Page 23 of The Oath We Give

There, floating at the top of her drink, is an undissolved pill floating at the top. My hand is shaking as I sling the liquid inside the glass in his face. Alcohol drips down the front of his mouth.

“What the fuck!” He runs his hand down his face, wiping it off with malice. “You’re gonna get it, you stupid fucking bitch-”

I’ve never been aggressive like this before, never been the type of girl to swing first, ask questions later. But tonight is apparently the evening of firsts.

My fist slams into his nose, barely feeling the recoil in my arm. Blood spouts from his nose, leaking like a waterfall onto the clear floor beneath us. People around notice the animosity, causing chaos to erupt.

Shouting. Shoving. People trying to escape before security arrives.

It’s all a blur for my eyes. My chest is heaving, mind starting to spiral, and emotions that have no business being here bubble up inside me. I hitch my arm back, ready to swing on this guy again, who is holding his nose, trying to back up from me.

I just want to see him bleed out. Choke on it and die right here on this floor.

Just as I swing again, a singular arm curls around my waist. Strength rocks my body backward into a brutally solid chest. I squirm in his grip, kicking my feet but moving nowhere.

Jesus, fuck, this security guard is big.

My nails dig into the forearm sealed around my torso, clawing at his skin, but I’m merely a kitten attacking Godzilla. He’s barely fazed by my weak fighting style. He simply gets moving us back away from the crowd in front of me.

“The girls! I can’t just leave them!” I scream, frantically swinging my eyes around to find the people I’d just met but don’t want to leave to fend for themselves.

But when I catch a glimpse of them, there are three larger bodies covering them, guiding them away from the turmoil. My stomach churns with unease, crashing adrenaline, and alcohol, making a violent concoction in my stomach.

I’m about to throw up, about to tell him as much as we disappear from the packed club to a secluded, dimly lit hallway. Where are we going? Where is he taking me?

No, no, no. Not again. This can’t happen again. Please.

My feet hit the floor, the quiet echo of music in the distance in the tail of my mind, as my back meets the wall, exposed skin tingling as the cool surface presses into me.

Muscular hands cage me in. I feel the weight of chains that shackled me to cold lonely nights. My stomach rumbles for food I’ll never taste. I’m desperate for fresh air that doesn’t taste like mildew on my tongue.

The fight in me earlier no longer exists. I’ve allowed fear to swallow me whole and leave me frozen. My hands shake uncontrollably, thoughts a jumbled mess, a chaotic whirlwind of past and present worries. The overwhelming feeling that something terrible is about to happen will not leave my stomach.

The mind is a dangerous place, and mine has been taken over by a storm, spiraling, drowning me while I desperately search for an anchor amidst the raging wind.

“Please,” I beg.

God, I hate myself. The half-choked plea is bitter in the back of my throat, and I feel pathetic for speaking it aloud. I shake my head back and forth, my body slumping against the wall.

I can’t go back to the basement.

I can’t be a victim, not again.

I can’t.

I’m choking on memories of trauma I hate. He said he’d come back for me, and it took me a while to realize he didn’t just mean physically. My breaths are shallow, tiny gasps as if my lungs are afraid to take in too much air.

Stephen Sinclair would never leave me alone.

I would smell him in the air. Feel his presence behind my shoulder with every step forward I took. Hear his voice in my dreams. I’m determined only the bittersweet mercy of death’s hands would deliver me from him.

I’m falling apart for everyone to see, and I can’t stop it.

Time loses its grip on me. Seconds stretch out into eternity, yet everything moves in fast-forward. I’m hyperaware of every sensation, every sound, every flicker of movement around me. It’s as if my senses are on overdrive, each input bombarding me relentlessly, making me feel like I’m about to unravel.

My chest tightens even more, body trembling, my muscles tensed as if ready to flee from an unseen threat. The room seems like it’s closing in on me, the walls pressing closer and closer.

I need to escape, to find someplace safe, even though I don’t think I’ve ever known what safety truly looks like.

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