Page 108 of From the Wreckage

I pick at it, nudging the eggs with my fork until they go cold. My hands tremble when I finally take a bite of toast, chewing slowly, like it’s sawdust.

“You didn’t sleep,” Dad says quietly. It’s not a question.

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on the plate.

“You kept screaming and thrashing around,” he adds after a moment, his voice cracking around the edges. “I felt helpless cause I don’t know why.”

Tears burn hot, pricking behind my eyes. I can’t tell him. If I say the words, it becomes real. So I whisper instead, “Thank you… for holding me. For rocking me after the nightmares.”

His face twists, grief and rage flickering together. But he only nods, squeezing my shoulder once before retreating back to his chair.

After a while, he clears his throat. “You want to go into town? The Pine & Page. I’ll get you one of those?—”

“No.” My voice is curt, and I wince, hating the shocked and hurt look on his face. But going there will remind me of the incident with… I can’t even think of his name without my stomach roiling.

I blow out a breath, my chest still caved. I shake my head and whisper, “I can’t. Not… yet.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to go there without the memory of him haunting me. And it pisses me off as much as it makes me sad to think he’s ruining my favorite place.

His gaze bores into me, searching, but I can’t give him answers.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper before I slip away to the couch, curling beneath the blanket that smells faintly of detergent and woodsmoke, like I can disappear inside it. It used to provide comfort. Now it’s just fabric, useless against the cold hollowness inside me.

He follows a few minutes later, settling in with a sigh. “You want to talk yet?”

“No.” The word scrapes out of me, raw and sharp.

“Okay.” His voice is steady, though I hear the ache buried in it. He flips the TV on, landing on one of my favorite movies, like that’ll fix something. I stare blankly at the screen, expressionless, the story unfolding in front of me without meaning.

He offers food again. A drink. I shake my head, refusing.

Finally, he disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a cold bottle of water. He presses it into my hand. “Drink it.”

I obey, taking slow sips, swallowing against the dryness in my throat.

The movie ends, and he changes the channel to the football game. The crowd roars from the speakers. My body stiffens.

“I’m gonna go to my room.” My voice wobbles as I push to my feet.

“Bri—”

But I’m already moving, my hands clamped over my ears. I can’t stand the sound of it. Football. That’s how it all started. One game. One party. One night I’ll never escape.

I slam my door and throw myself face-first onto my bed. The sobs rip out of me before I can hold them back, my body shaking. Images flood my head—flashes of Joey’s grin, the blur of the dance floor, the taste of something bitter coating my tongue. My limbs heavy and unresponsive.

No. I refuse to believe it. That I was drugged. That I was… the word claws at me. Raped.

I’ve always been careful. Responsible. I worked hard, stayed out of trouble, did everything right.

Well… except falling in love with an older man. But even then, I never believed that was wrong.

Things like what happened last night don’t happen to girls like me.

Except it did.

The stickiness between my legs confirms it. Nausea wells up, and I race to the bathroom, dry heaving over the toilet.

When I’m finished, I twist the shower knob hard until steam fills the air, and I step beneath the scalding spray. I’m hollowed out and numb as the water sears my skin, but it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough to burn away what happened.