Page 10 of Nowhere to Run

It wasn’t sweet or careful.

It was primal.

Raw and rough.

Heat flooded my face, a mix of embarrassment and something darker stirring deep inside me. I clenched my fists, trying to push the memory away, but the image of his hands, his dominance, lingered.

He’d taken what he wanted, but that didn’t make me a slut. It didn’t make me less. I was still… pure as a princess.

With that, I forced myself to push forward, heading out of my room and down the stairs, determined to leave it all behind.

Chapter Three

Iopened the front door and stopped short, startled by the sight before me. A dozen roses lay on the wooden porch, their velvet-red petals vivid against the worn planks. The deep crimson mocked me—a reminder of the fire that still smoldered beneath my skin.

I bent down, fingertips grazing the delicate blooms as I breathed in their rich aroma, stunned.

Are these from Ryan?

A wave of guilt pressed into me as I stood there, uncertain. My gaze flicked to the quiet street—two people walking, someone getting in their car. Nothing out of the ordinary.

And yet…

I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on me.

Watching.

Waiting.

My stomach twisted as I reached into the bouquet, fingers trembling.Where’s Ryan’s note?

I dug deeper, the thorns pricking my skin, sharp and sudden. A sting, then warmth, as a bead of blood welled on my fingertip.

Ouch.

I pressed down hard, trying to stop it from seeping down my hand.

Where is it, dammit? These are from Ryan. They have to be.

I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to stay calm, to hold back tears. Why did it matter so much?

I stood motionless on the porch, my pulse uneven, a slow, creeping deja vu rolling over me like a wave.

I was back in high school. Sophomore year. Standing at my locker, I spun the dial, the lock clicking open, and pulled the metal door wide. My breath caught. A folded sheet of school-lined paper lay inside, my name—Scarlett—scrawled across the front in messy cursive.

A boy’s handwriting.

My pulse fluttered as I reached for it, fingers trembling with anticipation. Who could this possibly be from? I unfolded it quickly, ready to devour every word. Maybe he’d compare my face to a delicate flower, like the poetry we read in English class. Maybe he’d tell me I was beautiful. Special. Wanted.

But as my eyes scanned the first few lines, my stomach dropped.

This wasn’t a love note.

It was something else. A threat. A promise.

Dear Scarlett,

I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day.

---