Suzie's email lights a fire under my ass.

A sense of urgency chases me up the stairs. Cruz jogs closely behind me as I make a beeline for my bedroom. Once we reach the landing, I take a glance at the door to the master bedroom. Cruz's gaze darts in the same direction. The door is closed. Ron and Aunt Katrina appear to be zonked out for the night, but Cruz and I make every effort to stay silent. We've been lucky. So far. Ron has yet to catch on to our nightly sleepovers. In a way, I feel like a criminal who keeps getting away with murder.

Will our luck run out before graduation?

I hope not. I just need fate to be on my side for a few more months. Until Cruz and I turn eighteen. Then, we'll be out of Arizona and, hopefully, somewhere on the east coast with Persie. The three of us. Together. For good.

With cautious steps, Cruz and I creep down the shadowy hallway toward my room. Once we make it past my doorway, I hurry over to the edge of my bed and plop down. Cruz shuts the door and takes a seat beside me. Soon, my worries about Ron are pushed aside. It's time to focus on more pressing matters.

Gripping my phone as though my sanity depended on it, I stare down at the glowing screen. It's the only source of light in my darkened room, and Suzie's message is burning holes in my eyes. My heart hammers away. I hadn't expected to hear from her tonight. In fact, I didn't think she would reply to me, like, ever. Chewing on my lower lip, I reread Suzie's email a few more times.

I found your note in my room. Who are you? What tf did Brody do to you?

How do I reply to her?

Anxiety starts fucking with me. My thoughts go haywire. Earlier, I tried to track down Suzie at Jonathon's party, but, now that she's actually contacting me, I feel uneasy about opening up to a complete stranger. I hate that I'm acting like such a wishy-washy bitch, but memories from Sam's party get the better of me. Surges of hazy sound bites, like Chrissa's shrill laughter, and sensory details, like Brody's weight pressing down my body, pop up in unwelcome blips and bloops. The thought of revisiting those terrifying, debilitating hours in my life makes me feel sick.

Doubts begin to shit all over my nerves.

What if Jonathon was right and Brody never touched Suzie?

What if Suzie doesn't believe me?

What if Chrissa and Brody find out that I broke our agreement?

Feeling restless and agitated, my body instinctively gravitates toward Cruz, and his arm wraps around my shoulders. I lean against his strong, solid warmth for support.

My eyes drift toward him as I mumble, "I dunno how to respond to Suzie's email."

Gently, he grunts, "How come?"

I hang my head in shame. "What if Suzie can't be... trusted? I'm scared this might circle back to bite me in the ass."

His larger hand reaches over to envelope mine, giving me a lovely, comforting squeeze. "Anything worth doing is supposed to be a little scary."

"You sound like a fortune cookie," I joke with a feeble chuckle, attempting to use humor to hide my fears.

Cruz looks at me from the shadows. Really looks at me. "Maybe you should tell Suzie what you would wanna hear... if you were in her position."

I listen intently.

"Let her know that Brody fucked with you, too. That you're willing to listen to her side of the story. If she wants to talk."

His steady, calming voice advice over my stress like a soothing balm. It reminds me of what's really at stake here. Of what really matters. Of why I tried so hard to get in touch with Suzie in the first place. My feelings are still spiraling out of control, but I try to keep my eyes on the prize: I crave some kind of justice for Suzie and me. Brody deserves to get his ass handed to him. Chrissa, too.

I suck in a shaky breath and let it out. Clumsily, my thumbs start tapping across my phone. As I attempt to wrench out the nightmarish play-by-play from Sam's party, every snapshot and recollection seems to trigger me. It's hard to narrate my own story when I'm still dealing with shit that has yet to dry on the fan.

Little by little, though, letters become words, and words become sentences. It takes nearly all my willpower to compose each and every sentence in my confession, and I end up deleting and rewriting several lines before I'm finally satisfied with the end result.

***

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Brody Carlisle

Hey, Suzie.

I don't know if I'm ready to tell you who I am. But I was at your house tonight, and I swear I'm not some crazy stalker. I just want to share my story because I think it may resonate with you.

I won't beat around the bush. I've known Brody for a while. But I didn't get to know what kind of person he really is until recently. His friend roofied my drink at a party, and I blacked out because of it. After I regained consciousness, I woke up half-naked in someone's bed, not knowing how I got there. Brody was on top of me while his friend took pics and vids of us.

For the record, Brody didn't rape me, but I believe he would've done so if my friends hadn't found me in time.

This shit has been hard to process, to say the least. Right after it happened, my gut reaction was to stay quiet, move on, and get over it. I don't know if this is the right move anymore. I hate that Brody doesn't feel bad about what he did, like, at all.

Five years from now, Brody will get to push whatever narrative he wants about us and get over this shit. Easily. The asshole will be living the good life on a basketball scholarship at some D1 college.

