Annelly

It’s been two days since that man touched me, and I can still feel his clammy hands on my skin. Two days since he so callously destroyed what little was left of my peace, replacing it instead with a relentless loop of memories from the worst night of my life. Now this constant sense of dread clings to me, making it impossible to eat—let alone sleep—thanks to the nightmares that plague me even when I’m awake. 

I’m too exhausted to put on a brave face, so I haven’t left the house since it happened. Not to go to work or even to work out. It’s bad enough feeling like his eyes follow me everywhere I go, but now with the townspeople looking at me like I’m losing my mind, there are too many eyes to contend with. Too much dread and fear, pushing me right to the edge of what I can handle.

Tired of the loneliness and isolation, I grab my phone and call my best friend. Erica and I met at Julliard three and a half years ago. We were incoming freshmen, both of us from small towns, suddenly thrust into the glaring lights of the big city. It’s why we hit it off right from the start. And it was thanks to her that I managed to escape that night. To this day, she’s the only person who knows what Victor did… what he intended to do with me.

“Nelly! How are you? I’ve missed you!” she squeals, the words spilling in a rush.

As always, her tone is light and carefree, and while I’m genuinely happy she’s still out there living her best life, I can’t help the pang of sadness that hits me. Her brightness is a reminder of the life—and dreams—I left behind. As the feeling tightens in my chest, a loud sigh slips past my lips.  

“Gosh, that bad? Okay,” she says, and I hear shuffling in the background like she’s shifting her phone to the other ear. “I’m here. Give me a sec. Heading to my room.”

“Troy’s home?” I ask, already knowing the answer. It’s the only time she moves our conversations to the privacy of her bedroom. Troy is her roommate, a dancer we met and befriended at Julliard.

“Uh-huh. His boyfriend’s been spending so much time here, privacy is pretty scarce these days. Not that I mind, it makes the rent cheaper.” A soft click filters through the line as a door closes. “Okay, I’m ready. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

I spend the next few minutes filling her in on everything that’s happened over the past several days—the panic attacks that are getting worse, the unshakable feeling that I’m being watched, and finally, the two incidents at the diner. The first, where in a moment of panic, I made the mistake of calling the police, and the second, my reaction to that man touching me. By the time I finish, tears threaten to spill over.

“I don’t know what to do, E. It’s like I’m drowning and going crazy at the same time.”

“You’re not crazy, Nell,” she murmurs softly. “What you’re experiencing is perfectly understandable, given what you’ve been through.”

“I don’t know, I just feel so… stuck. Like I can’t move past it. I keep reliving that night, over and over again, and I’m tired of being scared—of feeling like the world is about to cave in at any second, and he’s going to find me.” I inhale deeply, tilting my head toward the ceiling, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

“I hate that you’re going through this, but I know you’re going to be okay. You will come out stronger in the end. You got away from him. You escaped—that was the hardest part. Now, with a little help from a professional, I have faith that you can beat back the nightmares he left behind. Have you made an appointment with your therapist yet?”

“No.” The word comes out shakily. “I tried, but every time the phone rings, I freak out and hang up. God, what is wrong with me?” Defeated, I collapse back onto my bed, pulling the comforter over my head as silent tears sting my eyes.

“Nelly, there is nothing wrong with you—you’ve been traumatized. Why don’t you give me your therapist’s number, and I’ll make the first appointment for you?”

“Really?” My voice cracks with emotion. “You’d do that?”

“Yes, you goof.” She chuckles—a soft, reassuring sound. “Of course. Now send me that number, and I’ll snag the earliest appointment I can get you.” She falls quiet, waiting me out, and when I stay silent, she adds, “You’re going to be okay.”

“I hope so.” God, do I hope so. But right now, it doesn’t feel like it in the slightest.

“I think you should tell your mom everything—the entire ugly truth.” 

I groan, but she keeps going, raising her voice to cut through my protest. “No, hear me out. If it feels like someone’s watching you, you can’t brush that aside. That feeling is your gut telling you something isn’t right. Someone close to you needs to know, so you’re not left dealing with this on your own. Right now, you need someone there who can look out for you.”

“No E, I can’t do that. I’d just be worrying them for no reason, considering every time I’ve felt like someone is watching, it’s turned out to be nothing. My gut, my instincts, my judgment… it’s all broken. Which I guess aligns, since that’s exactly how I feel, broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she insists, her tone gentle. “You’ve been conditioned to ignore your internal compass. Trust me, Nell. If you feel like something is wrong, it probably is. Please, if you listen to nothing else I say, at least hear this: tell someone there. Someone who can help.”

“Who would I tell?” I snap, frustration lacing my words. “There’s no way I’d dump this on Mom or my cousin, Emilia. They’d both lose their minds and tell the guys, effectively turning me into more of a prisoner than I already feel. It would only make my life more miserable.”

“What about that guy, James?” she presses, ignoring my spiraling indignation. “I know things are weird between you, but from what you’ve told me, he seems like the right person to help. At the very least, he can give you advice on what to do—maybe even show you how to stay safe.”

