Interstice 5

  Lily wakes up groggy, her eyes heavy and sticky with a combination of sleep and yesterday’s makeup. Her body feels strangely heavy and she is disoriented. She rolls over onto her back, her eyes squeezed shut attempting to dull the throbbing in her head. She breathes out heavy and slow, then props herself up on one elbow and peels an eye open, trying to get her bearings. With the back of a hand pressed to her forehead to cool the pain, she tries to focus on the room and how she got here.

  She remembers getting drinks with Alex at a pub. She remembers his smile, charming and beautiful. She remembers thinking how lucky she was to have met someone like him. Rich, funny, caring. A regular prince charming, swooping in out of nowhere to save her. After drinks they started walking… somewhere? She remembers walking with him, and he kissed her neck. She smiles at the memory of his lips. Warm. Hot. Pain. Her smile falters. She remembers being pressed against a wall, his hands on her body. It was nice. No, not pressed. Pushed? She remembers being pushed against a wall. A bedroom? His hands were warm. It was… nice? No. Not nice. She puts a hand over her abdomen and winces as her fingers go over a purple bruise near her waist. No. It wasn’t nice. It was… something else. She remembers his hands gripping her. No. She closes her eyes tight against the wet heat and the pain fighting for control behind them. No, that’s not what happened.

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  Lily blinks away the heat and stands up shakily. Her clothes are tossed on the floor of the bed and she takes in the room while she hurriedly puts them on. She’s in the same house that Luke had brought her to after the robbery. The bedroom door is open and she can see the living room outside. No one is here. Did someone spike her drink with something that knocked her out? But why would someone have done that? And when? She was with Alex the whole time, he would have stopped them… her mind goes numb as she looks down at the half a dozen photographs that had been tucked beneath her crumpled shirt. Photos of her. Her and Alex. Except Alex’s face has been cut out of them, leaving only her face visible. Her face, clear and wide-eyed, not apparently under the influence of anything. Her face, and all the things their bodies had done together. Written across the image in blockface print reads a message: “You’ll do whatever I say now, or everyone you know gets a copy.”