Five years from now, I'll probably still be stuck, scared, and angry. I think that's what fucks with my head the most. The fact that he gets to leave this permanent, ugly mark on my life, but, for him, I'll barely be an afterthought.

I haven't tried to speak up yet, but I already suspect that everyone will take his word over mine.

His future matters because he can sink a ball in a hoop.

But my dreams?

My happiness?

My hopes?

No one cares.

My future doesn't matter because his is brighter.

None of this sits right with me, but I don't know what to do except reach out to you, hoping that you might understand how shitty it feels to suffer in silence.

***

By the time I'm done with my reply to Suzie, I'm completely drained. For some reason, tears sting my eyes. I want to throw myself a pity party, but I blink away the moisture. Anger and embarrassment consume me as I read over what I've written. Everything in my email is true, and the contents puts me in a slight daze. It's the first time I've organized all of my thoughts and feelings into concrete words, and the experience feels equal parts traumatizing and cathartic.

I share the draft of my email with Cruz, inquiring in a small voice, "Should I send it?"

Cruz scans over my message one more time and nods. Firmly.

"You sure?"

"I'm positive."

A sinking feeling holds me back. "I dunno if I'm ready to do this..."

He leans over to kiss me. "It's okay feel scared when you're trying to be brave."

"But what if I make the situation worse?"

"Everything will work out. I promise."

"Will it?"

"Athena..."

"Yes?"

Cruz casts me a meaningful look. "Know what I like most about you? You're beautiful not because of the way you look. But because you still have bandwidth to care about others even when you're going through hell. It's what makes you strong. Your kindness is so fucking attractive. You have no idea."

My breath shorts. "Baby..."

He kisses me again, murmuring softly against my cheek, "Don't worry. Even if everything falls apart, you'll still have me."

His words give me the courage I need to keep going. My thumb hovers over the phone for only a few seconds before I finally find the balls to tap the Send button. The email zips away from my screen. It's officially out of my hands. Now, it's up to Suzie to respond.

Exhaustion hurts my head, dragging down the weight of my entire body. I can barely keep my eyes open.

"Tired?" asks Cruz.

A yawn escapes me when I nod. "I feel like I'm about to black out."

"Let's get some sleep, then."

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

Cruz smiles at me, drawing me into his arms. "Don't I always?"

I smile back as we lay down on my little twin mattress. Together, we shuffle under the covers into our usual positions. He spoons me from behind, and I tuck my bum against his crotch. To be with him like this is pure bliss.

As I close my eyes, I feel his hand slip under my shirt to cup my breast. Cruz's breaths slow down and deepen as though he's about to fall asleep, but his thumb continues to circle my nipple in a slow, teasing manner.

I slide my hand behind me to fondle his cock over his pants. Cruz grows hard. Instantly. He moans and thrusts into my palm a few times, shuffling over to nuzzle my neck. He kisses me there. Sucks on my skin. Nips me with his teeth. Pleasure sings through my veins. He'll probably leave a hickey, and I don't say anything to stop him. A fuck-it-all mindset has overtaken me. If the kids at school notice it, then so be it. I'm already a slut in their eyes.

They always talk about me, anyway.

Cruz and I proceed to mess around in bed for a few more minutes. If I wasn't on the verge of passing out, I'd definitely try to take things a step further between us. For now, though, all I have energy for is to cuddle up to Cruz's big, muscled body as we play with each other. I feel safe and snug and aroused as slumber drifts over me. I let myself bask in Cruz's embrace. In this calm before the storm.

In a few hours, the sun will rise, and Suzie might respond to my email.

In a few hours, I'll wake up, and everyone from Jonathon's party will probably have something shitty and snarky to say about Cruz and me.

Fuck it.

I don't have the bandwidth to care anymore. I pull my hand away from Cruz. His hand grows still on my boob. Exhaustion finally wins over our hormones.

"Good night," whispers Cruz.

"Night, baby," I mumble.

I know I need to charge up my battery to deal with all of this nonsense, so I close my eyes, turn off my brain, and pass out within seconds. I sleep and sleep and sleep as though I'm in hibernation. I don't wake up when the morning sun starts pouring through my window. I don't wake up when footsteps start padding down the hallway. I only begin to stir when, without warning, the door to my bedroom swings wide open, slamming into my wall with a loud, startling wham.

My eyes fling open in a groggy stupor. I sit up on bed. Glancing around my room, I blink a few times and try to process what's going on. "Huh?"

Did we forget to lock the door?

Or did someone use a key to unlock it?

Beside me, Cruz wakes up, too, and curses right away, "Oh, shit, shit, shit..."

At this point, the answer to my panicked questions don't seem to matter. Cruz's green eyes have honed in on the imposing figure standing in my doorway. The blood drains from my face the moment I follow his gaze. My eyes grow large and round with horror. The calm is over. Here comes the fucking storm.

Ron's furious voice quakes across my bedroom. "What the hell are you doing in Athena's bed, son?"