Page 1 of Tell Me No
prologue
AURORA
April 28th.It used to be my favorite day of the entire year. Now it’s a constant reminder that the girl I once was is dead, and she’s never coming back. I avoid thinking back on the day my life changed forever as much as I can. But it still comes to me, every single night, live and in color.
My 18thbirthday was a day like any other, only now I was officially an adult. Or so I thought. I’d been going to community college for almost a year, getting all my basic classes out of the way before applying to the Performing Arts Program at LSU. I’ve been a dancer all my life, but I had bigger dreams. I dreamed of owning my own studio someday, dreamed of inspiring other people with my creativity and art.
It just made sense to live with my mom then, and save the money I would spend on rent. My boyfriend Erik and I had been together since my senior year in high school. I just knew he was going to be my happily ever after. It was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever believed, but I was naïve then. He told me he had a surprise for me that night, something special just for my birthday. When he picked me up, he blindfolded me and drove me back to his place. Stupidly, I was so excited. He had never done something so spontaneous before, so I couldn’t wait to see what he planned. When he led me through the door, he pulled off the blindfold and all I saw were his friends, sitting around the living room, playing Xbox or some shit. He had set up some sorry excuse for a party, only inviting people he knew. He’d never taken the time to get to know any of my friends, so I shouldn’t have been shocked.
I was livid. That’s what led to my first mistake of the night. I trusted that no matter how vulnerable I let myself become, Erik would always protect me. I don't know why I believed that when he never had before. He’d always let his stupid friends call me names and make comments about my body, laughing along with them every time. I never should have trusted him. But I did, and I poured drink after drink down my throat, trying to ease the anger of my disappointing birthday celebration. Within two hours, the room was spinning around me. I remember calling out for Erik, searching for him in a sea of swirling faces. Then it’s nothing but flashes for the rest of the night.
I wish I could erase even the flashes from my mind. I’d rather be blissfully ignorant to everything than know what I know. I remember Erik’s face, only inches from mine, as he whispered to me that everything was fine, that this would be fun. Then I saw someone else. I’d seen him before, Dylan maybe? Or could it be Alex? My vision was hazy and unstable. I didn’t trust what I saw or felt. I told Erik no, told him to make it stop, but he didn’t. He just laughed along with his friends, his face sinister and cold. I’d never seen him look so evil. I closed my eyes, trying anything I could to ground myself, to convince myself it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. Strangers’ hands touched me in places only I should have been able to allow. But I couldn’t fight them off. I couldn’t even move. My limbs felt like concrete, like something or someone was holding them down onto the mattress beneath me. I screamed, but no sound passed my lips. This kind of thing happened to other girls, not to me. I was always careful, always attentive to my surroundings when I went out. My brother Elijah taught me how to defend myself when I was just a little girl. I remember trying as hard as I could to pull myself away from that nightmare, but nothing I did made a difference. I thought I was safe with Erik.
It’s been almost three years and those memories still drag me to hell every night. That one mistake altered the course of my entire life. I haven’t stepped foot into a dance studio since that night. It’s like every ounce of my muse was leeched out of me, drained away, just like my innocence and faith in other people. I never told anyone what happened that night. How could I when my memories were so fragmented? I know how women are treated when they reveal something like this. I couldn’t stand to hear anyone ask me if I was drinking too much or if I came on to any of them. Instead, I put a wall of steel around my heart, lined it with barbed wire, and locked it down like the prisoner I became.
one
“Latte for Miranda!”I shout over the noise of Monday morning commuters waiting impatiently for their caffeine fix. Setting the cup on the pickup counter, I mindlessly began making the next order, tag-teaming this rush hour with my work wife, Vanessa.
“I’m over the opening shift,” she says, quietly enough so only I can hear her.
“No shit. Every day I lay in bed thinking, do I really need this job?” I laugh. She nods back to me, both of us knowing we couldn’t quit if we wanted to.
