Page 1 of Falcon

Prologue

Five Years Ago

Faith

There’s an eerie calmness on the sidewalks of campus at four in the morning. The bars have closed, the parties have ended, and for the most part, everyone is tucked away in their beds, sleeping off whatever poison they put into their bodies.

It’s silent.

Dark.

My heels click on the concrete in a haze, creating a sickening rhythm that almost taunts me as I walk.

Whore. Click. Slut. Click. You asked for it. Click. It’s your fault. Click.

I can feel the makeup caked onto my face, mixed with sweat and tears. It’s tight and uncomfortable. I want it off. I want to wash this away.

I want to forget.

When I finally reach the door to my apartment, I pause on the outside and rest my forehead against it, releasing an exhausted breath. I slide my key into the lock and turn, the click echoes in my ears.

Everything is different now. Everything feels different. Heightened and numb all the same.

I step into my apartment and trudge toward the bathroom, but not before locking and relocking my door three more times. I need to make sure.

I begin to strip away my layers with each step toward the bathroom.

Through the small foyer, my heels come off.

Across the living room, my jacket lands on the floor.

Into my bedroom, my dress slips down, leaving me in my black bra and shredded panties that are barely attached to my body.

I move into the bathroom, bending over the tub to turn on the shower, leaving the temperature as hot as it can go, allowing the steam to shield me from the world.

I lift one foot, then the other, climbing into the porcelain tub usually brings me so much comfort, and now all it will do is serve as a reminder of the place I washed away this memory.

I stand under the scalding water, still in my bra and panties, and finally begin to cry. Full, painful sobs rack my body and scratch my throat. I cry out all of my fear, all of my anger, all of my shame.

I can feel every touch. The bruising pain of fingers on my hips. The claw marks on my back and thighs. I can still feel him everywhere.

With a loofah in hand and all the soap in my shower, I scrub the blood his nails drew from my thighs. I scrub the memory away. I scrub away what he did.

He ruined me.

Just like he said he would.

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