Fuck, I'm dizzy.

Slowly, my knees sink to the ground. That punch was way stronger than I anticipated. The lawn is damp, soaking through my jeans. My body tilts forward. I use my hands to brace my fall. The grass feels prickly under my palms. I barely stop myself from face-planting like a drunken idiot.

The world fades in and out.

I hear Chrissa's laughter echo in the background, but it sounds far, far away.

The wave of dizziness.

The damp, prickly grass.

The shrill laughter.

These are the final snapshots and sound bites I remember before all five senses shut down on me.

Soon, my world turns black. I don't know how much time has passed when my consciousness returns. I wake up in a groggy stupor. I find myself in a horizontal position. I'm lying on my back. Not on the grass, though. The surface doesn't feel damp or prickly. I'm on something softer. Smoother. 

My fingertips graze some kind of... fabric? 

It feels like cotton bedsheets. Realization hits me then. I'm on a bed.

How did I get here?

My head aches. My vision is cloudy. I feel cold and shivery and nauseous.

Somehow, I know that I'm only wearing my bra and panties. I can feel the sheets on my bare shoulders and legs.

Who took off my T-shirt and jeans?

Distress sears my senses. I'm so confused. I'm scared now. I try to move, but my brain can't seem to command my body at the moment. Someone is hovering over me, weighing me down.

Another realization sinks in. A far more terrifying one: There's a guy on top of me.

Fuck.

Who is it?

I blink and blink and blink in a state of helplessness. I feel too drunk to figure this out. All I know is that he's bigger, heavier, stronger than me.

I release a soft moan of protest, "Stop. Please."

He doesn't listen. He continues to pin me down. I try to roll away. I attempt to shove him off, but my limbs are frozen in place. He doesn't budge, and I'm too sluggish and weak to escape my fate. My head lolls to the side.

I want to cry.

Then, I hear a female voice. It sounds like Chrissa, but I can't be sure.

"Okay, I got all the pics and videos we need."

Pics and videos?

Of me?

For what?

Panic flares in me. It's getting hard to breathe.

I hear another female voice cry out, "I think they took her in there!"

This girl sounds like Alison.

Her voice is muted, though, like, it's coming from another room or something?

"Here's the key," she says again in muffled tones.

I hear a series of rattling click-click-clicks followed by a violent bam. Something hit the wall. Hard. The suddenness of it makes me jump.

Did the door just swing open?

A male voice bellows loudly, "What the fuck is going on?"

Hey.

I recognize this voice, too.

It's the spawn.

What's he doing here?

Before I can wrap my mind about what's going on, chaos erupts all around me. Screaming and shouting take place. There's a blur of fists and quick, hard-to-follow movements.

I think the guys are fighting? 

I hear a thump followed by a pained groan. Pretty sure someone got punched. The guy on top of me crawls away. Someone helps me get dressed. Then, strong arms come around me. I'm hoisted from the bed.

By who?

My vision clears for a second. My eyelids flutter rapidly.

Dark hair.

Green eyes.

Understanding sets in.

Ah, yes.

The spawn.

He's carrying me.

He smells like beer and aftershave and sweat. It's not unpleasant, though. A faint, functioning part of my brain knows that the two of us are supposed to hate each other, but, for some reason, he makes me feel safe right now. Safer than I felt mere moments ago. Feebly, I snuggle into the crook of his neck. He holds me steadily, securely. My body bounces and sways in time to his footsteps.

Where's he taking me?

I will my mind to stay focused, to stay alert. It's a struggle, though.

We're moving through the house now, I think?

Down the stairs.

My mind's all muddled. I hear bright lights. I see loud music.

Oh, wait. The lights are gone. It's dark. We must be outside.

A car door opens.

Off to the side, Alison keeps asking me if I'm okay over and over again. She has been following us this whole time. The girl's freaking out. I want to answer her, to reassure her that I'm okay, but my tongue feels too thick and clumsy to say anything.

Shit.

Maybe I'm not okay.

God, what was in that punch?

It's the last troubling thought that crosses my mind before I pass out again.