Page 134 of Deliverance

“Hey! You! Let her go!”

My head spins. My heart thuds wildly in my chest. The pressure is gone and I sag against the cold wall. Down. Down. Down. Until my ass hits the floor.

More voices carry over from the mezzanine area. A strong pair of hands yank my body up in the air and hold me there while worried questions come at me from every angle.

“Are you okay?”

“Security!”

“Do you know that man?”

I shake my head and reach for my neck, my hands weightless and tender, each breath burning my insides.

More footsteps. More grunts and screams.

“Where the hell is security?” someone shouts. “He went through the back!”

“Check the parking lot!”

“She’s bleeding. Is there a doctor?”

“Drew!” The sound of my name booms through my head. “Drew!”

All the noises suddenly fall away and Zander’s panicked voice is the only one I hear. “Oh my God! Was it him? Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head as I’m led to a bench or maybe a couch. I’m not sure. More quiet words are said. Soft fingers inspect my face. A napkin is offered to me and I grab it.

When I finally get to sit down, Zander sinks to his knees in front of me. His hands rest on my thighs, warm, callused. His eyes, full of horror, are staring up at me through the dark blur that’s fogged and distorted my vision.

“I’m here,” he says.

My pants are loud and rough and I’m shaking. I’m shaking so hard, I can’t think straight and I don’t remember where I am. What I do remember is the way Rhys’s body felt. Hard and heavy and revolting. And I desperately want to shower, to scrub myself clean of his touch, to get his flesh from under my nails, to wash his blood off my chin. To erase every trace of him from my body.

“You’re okay,” Zander whispers. “Just try to breathe. You’re okay.”

I nod, wrapping my arms around my waist. The napkin I’m clutching crumples between my fingers.

Gently, he pushes back my hair and brushes his knuckles against my neck.

I wince. The pain isn’t bad. I’m too numb anyway. It’s more of a reflex. Everything around my neck feels raw, hot, mangled.

“I’m sorry, Drew.”

Around me, people are gasping and whispering. Then the crowd parts and a security guard comes forward. I register the crackle of his walkie-talkie and Zander’s hushed voice as he rises to his feet and they talk.

“Okay, everyone, please take a step back,” another guard barks, and the spectators quickly disperse, save for a few familiar faces, Alex and Leo included. Expressions tight with concern, they linger down the corridor.

“Drew, baby.” Zander sits next to me on the bench. “I think it’s best to get the police involved. Someone already called.” He carefully wraps his arm around my shoulder and draws me to his broad chest. It’s such a delicate move, I barely notice the warmth of his embrace or the wild pounding of his heart. My consciousness tethers on that dangerous edge, that point of breaking.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers against my hair. “But I think you should. And I’ll be there with you every step of the way no matter what you decide. I promise.”

My throat is coiled with pain and I give up and supply him with another nod.

It’s four in the morning when the car comes to a halt in front of my building.

The exhaustion that washes through me mingles with deep, puzzling alertness. Right there, at the fringe of my mind.

I’m not certain if I’m more upset over my ruined dress or my ruined night. On second thought, it’s probably the latter since there were dozens of other people involved. The event organizers also had to push the screening time back because the police were questioning some of the guests.

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