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SADIE

Back then…

T he bloom nursery on Forest Avenue has become my refuge, my escape from thoughts of my rape.

Two years later and it still has a hold on me. I still can’t shake it.

Even on the days when I’m not scheduled to work, I walk through its rose-trellis aisles, inhaling the scent of the blooms and carefully plucking new stems to craft a fresh bouquet.

I also come here on my worst days, like today.

I woke up crying in the middle of the night and no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop. I figured it’s nothing that a handful of fresh lilies couldn’t fix.

As I’m browsing the daily deal rack, Jonathan Baylor steps inside the store.

Swallowing, I keep my head down and hope he’ll walk past me.

“Good win this weekend, Jonathan!” the store owner calls out to him. “Feeling hopeful about the team for the first time in forever!”

“Hoping to keep putting wins up this season,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Since we’re closing soon, the daily deal rack is an additional sixty percent off,” the owner says. “Sadie over there is the best at arranging flowers if you need help.”

Fuck…

I move to the other side of the display, and within seconds Jonathan is directly in front of me.

“Hey there.” He smiles. “Been a long time since we’ve seen each other, huh?”

I keep my gaze focused on the flowers.

“Oh, what?” There’s a sick smile in his voice. “You don’t want to give me the satisfaction of acknowledging my fame?”

I pluck a rose and place it into my vase. Then I head down another aisle.

“I’m talking to you, Sadie.” Jonathan follows. “I know you can hear me.”

I stop walking and turn around to face him. Even after all the years that have passed between us, I still feel fear.

“You tell any of your little coworkers here that you went to high school with the number one draft pick and star quarterback for the Falcons?”

“Sir, I would suggest picking out your blooms before our closing bell rings,” I say. “I’m off today, so contrary to what the owner said, I can’t help you with anything.”

“So, you’re still a stuck-up bitch?” He smirks. “I like that. People who are who they are, through and through.”

I squeeze my hand around a rose stem so hard that the thorns prick my skin.

“I could use someone like you in my inner circle.” He’s still talking as if this conversation means something to me, as if I’m secretly enamored by seeing him again. “It’s hard to know who’s real and who’s fake when you get to my level.”

“I’m sure it’s not that hard to keep track of who you raped,” I say. “I’ll pass on your offer.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said, ‘fuck you.’” I glare at him. “And I’m not interested in spending another second around my rapist.” I storm away and set down ten dollars on the checkout counter before slipping out the back entrance.

Hot tears are falling down my face, and my heart is aching. I wish I’d said sharper words to him, and I feel filthy for being in his presence again.

Just get home and take a bath. Just get home and take a bath.

“You said I raped you?” Jonathan’s voice roars from behind me, but I keep moving forward. I pick up my pace.

The alley stretches across four buildings and as long as I can reach building two where the restaurant is, I can?—

“Stop fucking ignoring me.” Jonathan grabs me from behind and spins me around, crushing my plans. “Say that I didn’t rape you.”

I say nothing.

“Sadie...” He pushes me against the bricks. “Sadie, I’ve been nothing but nice to you tonight, and last I checked, you got a lot of benefits for trying to bring me down in high school.”

The tears fall even faster now, and I hate that this man is seeing me cry.

“It’s time for you to finally be honest with yourself.” He drags a hand across my wet face, smearing my tears instead of clearing them. “We had consensual sex. It wasn’t rape.”

“Please get the fuck away from me, Jonathan Baylor.” I manage. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I will, once you leave me alone.” He grits his teeth. “I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been sending letters about what you think happened between us to the media.”

What?

“You see me succeeding, just like you did in high school, and because I don’t want you—or because you couldn’t have me then—you’ve decided to try to ruin my life again.”

“I haven’t told anyone anything.” The mercurial look in his eyes is scaring me. “Nothing happened the last time, so why would I try again?”

“That’s a good-ass question,” he says. “That’s why I wasted time out of my life to track you down and figure this out.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So, you’d be willing to sit down with my lawyer and sign a statement saying that I never raped you, correct? Sometime between right now and tomorrow, correct?”

“No…” I shake my head. “No…”

“That’s the wrong answer, Sadie.”

“I haven’t said anything to anyone, I swear.” My voice cracks. “Maybe it was one of the other girls you raped… I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

A painful burning flash flares across my cheek, and I slump onto the ground.

My vision blurs, and it takes me several minutes to realize that he’s slapped me.

Clinging to my roses, I struggle to stand, but the burning flash comes again.

This time, I can’t get up.

All I can see are Jonathan’s shoes on the wet asphalt. I can hear him calling someone to pick him up in twenty minutes, then hear the flick of a lighter.

He grabs my arms and drags me closer to the dumpster. Then he helps me to my feet and presses me against the edge.

“Since you’re going to keep fucking with me and claiming that I raped you,” he says, unzipping his pants, “I guess I should probably give you what you clearly want, right?”

“No, please!” I scream. “Stop! I’ll sign it! I’ll sign it!”

His hand clamps over my mouth and he pushes up my dress. He slides his cock inside me, filling me against my will, biting the skin on the back of my neck.

“You were a slut then, and you’re a slut now,” he hisses, thrusting in and out of me so hard it feels like he’s trying to break me. “Your pussy isn’t even that good...”

I give up resisting. Fighting only makes him hurt me worse.

“Fuckkkk…” He stiffens behind me, then pulls out. I feel something warm dripping onto my back.

Seconds later, that warmth turns to searing pain.

He presses my head against the dumpster to muffle my screams.

He keeps me pinned with one hand while he burns the skin on my lower back with his lighter.

When he finishes, he lets go. I collapse onto the ground.

The burning, the inside pain, the flare-up of the scars from the past—it’s all too much.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but the next thing I know, someone is putting me in the backseat of a car.

“She looks messed up…” “I wonder what happened to her.” “Poor girl… Should we take her to the emergency room?”

My throat hurts too much to speak—to beg them to YES, please take me to the hospital, and what little I have left, leaves my body within seconds.

The next time I wake up, I’m in a hospital room and the TV is blaring loud with a Sunday night football game.

Jonathan Baylor just scored the winning touchdown.