Page 76 of From the Wreckage

Brielle

I jolt awake, my stomach rolling, the room spinning in sickening circles. The shadows are wrong, heavy and blurred, and for a second, I don’t even know where I am.

My throat burns. I stumble out of bed, nearly tripping over my own legs, and crash into the bathroom.

The second I hit my knees, bile surges up. I retch until my stomach is empty, until I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold myself upright. My hands clutch the rim of the toilet, slick with sweat, my hair plastered to my face.

When the heaving finally stops, I blink through gritty, swollen eyes—and the realization slams into me.

I’m half-naked. My pants are gone. My underwear, too. Only Meghan’s sweatshirt clings to me, wrinkled and sliding off one shoulder.

My heart seizes, pounding so hard it hurts. I gasp, pulling the sweatshirt tighter around me, like it can erase the evidence. Snippets flash through my head, jagged and broken—Joey’s voice in my ear, the door clicking shut, my body refusing to move. His hands. The weight of him.

“No…” My voice cracks, the sound raw. I choke on a sob, clawing for air that won’t fill my lungs.

I stagger back into my bedroom, briefly wondering how I got here, then decide I don’t care.

Not right now. I fumble with the pile of clothes tossed on the floor.

Sweatpants. I yank them on, not bothering with underwear, my hands trembling so badly I nearly fall again.

I snatch my keys, my phone, and at the last second, my purse, then stagger for the door.

The cool air slams into me as I stumble across the porch. My vision tunnels, the porch and streetlights too bright. I collapse into the driver’s seat of my SUV, my sobs breaking free, racking me until I can’t breathe.

I start the engine with shaking hands, then pull out of the parking lot. The headlights cut across the empty street, slicing through the darkness as I drive.

The highway stretches ahead, endless and black. I cling to the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. Tears blur the road, my chest heaving with broken gasps.

I just want to go home.

But Everett isn’t my home anymore. His silence proved that.

There’s only one person left. The only person who’s ever loved me unconditionally. My dad.

The first hour passes in fragments—crying, gasping, flashes of the night clawing at me. Joey’s grin. His voice. The suffocating weight I couldn’t escape.

At mile marker 88, I swerve onto the shoulder, stumble out of the car, and vomit again onto the gravel. My body is weak, my legs trembling as I brace a hand against the hood, the taste of bile bitter and sharp.

When the heaving subsides, I collapse back into the driver’s seat. My hands are numb on the steering wheel, but I force them to hold on. I have to keep going. I have to get home.

By the time the clock on my dash reads 6:47, the sun is bleeding pale light over the horizon. My SUV crunches onto the familiar gravel drive.

Dad’s cabin.

The second I push the door open and stumble inside, his face comes into focus. He’s standing there, hair mussed, mug in hand, frozen mid-step like he’s seen a ghost.

“Bri?” His voice is a jagged whisper. His eyes widen, scanning me—my red, swollen eyes, my tangled hair, the sweatshirt hanging off me, my shaking hands.

The sob rips through me as my knees buckle, my body collapsing under the weight of it all.

Dad drops his mug—it shatters against the floor, coffee spraying across the wood—but he doesn’t even glance at it. He’s already there, catching me before I hit the ground. His arms wrap tightly around me, solid and steady as my tears pour hot and endless down my cheeks.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he pulls me close. “I’ve got you, Bri. I’ve got you.”

He rocks me like he did the night Mom left, when my world first caved in. His hands cup the back of my head, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, anchoring me as I unravel completely.

Tears flood until I can’t breathe. Until my throat is raw and my body shakes with sobs I can’t contain.

And through it all, he holds me tighter, as if he can piece me back together with his embrace alone.

But nothing can undo this. Nothing can take away what’s been done.