Page 43 of Keep Me Safe

“No, please, let go of me!” I slur out, but the music is too loud. No one is going to hear. The alcohol is still running through my system, making it hard to do anything.

I hear a door open.

He carries me inside, dropping me onto a mattress.

The door closes.

And locks.

No, no, no.

“Please stop, Zach,”

He ignores me as he hovers over me, a sick grin on his lips. I want to throw up. I squeeze my eyes shut as he unbuttons my shorts and yanks them down my legs. A tear falls down my cheek.

I am all alone.

There’s no one to stop him.

With each touch from him, I lose more pieces of myself until I’m a shell of the girl who stepped into this house.

It feels like forever, the violation, the pain.

When he finally finishes, he shoves off me.

“Fucking slut,” he says as he heads for the door.

He leaves me there.

Trembling, I move to find my clothes. I need to get dressed so I can leave. I need to get out of here. I try to hold back my sobs as I pull my clothes on.

I open the door a crack, looking into the living room. Jared is out there with Jake and Zach. They’re all laughing at some joke Jake told. My stomach twists. I can’t go out there. I need to go home.

My mind is still slow from the drinks earlier, and my hand shakes as I reach for the handle to the back door. The temperature has dropped, and I’m still only in shorts and atank top. Shivering, I start the long walk home. It’s probably only a few miles, but it takes me over an hour. Mom’s car is in the driveway when I get there.

“Where have you been?”

Words refuse to come as a sob racks my chest. She looks up at me, the faintest hint of concern in her eyes.

“What did you do?”

I tell her what happened, needing her to be a normal mother, just this once. She sits for a moment, sighing.

“Well, look what you’re wearing. I mean, what did you expect?”

The cops end up sharing the same sentiment.

Noah looks up at me, his expression unreadable at first—then shifting, darkening, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

This is it.

My chest tightens. My fingers curl into fists on my lap, nails digging into my palms. I already know what’s coming. The judgment. The words I’ve heard before, spoken in different voices but always meaning the same thing—You did this to yourself. You were reckless. You should have known better.

I brace for it, for the disappointment, for the blame that will turn my shame into something unbearable. Ideserveit, don’t I?

But it doesn’t come.

Noah shifts closer, lowering himself beside me, and when he speaks, his voice is nothing like I expected. No accusation. No anger. Just quiet certainty.

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