A Season of Firsts

Chapter 28

The first thing I hear when I enter the realm of consciousness is a harsh drum beat, pounding through my head. I tentatively open my eyes to take in my surroundings, but the morning light is too harsh and I wince, quickly closing them again.

My head is resting on a soft pillow, and my hair has been tied back from my face. I'm underneath a heavy blanket, and I'm warm. Oh God, I'm so hot. I force my eyes open and fling the covers off my body, freeing myself from my confines.

I look around the spacious room, and I don't know where I am. Everything is so bright and modern. White walls, mirrored furniture, silver ornaments. There's an en suite bathroom, with the door open to a huge walk in shower. Am I in a hotel room? I'm starting to convince myself I am when Rory walks in the other door, carrying a glass of water and a tray of food. He stops when he sees that I'm awake, running his eyes all over my body. It's then that I register that I'm wearing a pink pyjama set with the words 'Don't talk to me before midday' scrolled across them. Seems appropriate for my current tolerance for noise.

"Hi," I try to say, but my voice comes out gravelly and pained. Rory sets the tray down and comes over with the water, perching on the end of the bed and offering it to me. "Here, drink this," he says as I take the glass from him, my hand shaking from the weight of it. I take a big sip, and he touches the back of his hand against my forehead, checking my temperature. I can feel the sweat on the back of my neck, so I'm not surprised when he frowns. "How are you feeling?" he asks. I don't get to answer that question before I feel the water I just drank coming back up my throat, and I run to the open bathroom door, just reaching the toilet bowl before the contents of my stomach fight their way out of my body. It's disgusting, and I feel disgusted with myself when Rory comes up behind me, rubbing my back in soothing motions. "You don't have to be here - I'm fine," I croak, feeling guilty.

"You're not fine, Dela. And look what happened last night when I wasn't there for you," he retorts, guilt lining his voice heavier than mine. What does he mean, what happened last night?

"What did happen last night?" I ask, confused, but I wish I hadn't when the colour drains out of his face and his hand pauses on my back.

I gather what memories I have, piecing them together. Me, Hallie and Mabel, going out to the club in the city. Dancing, drinking. Seeing Felix. Oh god. Felix. It all comes back to me in a rush, and I let out an involuntary cry, before I start retching again.

I feel disgusting, like I've been tainted by his unwanted touch. And Rory's here, trying to make me feel better, but right now I don't think I'll ever feel better again.

"Get out," I whisper. I can't take his pity.

"Dela," he says, pained.

"I need to be alone. Please." I say please, but he knows I'm not asking him. He gets up slowly and shuts the door gently behind him.

I shakily stand to my feet and turn the shower on. Water cascades down from the ceiling, heating in seconds. I gingerly strip my borrowed pyjamas off, feeling nervy in an environment I don't know, but I don't have many other options at the moment.

There is an array of expensive hair care products resting on a shelf, but I reach straight for the bar of soap and a loofah. I submerge my head under the scalding water, and scrub my body clean, needing to wash away any remnants of last night and Felix's hands on me. No matter how hard I scrub, though, I can't wash away the memories. When the realisation hits that the memory of last night will likely stay with me for the rest of my life, I sink to the floor of the shower, lean my head on my knees and cry until my fingers are wrinkled from the moisture.

I let myself have that, then I get up, turn the water off and steel myself for the number of pitying glances and questions that are going to be thrown my way today. There's a pile of clothes by the door – Rory must have slipped them inside while I was showering.

I put them on, and they definitely belong to Mabel, because her jeans barely fit me. I brush my hair in the reflection of the steamed-up mirror, and a pair of red-rimmed eyes stare back at me, empty. I can do this. I've lived through worse. Rory can't see me as a mess when we're not even together anymore. His affection is only out of pity and guilt that he couldn't stop what happened. Nothing more.

He's sat in the armchair that faces the large bay window when I re-enter the room, and Mabel and Hallie are sat on the bed, looking nervous. They look up as soon as the door opens, and I must not be as convincing as I thought, because they both immediately rush over to envelope me in a hug. I let them hold me up, but I don't let another tear fall.

"We are so sorry, Addy. Words can't even begin to describe how sorry we are," Mabel starts.

"We should have been by your side. It should have never happened," Hallie says, her eyes cast downward. I know how much what ifs can eat you up on the inside, so I need to shut this train of thought down before it can go further.

"No. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't anyone's fault but his. He alone is responsible," I say, fire in my words, and I mean every single one.

"Do you want to report him to the police?" Hallie asks, and I tense. I see Rory turn his head to gauge my response. I know I should. I know if you had asked me yesterday, "If you were sexually assaulted, would you report it?" I would have said yes straight away, with no doubt in my mind. But it's so different when it actually happens to you. I'm so scared that it would be turned around on me, that I would be blamed for what I was wearing, what I was drinking, how I was dancing. I'm so scared it would turn into an incredibly lengthy process, and I would have to think about it every single day of my life. I'm so scared that no justice would come from bringing it to the authorities, and all of the extra pain would be for nothing. I can't do it. Maybe someone stronger than me could, but I don't think I'm that girl. I wish I could be, and maybe someday I will be, but right now I can't take much more.

"No," I whisper, hoping Rory won't hear me and I won't have to suffer his disappointment as well as his pity, but I know he does when he turns back towards the window. He turns his back on me again. "I want to go home."