Page 21 of Fearless

Besides the bed, there’s a couch against one wall and a closet off to one side. A light behind it could be shining on stairs.

This room’s too big to be a bedroom.

That’s because it’s a dungeon.

I try to laugh off the thought, but my throat’s too tight.

Well, either way, I’ve decided I don’t like it here. It’s time to leave.

I start to swing my legs over the side of the bed, and stop.

There’s a dark smudge on my inner thigh. When I bring my leg closer, it resolves into a streak of blood.

An invisible sledgehammer slams into my chest. My fingers dig into the sheets.

But by then, the panic attack has me in its claws.

You are not dying, Meisie. This is just your PTSD kicking in. Think nothing of the fact that you’ve just woken up in a strange room covered in blood. You, not the room.

Fuck, what if thewhole roomis covered in blood?

A shriek tries to claw its way out of my throat, but I bite it back with ruthless determination.

Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

It’s simple. You’re going to get up, and you’re going to find the door—

What if there’s no door? What if I’ll be trapped down here forever?

—there’s always a door, so shut up and listen. You will find the door, and you will leave. It’s that simple.

Because this time, youcanleave.

I clap my hands over my face and burrow my head between my knees.

“He’s not here, Meisie.”

This time the voice isn’t mine, but that of my overpaid psychiatrist whose brilliant idea it was to try regressive hypnosis.

I’m sure she did it just for kicks, the sick bitch.

It’s like she’s sitting a yard away, her long nails tapping on the screen of her iPad because she’s too progressive to write shit down in a notepad like normal people.

“Let’s go back, Meisie. Take me back to the first moment you saw him. The night you met Alex Du Toit.”

It’s a hot and dry Friday night, and I’m dressed like I’m looking for dick. Which I am. I’m sick of being the only virgin in my clique. But that’s all about to change.

I spot Alex across the crowded bar like I’m the lead role in one of those cheesy rom-coms. He turns and our eyes lock. His smile sends a tremor through me, and then he’s weaving through the crowds, heading straight for me.

“What do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?”

Alex grabs my hand and leads me off the dance floor. His dirty-blond hair catches stray beams of rainbow light thrown from the bar’s spinning mirror ball. Weed smoke hangs in a haze over the bar and no wonder—it’s reggae night tonight.

“Where does he take you?”

The alleyway outside reeks of cat piss and stale beer, which is hilarious because the club’s name is Cat’s Pajamas. He said he wanted to get some fresh air, but I know he’s lying when we end up here. Then he lights a joint and it’s obvious he just wants to get nasty.

And it would be nasty. I’m not going to fuck him in an alleyway. It’s my first time. I want it to be special.

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