Page 154 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

The fabric beneath my fingertips roughens. My breath catches.

No. Not now.Not after…

I press closer to Hank’s chest, seeking his heartbeat, but a dissonant seed has been planted. My treacherous brain begins its slow rebellion against the security of the present.

The texture shifts again. Coarse. Scratchy. Like canvas. Like…

No.

Not now.

Not after that.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The darkness should help, should soothe—but it doesn’t.

Behind closed lids, my sense of safety unravels.

Flickering lights.

A metal chair scraping across concrete.

My fingers twitch.

The scent of sweat and fear rises.

Something heavy presses down on my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s memory or my lungs refusing to cooperate.

My pulse quickens.

The mattress beneath me hardens, the plush pillow thinning until my cheek presses against something rough and unyielding.

Concrete.

Cold and damp against my skin.

I try to focus on Gabe’s breathing, but the sound distorts. His skin’s clean, spiced scent—my anchor to the present—dissolves, replaced by somethingacrid and sour.

Unwashed bodies.

Stale sweat.

Urine-soaked corners.

My nostrils flare. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

But my body doesn’t believe my mind. My muscles contract, drawing me into myself as if preparing for a blow. A tiny whimper escapes my throat, but neither man stirs—they’re too deeply asleep to notice the war raging within me.

The darkness behind my eyelids transforms, not gradually now but with the sudden violence of a slammed door. I’m no longer lying between two men who cherish me. I’m huddled against a wall, wrists raw from metal cuffs, mouth stuffed with fabric that tastes of motor oil and someone else’s fear.

I know what comes next.

It’s always the same, and it’s relentless.

Slow, measured footsteps approach from the corridor.

The deliberate pace of someone who has nowhere to be, someone who owns not just this moment but all my future moments.

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