a steaming mug in front of me, his eyes soft with concern.

“Drink up,” he says, sitting down across from me with his mug. “It’ll help.”

I take a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through me, easing some of my frayed nerves. I lean against the chair, letting the sweet beverage work its magic. We sit in silence for a while; the only sound is the occasional clink of our mugs against the table.

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