Page 32 of Fractured Fear

Or maybe it’s just two men in particular.

Every time I see an attractive guy, I don't get those flutters in my stomach. Not like I did when I metthem.

Instead, I see a hand itching to leave bruises on my body or words perfectly sharpened and aimed to hit where it’ll hurt for years to come.

How does one even date in today’s world? I’m not downloading Tinder on my phone so I can get harassed by men asking if I’m “DTF.” As if the catcalls in the street aren’t enough? No thanks.

Iris slings her arm around my neck and says too loud, “Come dance with us!” She’s not drunk but well on her way.

“I’m good. I’ll just sit here.”

“Aww. Come on! What if I request your favorite song?”

“Nope. Still good.”

“Please! Consider it team bonding.”

Knowing she won’t give up until I give in, I cave. “Fine, but just one song. Okay?”

“Yeah sure. Whatever you say, Boss.”

By her tone I know she won’t let me sit down until my feet feel like they’re going to fall off. Damn Earlier Spencer for thinking these heels were a good idea. I should have just worn tennis shoes.

When we first get out to the dance floor, I feel awkward and uncomfortable. I’m self-conscious, thinking people are watching and judging. Worried that the wrong man will get a dumb idea, and we’ll have a repeat of what happened the first time I went out.

Slowly, I allow myself to feel the beat and get lost in the moment. It’s difficult for me to let go, but I remind myself that Iris’ friends are nice. They’re the kind of women who build each other up. The kind we need more of in the world. They have my back simply because of my XX chromosomes.

Swaying my hips, I allow myself to feel free even if it’s just for a moment.

Everything I do in my life is to keep myself safe. The running, the workouts, the meticulous perimeter checks, making sure no one is going to jump out at me. But right now, I can simply be. Just like when I’m creating with clay.

Next thing I know, there’s a pair of hands on my hips and they’re definitely a man’s hands. I go to step out of his hold but he pulls me back, so my ass is flush with his unimpressive dick. My fear takes over in the moment and I struggle. Suddenly I’m not in Moonlit anymore, I’m in a cold house with unfeeling rooms and a monster who doesn’t care when I beg and plead with him.

“Spencer, Spencer. What am I going to do with you now?”

“P-please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Let me go!” I ram my elbow back into the guy’s stomach at the same time I throw my head back, hoping I hit something, which I do. I don’t hear a crunch over the loud music, but I hear an “oof” and he lets go.

“What the hell, bitch!”

I turn and see a man I don’t recognize. Shame and panic wash over me in an unbearable wave.

Oh my God. I just did that.

I turn to leave but an inked arm wraps around me. “You’re okay, Mama. I got you.”

“Did you just put your hands on her?” I peek over my shoulder to see Zane in the stranger’s face.

“I was just having some fun, man. It’s not like there’s a ring on her finger.”

“I don’t give afuckif there’s a ring or not. You touched her.” Zane leans in and says something in the man’s ear. His skin turns ashen, and he scurries away.

What did Zane say to him?

Rio’s soothing words fade as I breathe.

One. Two. Three. Four—breathe in. Breathe in the shame. Breathe in the fear.

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