Hiding Anna [rewritten]

Chapter Twenty-Two: Unmasked

I woke up next morning spooned from behind with a steady warm breath blowing against my nape. Ah. This felt nice. I snuggled against the body, ignoring the pounding in my head that could only be so severe from either drinking too much or crying too much.

Crying.

Last night.

Shit.

Abruptly, I bolted up but just as soon as my head left the pillow it was gently pushed brought down again, the strong arm around my waist tightening.

"Morning." George breathed in my ear. Shivers ran up my arms and a sudden reality dawned upon me.

I told George I wanted us to be together yesterday. He said he wanted to too. I was going out with him. He was my... boyfriend?

Panic set in, burning through my chest. My breathing sped up, and until the arm around my waist loosened its grip I thought I was about to hyperventilate again.

I swallowed, loudly and thick from sobbing my eyes out last night. I couldn't believe I told George everything. I'd never spoken a word about that night to anyone - not anyone - and now he knew. George knew.

I didn't answer, I stayed quiet and stiffly poised.

After a few quiet minutes of me thinking and rethinking about every word I'd told George yesterday, I concluded that there was nothing more to tell.

The trick. The house. The rape. The whorehouse. The beatings. The broken bones. The drug overdose revival. The arrest. The drugs. The slut. The smoking. The parties. The binge drinking. The nightmares. Josh.

I wanted to sob again just thinking about what he did.

As if sensing my terror George's arm tightened again around my middle and I felt his other hand push away my hair behind my shoulder so he could rest his chin there.

"Shh..." He cooed, running his hands over my hair and letting his breath blow down my back. I glued my eyelids down tightly blocking out the hallucinations I was experiencing about what happened with Josh. "Shh, it's okay. You're okay. You're safe with me, I promise."

Struggling to breathe I concentrated on the oxygen following through my nose and the steady heartbeat against my back. I let out a strangled whimper and tried to stop hyperventilating or possibly fainting.

"What's on your mind?" George asked quietly.

"Last night." I replied, in a croaky voice. I should never cry that much again.

He moved away a little then rolled me off my side and onto my back so I could actually look at him, throwing his arm across my chest and coming round so he could cup my face in his hands.

In the morning he looked even more attractive than when he was dressed up. All tousled dark hair and lazy expression. Maybe it was because he looked more natural, laid-back and cosy. I liked cosy.

"Do you want me to take you to the police?" He asked softly, with hope. "You're still in the same clothes. The evidence is there."

I shook my head. I think part of me always knew that if something like this ever happened to me again I wouldn't go to the police. It was too costly for my sanity and was highly unlikely to achieve a conviction. Maybe that meant that I was submitting to patriarchy but I didn't really care.

What if that had happened to Abi? I would want her to go to the police, in fact, regardless of whether she wanted to or not, I would take it to the police. I would do everything in my power to get the perpetrator locked up.

Then why did I see myself as the exception?

George nodded slowly, as if to say that he would respect my decision, but with reluctance.