Page 27 of Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 1)

The path in question—the one that led to the worst night of my life—appears to my right. It is a well-worn dirt trail, taken by countless others over the years, and as I pass it now, I can feel my body turn towards it.

As if it wants to go that way, for some masochistic reason.

But I resist.

I don’t want to relive that night ever again.

I turn right and stay on the main trail, and do my best to breathe through the sudden tightness in my chest.

I’m fine. My legs are working. My blood is pumping. And I’m alone. No one is closing in behind me. No one is chasing me through the trees.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

But it’s not enough. The memory comes crashing back over me. Worse now than it was when I ran into Finn in the hallway at school yesterday.

It’s dark. Trees all around me. I’m sweating, running.

I think I’m lost. I don’t usually run in the dark, so I might’ve missed a turn somewhere, and now I’m not sure if I’m running back towards home or just getting deeper and deeper into the woods.

I can’t hear much over the sound of my own breathing and the crunch of the ground beneath my feet…

Until the sound of a girl’s pained whimper stops me cold.

Then, I see the girl.

She is bent over the bench seat on the other side of the table with a naked guy standing behind her. There is another naked guy in front of her. Two or three more standing around waiting their turn.

Her mouth is open. It looks like she’s screaming.

“Stop!” I yell the words out loud. In the present—not in the memory. My heart is pounding way harder than it ought to be.

I press a hand to my heart and try to remember where I am.

It’s midafternoon. The sun is out.

I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m alone.

I look around to be sure, and I am alone.

I release a shaky breath. My heart beat climbs back down and the cold sweat ceases.

But I don’t feel like running anymore. I’ll go wait for Mom at the car.

Turning around, I do a slow jog back to where we parked.

Dr. Sharon wondered in our first therapy session after The Incident whether details about that night might come back to me.

“Sometimes, in traumatic situations, the brain wipes your memory as a form of protection. It is your body’s way of protecting you from the trauma,” she said. “Sometimes, though, over time, those memories come back. I just don’t want you to be alarmed if you start remembering things.”

I wish I remembered something new, though. The details are always the same in these panic-induced flashbacks. The faces around the girl are still a mystery to me. Who else was there? Who else attacked me?

As much as I want to remember who attacked me and why—did I run? Did I scream? Did they try to attack me, too?—I don’t care.

It won’t matter, anyway.

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