Out of Love by

I was paralyzed.

And I’d parked at the farthest pump where the lighting was poor. Short of someone watching the live security footage, I was hidden from anyone who could help me. To people driving by, I looked like I was getting felt up by a frisky, horny boyfriend.

I froze.

I cried silent tears.

I choked on my breath and the acid creeping up my throat.

“It-it’s in-inside … o-on the fl-floor.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Looks like you’re going to give me something else instead.”

“Please …” I whimpered and sucked in a harsh, painful breath as the tip of the knife broke my skin.

“Shh … no need to beg, princess. Now walk left and keep your fucking head down.”

His other arm snaked around my waist as the knife dug a little deeper into my side. He kept his head ducked and buried next to my ear as I curled my fingers into his arm to steady myself—to try to break free without a knife lodging into my torso, leaving me there to bleed out.

I should have gone to Elias’s place. Consensual sex would have been less life changing. Because … I knew. I knew in that very moment my life was about to change forever.

A plane nosediving to the earth.

A ship sinking to the floor of the ocean.

A piece of my soul on the verge of being ripped from existence.

My Aunt Jessica told me something happened to her as a teenager that changed her—irreparably damaged her—forever. Everything—good and bad—that had happened to her since that day was woven with a tiny piece of thread from that exact moment.

She said, “Either you die, or you’re born again. But you’re never the same.”

He led me to the side of the convenience store, behind the trash dumpster—the air heavy with stench and black like the heart of the man hurting me.

The knife disappeared for a breath while he shoved me to the ground and straddled me.

“Hel—”

He extinguished my cry for help and stilled my flailing limbs with the blade of the knife poised to slit my throat.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I stilled, except for the rapid rise and fall of my chest as the headlights of a car in the distance lit his face for two seconds. He was young. Maybe early twenties like me. Clean shaven. Fair-skinned. Neatly trimmed hair like he gave a shit about something—just not me. He could have been a guy I would have said yes to for a date.

Evil didn’t have a look.

And we weren’t on a date. He was using his free hand to unfasten his jeans, lifting onto his knees just enough to slide down the front of them before tugging at the button and zipper to my shorts.

I was two blocks … two blocks from home.

Evil didn’t care about zip codes.

I messed up. I got too comfortable. I thought it couldn’t happen to me.

“Please don’t …” I whispered again as hot tears slid down the sides of my face.

As he ripped my panties down my legs, I closed my eyes and wondered if my mom could see us. I hoped not. I hoped her afterlife didn’t involve seeing her daughter being violently raped.

Then …

The knife disappeared from my throat, and his legs brushed mine briefly before he wasn’t touching me anywhere. My eyes snapped open, one hand going to my neck while my other hand reached for my panties and shorts halfway to my knees. A shadowy figure vanished, but it wasn’t human. It looked like an animal. Scrambling to my feet, I swiped my hand along my leg and rubbed my fingers together.

Blood.

A lot of blood.

My other hand reached for my side; it was bloody too, but the blood on my leg was not mine. My side wasn’t bleeding that much.

“Help …” I croaked, but it came out as barely a whisper while I stumbled a few steps, my knees shaky and my body frail with fear.

“Help …” I said a little louder.

I kept moving toward the front of the store. A young couple getting out of their car saw me and rushed to help me.Chapter FiveI didn’t call my dad.

I gave the police my account of what happened, and Aubrey, Kara, and Missy picked me up from the hospital after I was examined and three stitches were placed into my side to close the small wound.

My dad would have thrown me over his shoulder and hauled my ass from LA back to San Francisco. He would have locked me in the house and not let me return to school until he figured out a way to hire a bodyguard for me.

So I took the rest of the week off from school. I talked with Aubrey’s therapist—on her parents’ dollar. Dr. Izzy Garfield suggested I tell my family. I nodded, knowing there was no way I would ever tell my overprotective father.