“I won’t.” He let go of my hands, but I couldn’t move; it was like my body was frozen in place.
I still felt sick, but for some reason I trusted him. I didn’t want to, I genuinely didn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. He didn’t move at all, didn’t even shift his weight. I kept my eyes squeezed closed. I knew he was looking at me but I wanted to stay in control, and the only thing that was keeping me in control of myself was counting his heartbeats that I could feel against my chest.
After a couple of minutes, he pushed himself off me and stood up. “See, you did great. I just need you to trust me,” he congratulated, offering his hand to help me up. I rolled on to my side and pulled my knees up to my chest in the foetal position as my body suddenly racked with sobs. “Oh shit! I’m sorry, Anna! Why didn’t you say? I would’ve gotten off, I swear!” he gasped, sounding horrified, making no moves to come near me again.
“Just leave, I just want to be on my own,” I begged. I didn’t want him here; he was making everything worse with his stupid, nice guy attitude and cocky, good looks.
Silence filled the room for a few seconds before he finally agreed. “I’ll just be next door then. I’m really sorry.”
I didn’t open my eyes until I heard the click of the door. Weakly, I crawled up the bed, pulled the soft pillow over my face, and then screamed until I lost my breath. Thoughts were rushing through my brain too fast for me to comprehend: Why did I not mind him being on top of me? Why did I let him do that to me? And most importantly, why did it upset me when he moved away?
Guilt. It was eating me up inside because I’d just enjoyed another man’s touch. I felt so guilty that I wanted to vomit. Oh God, Jack, I’m so sorry! I won’t let that happen again, I promise, I mentally chanted in my head.
I rolled over and picked up the photo that I had by the side of my bed. Jack’s handsome face greeted me, making me feel even worse for letting Ashton touch me. We were just fifteen when the photo was taken, merely a year before everything turned upside-down. We were at the beach. He was smiling his beautiful smile and had his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I was laughing at something goofy he’d whispered in my ear just as the photo was taken. Everyday I wished I could remember what it was that he’d said. I rubbed my thumb across his face. I missed him so much; it was like a knife in the heart everyday.
That night I cried myself to sleep – something I hadn’t done for months.
I woke up screaming. I’d been dreaming about Carter again as usual. My heart was pounding in my ears as I sat up, panting, trying to get my breath back the same as I did every night. I raised my knees up and put my head between them.
Suddenly my door burst open and the lights flicked on, almost blinding me. I whimpered in surprise but looked up to see Ashton in just his boxer shorts. His eyes were darting around my room. He held a gun in one hand, pointing straight out in front of him; his other arm was across his body, and he had a wicked-looking knife in his hand. His expression was totally focussed and murderously angry. He looked like a mean SWAT agent now, not a pretty boy model.
He crossed the room in a split second. “Get up and get behind me. Now!” he ordered. I instantly jumped out of the bed, wondering what was going on. Was someone in the house?
As soon as I was behind him, he started backing up, making me move with him. I almost stumbled and gripped my hands on his hips to steady myself. We backed up until I bumped into the wall behind me, making me whimper. He pressed his back against my chest, shielding me with his body as he continued to scan my room.
“Shh!” he hissed. I whimpered again and clamped my hand over my mouth, pressing my face hard into his bare back to silence myself. “Where?” he whispered fiercely. “Where are they?”
I pulled back so I could take my hand off my mouth. “Where’s who? I don’t know,” I whispered back, pressing into his body, trying to melt into him.
“Who was in your room? Why were you screaming?” he questioned, clearly confused now too.
Realisation washed over me. “Oh shit! You came in here because I was screaming?” I breathed a sigh of relief as the shock slowly faded from my stressed body.
“Yeah… what?” He shook his head, still scanning my room for danger.
“Nothing, it’s nothing. I was dreaming. I’m sorry.” I felt like a complete loser in that second. Everyone had moved bedrooms so that I was the only one down this end of the hall because I woke up screaming every night. I hadn’t even thought about waking Ashton up. Everyone else just ignored me now.
He turned around to face me, looking concerned, still standing close to me, his chest almost pressing into mine. “You were dreaming?” he asked quietly. I nodded in response. He blew out a large breath and swapped his knife into his gun hand so he could drag his hand through his messy bed hair. “Holy f**k. You were screaming as if you were being murdered,” he said, looking at me, wide eyed.
“Maybe I was,” I murmured.
He raised his hand and brushed some hair over my shoulder before taking hold of my hand. “It’s because of what I did earlier, wasn’t it?” he muttered. His voice was full of remorse.
I shook my head fiercely. “No, it wasn’t,” I assured him. “I have nightmares every night, it had nothing to do with you,” I promised. He squeezed my hand gently, sending little tingles up my arm. I frowned, noticing how I didn’t hate that he was touching me. Maybe it was just practice, like he’d suggested. “Maybe you should change rooms. There’s another room upstairs, you won’t hear me then.” My eyes dropped to my feet as heat flooded my face from embarrassment.