The world returned in fragments.
First, the sound—muffled and distant, like voices underwater. Then, the weight—hands on her shoulders, firm, steady. Finally, the face—Sam's, twisted in worry, his eyes searching hers for signs of life.
"Elena?" His voice was low but urgent, trembling with fear. "Hey. Elena, look at me."
Her vision cleared, his face sharpening into focus. The dim light framed his outline like a halo, but his brows were furrowed, his lips tense. He held her shoulders, steadying her like she might drift away again.
She blinked, swallowed hard, and sat up straighter.
"I'm fine," she whispered, though the shakiness in her voice betrayed her.
"No," Sam said, not harshly, but with quiet conviction. "It's okay. You don't have to push yourself. We can stop—"
"No," Elena cut him off, her voice stronger now. "If I don't face this today, how the hell will I face tomorrow?"
Sam stared at her. There was pain in his eyes. And pride.
He let out a breath—not in frustration, but in surrender. Her will was iron. Her face—drawn, pale, but burning with something deeper than fear. Fire.
He couldn't argue with that.
But he also couldn't let go.
So he didn't.
He shifted, sat beside her, and without asking, took her hand in his. Tightly. Like she was the only anchor he had.
Elena didn't pull away. She squeezed back. That simple touch, silent but grounding, said everything words couldn't.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Always," he replied.
The room went still again—but not empty. The air carried something different now. Not silence, but resolve.
And Elena kept going.
When I opened my eyes, everything hurt.
My head pounded. My throat was dry. The hotel room was dim. I tried to move, but something felt wrong — my body wasn't mine. Heavy. Exposed.
And then… I felt it.
Hands.
Slow. Creeping up my thighs.
I looked down.
Kevin.
His eyes weren't soft. They were hungry. Focused. Like he was admiring something he thought belonged to him.
I was naked under the blanket.
My breath caught. Panic rose like fire in my throat.
"Kevin?" My voice cracked.
He froze. Looked up like I'd ruined something.
"I thought you were still out," he mumbled. "I just… I wasn't going to do anything, I swear. I just wanted to be close to you. You looked so beautiful, and—"
I didn't let him finish.
I yanked the blanket around me and pulled myself up, shaking. I was dizzy. My clothes were scattered on the chair. I could barely stand.
"You drugged me?" I whispered.
Something changed in his eyes.
The fake guilt vanished.
He tilted his head slightly, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So what if I did?" he said coldly. "You think you're special? You're mine, Elena. And what's yours… is mine. That includes your body."
My heart dropped. I tried to step back, but he moved closer.
"The day I saw you at the fresher's party," he continued, "I knew I wanted you. Not just your laugh or your mind or your dreams — your body."
He paused, and I saw something twisted in his expression. A hunger. An obsession.
"Today's my day," he said, voice low, voice sharp. "And I'll have what's mine. By hook or by crook."
And then—he lunged.
I screamed and tried to hold the blanket, but he grabbed it, yanking it with so much force it slipped from my grip. The only thing shielding me—gone.
I stood there, exposed, horrified. My hands moved instinctively—one covering my chest, the other my lower body. But I could still feel his eyes, crawling over me like insects.
Tears welled in my eyes. "Please, Kevin… please don't. I'll do anything. Just don't do this."
But my words didn't reach him.
He stared, lips parted in a sick grin. "I knew it," he said. "You always looked good in clothes. But like this? You're explosive."
He was standing in nothing but his underwear now.
"I don't care if you scream," he said. "No one's coming. And I'm not stopping."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
I was frozen—not out of weakness, but terror. Real, shaking, paralyzing fear.
I didn't know how I'd escape.
But I knew I had to.
Kevin's eyes darkened as he lunged at me.
I screamed, stumbling back until I hit the headboard. He didn't stop—he climbed onto the bed, eyes wild, breathing heavy. Lust had completely overtaken whatever shred of humanity he once had.
He grabbed my legs and pulled me toward him, dragging me across the bed like I was nothing more than an object. I kicked, thrashed, begged.
"Kevin, stop! Please—don't do this!"
But my pleas meant nothing.
He moved over me, his weight pressing down. I pushed, slapped, tried to shove him off, but his strength overpowered mine like it was nothing. He was in a frenzy, blind to my tears, deaf to my screams.
And just like that, something inside me snapped.
My fear turned into fire.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the side table. A beer bottle sat on top, just within reach.
Without thinking, I lunged for it.
My fingers wrapped around the glass, and I swung.
The bottle shattered against Kevin's head with a sickening crack. Shards flew across the bed, some hitting my arm, others scattering on the floor.
Kevin roared in pain, clutching the side of his head. "You—damn you, bitch!" he spat. "You think you can escape?!"
But I didn't wait.
I grabbed another bottle from the floor and smashed it again—harder.
This time, he slumped.
His body collapsed beside me, limp, unconscious. Blood seeped from a cut near his temple, but I didn't stop to check. I didn't care.
I scrambled off the bed, ignoring the stinging cuts on my feet and arms. My clothes were in a pile—torn, scattered, but still there. I threw them on with shaking hands, barely able to breathe.
And I ran.
Out the hotel room. Down the hallway. Into the night.
No plan. No direction.
Only one truth in my heart:
I survived.