At the mention of his name, my thoughts flash back to that day at the diner, when I found myself in his arms. How he came to my rescue, using the calm strength of his voice to guide me through the storm of my panic. How he held me close and made me feel safe. But I force those memories aside, refusing to let myself forget how deeply he hurt me. When it comes to James, anger is my repellent of choice. The best and only way I know to keep myself from falling back into old patterns that long for me to trust in him again and beg that I allow him back into my life. 

Never again. 

I can’t let myself fall for him like that ever again.

“He humiliated me, E. He ended our friendship and treated me like some clueless little girl chasing after a guy out of her league. I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen. He crushed my heart with little regard for how much it would hurt me. And I get it; maybe he didn’t feel the same way about me. It’s not like he promised me anything or said he liked me. But I know I didn’t imagine that there was something there. No matter how much he tried to deny it, it existed. Still does. And for him to dismiss me like that, to walk away like I didn’t matter—how could I ever trust him with any part of me again?”

That’s the core of it. Trust. I trusted him, like really, really trusted him. In hindsight, I see how naïve I was—mistaking his attention for something more. I can see how that would frustrate him, but what I don’t understand is how easily he could just… walk away. How he acted like our friendship meant nothing. Like I meant nothing. 

“You said he held you afterward,” she points out gently. “He helped you, tried to protect you. It sounds like maybe he regrets what he did. Have the two of you sat down to talk about what happened last summer?”

“No, not really. During my cousin’s wedding, he said he wanted us to be friends again, but he never apologized or pulled me aside for a proper conversation.” The memory of his half-ass attempt to discuss our friendship while in the middle of the bridesmaid and groomsmen dance at Emilia’s wedding only stokes the fire simmering in my belly. “So, no. And I don’t care to, either. Especially when every time I see him, he acts like he didn’t rip my heart into a million tiny pieces. Like he didn’t bail on our friendship at the first sign of trouble. Plus, it hurts—like an actual, physical pain in my chest—when he acts like what he did and the things he said never happened.” 

She sighs, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. Because really, what else is there to say? Except maybe that I love him. Because the sad reality is that I am in love with James Serrano. 

It sounds so stupid, admitting it like that. I’ve never been in love before—so how would I know if what I feel is true love? And yet, in the deepest parts of my soul, I’m certain. As sure as I am of the sun’s existence, even if I can’t always see it hidden behind the clouds. Unfortunately, he doesn’t feel the same—he’s not pulled toward me the way I’m pulled toward him. And that’s like waking up to find that the sun refused to rise simply because it didn’t want to see you.

“I hate that you’re so sad, Annelly. You deserve so much more than the hand you’ve been dealt. But mark my words, I won’t rest until you’re free from this mess and back to your amazing sunshiny self. I don’t care if I have to move to that little town of yours after graduation. If I have any say in it, you, my friend, will find your happy again.”

For the rest of our call, we keep the conversation light, mostly talking about her and school—an easy distraction that helps me forget, at least temporarily, how complicated my life has become. By the time we hang up, I feel a little better and even more grateful that there’s at least one person in my corner who accepts me exactly as I am.

Pressing my phone against my chest, I close my eyes and sink into my pillows, comforted by the knowledge that I sent Erica my therapist’s contact information. Come tomorrow, she’ll have an appointment scheduled for me, which feels like progress—even if it’s a step I couldn’t take on my own. As for her suggestion that I tell someone the truth about what happened in New York… I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for that. I wasn’t lying when I said there’s no one I can trust to truly help. Maybe I could tell the therapist?

The ring of the doorbell yanks me from my thoughts. Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling, wondering who it could be. Mom is at the diner, and Emilia always calls before stopping by. Aside from those two, no one else comes around these days. Just as the bell rings a second time, my phone starts buzzing. Confused, I push off the bed, heading toward the door while answering the call without checking the screen.

“Hello?”

“Annelly, do not open that door!” the urgent whisper on the other end sends fear ripping through me, my heart racing so fast it hurts. Whoever’s calling is breathless, like they’re in the middle of running. Suddenly I can’t breathe either—dizziness crushes me, and I slump against the wall of the upstairs hallway to keep from collapsing.

“Wh-who is this?”

“It’s me, James. Ben sent me. I need you to trust me, Annelly. Can you do that?” The calm force in his tone terrifies me more than if he’d been screaming. My mind is drowning in panic, making it nearly impossible to piece his words together. When I stay silent, his voice sharpens. “Annelly! You have to trust me.”

My head bobs in a shaky nod before I finally find my voice. “Okay… yeah.”

“Good. As quietly as you can, meet me at the back door. The. Back. Door.” He repeats the words deliberately, like he knows I’m standing here frozen. “Now, Annelly. Stay low, stay away from the windows, and unlock it for me—fast.”

My feet seem to move on their own, as if my body trusts him, even though my mind is struggling to keep up. At the back door, my fingers fumble with the latch before I finally manage to pop it open. In the next instant, James slips inside, gently guiding me aside to make room for himself. He flicks the lock behind him, those crystal blues sweeping over the space in a quick assessment of our surroundings. When he finally looks at me, I hardly recognize him. Gone is the easygoing warmth, the playful grin I’ve come to expect. Instead, this James is grim, intense—like a soldier assessing a battlefield.

“Go to your room—now—and steer clear of the windows,” he instructs, his voice low and urgent. “Lock the door behind you and don’t come out until I get you. Understand me? No matter what you hear, you stay put.”

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