Page 87 of Aria

He was here. He was waiting for me.

And I was completely alone.

“Ian.” My mouth was so dry, the word had barely squeaked out. Every extremity began to shake at the sight of him.

“Hey, Chelly Bean,” he grinned. “It’s been a while.”

I pressed my fingernails into my palms, reminding myself that I was indeed awake. This was not a recurring nightmare. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you.”

Swallowing, my heart leaped.

Ian had changed over the years, his complexion haggard and gaunt. His cheeks were sunken-in, sharpening his already prominent features. Strands of silver hair peeked out through his mop of blonde curls. I idly wondered what I’d ever seen in him, aside from a broken man who needed fixing. “Ian… you need to leave. You need to stay away from me.”

There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he stepped toward me. “Oh, Chelsie. Innocent, naïve Chelsie,” he sing-songed. “We have so much to catch up on.”

Flustered, I pulled out my phone to dial 9-1-1, but Ian was on me before I could complete the call.

A scream pierced the air, echoing deftly through every room, every hallway, every nook and cranny. It was my scream. It was the same scream from all those years ago. The inflection, the pitch, the spectrum of fear. Nothing had changed. This scream belonged to Ian. He had dusted it off and brought it back to life like a special piece of china only unboxed for special occasions.

Ian knocked the cell phone from my hands, wrapping his fingers around my neck and pressing me further into the wall. “I wouldn’t do that. Lover boy isn’t gonna save you.”

I lifted my chin with as much courage as I could muster. “I don’t need saving anymore.”

“No?” His fingers curled as he leaned in, alcohol-laced breath tickling my face and curdling my insides. Two slate eyes danced with amusement. “Little damsels always need saving.”

“I’m strong now,” I gulped, my quivering body betraying my words. “A fighter.”

“I hope youdoput up a fight,” he leered, grazing his fingers down my throat, then my chest, until he was palming my breast in his dirty hand. “More fun that way.”

I spit in his face.

Saliva dribbled down his cheekbone and along his jaw while rage blackened the humor in his eyes. Ian paused to study me, his tongue poking out to lick away the remnants of my spit. “You still taste sweet,” he bit out, muscles twitching with anger. “Bet your pussy does, too.”

Panic coursed through me as I began to struggle in his grip. “Get off me, Ian.”

“How ‘bout I get offinyou?”

“Don’t touch me. Let me go!” When I clawed at him, my fingernails raking down the side of his neck, he tackled me, tossing me to the floor like I was a bag of trash.

My head struck hard against the wood grains, and I saw stars.

They weren’t stars, though. It was only my occipital lobe sending out electrical signals, forcing shocks of light to permeate my vision.

Stars were meant for wishes and fairytales.

This was no fairytale.

“Just like old times, huh?” Ian snarled as he mounted me, straddling my waist and pinning my wrists above my head with one hand. He used his free hand to unzip my jeans and tug them down my legs. “Time to take back what’s always been mine.”

Fear drenched me.

No, no, no.

I felt weak.

I had no fight in me when he overpowered me like this; I was accustomed to Ian taking what he wanted.

---