The bell over the door rings, signaling yet another customer. Austin Evans walks through the door. He’s a regular here, the oldest son of Dustin Evans, the local junk and tow yard owner. Every morning, he comes through the door flashing his perfectly straight, white smile, turning his heated blue eyes on to me. I do my best to avoid talking to him, not wanting to give him any impression that I'm interested. He’s good looking, but definitely not my type. I gave up the Ken doll type when I hit puberty. If I'm being honest, I haven’t felt the slightest bit of attraction to anyone since my attack. Well, almost anyone. Steel-grey eyes flash in my mind and I shake my head, willing the thoughts away.
“Earth to Aurora,” someone says, and I look up to see Austin waiting at the register. I don’t know how long I've been staring into space, but it’s been long enough that a line has built up.
“Morning, Evans. Don’t call me that. What can I get you? Americano and a blueberry scone?” I ask, already ringing in his order.
“Oh, man. Am I that predictable?” He says, flashing me a smile. I don’t return it, giving him his total and programming the espresso machine. “When are you going to let me take you out, Aurora?”
The sound of my full name on his lips grates on my nerves. I’ve asked him a million times not to call me that. Nothing against the name my mother gave me, but it gives people the impression I'm some fairytale princess and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
“When are you going to stop calling me that?” I ask without meeting his gaze.
He laughs me off, ignoring the fact that I've never shown any interest in him. I don't understand why men think they deserve a response from a woman just for breathing. Just because he’s interested in me doesn’t mean I am. It’s not a requirement.
“Just one date, Rory? Come on,” he pushes. I’m already annoyed this morning and I'm not in the fucking mood for this.
“I’ve told you no a hundred times, Austin. Do you not realize that no means no?” I snap at him, slamming his cup on the counter. His eyes widen in shock as he realizes I'm completely serious. I’ve never given him any hint of an idea that I'm playing hard to get. At this point, I don't care if he thinks I'm a bitch.
He holds his hands up in surrender, picking up the cup cautiously as I glare at him. “Jesus, Rory. Chill out, okay? I won't ask again.”
“Why am I the one who needs to chill out?! You asked me out, I said no. End of story. Except you keep asking every day like it’s some kind of game! I’M NOT INTERESTED, AUSTIN.” I shout back at him, drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. Silence sounds around us, everyone staring at me like I'm a fucking basket case.
I untie my apron, tossing it onto the counter and walking into the stockroom. I feel the anxiety closing in on me, my breathing picking up and pin pricks skating across my skin. Black spots dance in front of my vision, my heart pounding against my chest so hard my ribs will surely crack. I drop to the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs and letting my head fall between my knees. I pick at the thick laces on my scuffed Doc Marten boots, searching the recesses of my mind for anything I can cling to. Anything that will center me onto this plane. I close my eyes, repeating the words my therapist taught me over and over as I try to take deep breaths.
This is not you. This is something moving through you. It can leave out of the same door it came in.
I repeat it over and over in my head, breathing deeply until I feel my heart rate start to slow. My muscles relax and the circulation returns to my fingers as my arms loosen around my knees.
The panic attacks have become more frequent since I was almost kidnapped last month. As if I wasn’t already incredibly uncomfortable in my skin, I was attacked in a place I thought was safe. Breaker’s home security system is massive, but still the men who were after Everett got in. When I felt someone’s hands on me in the shower, I immediately thought the tight wire stringing Breaker and I together had finally snapped. That he had given in to temptation. It only took me a millisecond to realize the hands touching me were not his. Fear, unlike anything I’d felt in almost three years, flooded over me, reducing me to nothing more than a shivering child. Although I made it through that experience relatively unharmed, the memories of my previous assault came back with a vengeance. Any progress id made with my therapist was wiped away in a matter of minutes.
Now, I find myself huddled on the floor of the stockroom, surrounded by empty paper cups and wooden stir sticks. I hate this part of myself. I despise feeling weak and vulnerable, especially in public. There was a time before I turned into this hollow version of myself. I was strong and confident, creative and brave. I had so many dreams that feel so out of reach now. A knock on the door draws my attention away from my downward spiral.
“Hey, babe. You okay?” Vanessa asks, her voice sympathetic and soft. I don’t want pity from anyone, but she knows I'm working through heavy issues right now. I haven’t felt brave enough to tell her everything yet, but she knows enough.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, the embarrassment of my outburst finally setting in. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
