Page 152 of Trailer Trash

I was dreaming. It was a nightmare. I think.

I creep out of bed, slow and tense, then search the house.

Everything is as it was. Nothing out of place. No lurking, masked men.

“It was just a dream,” I whisper and clutch my forehead.

It felt so real. What if it was real... could it have been Killian?

I finger myself once more. Still, no release coats my finger. I showered before bed. I feel just as clean.

I’m losing my mind.

The clock catches my eye. It’s noon.

Shoot! I overslept. I must have needed the sleep. That’s why I had those crazy dreams and feel like I was hit by a truck. Poor Evan. He must get less sleep than I do.

For the first time since the rape, I feel a little of what Evan must. I can’t linger in such dark thoughts, though. I need to get ready fast.

I jerk open my dresser drawer and grab a bra. When I turn to face the bed—

I freeze.

I see myself. I see what I would’ve looked like lying there with some intruder on top of me. That mask. The creepy eyes staring down at me. They seemed so real. I could see paint cracks on the mask.

Goosebumps spread over my body.

My gaze pulls up at the ceiling, to the spot I would’ve been looking if a mask hadn’t blocked my view.

I blink several times. Squint.

What is that?

I step onto the bed.

There, on the light fixture, is an odd plastic thing. I pinch it and pry it from the glass. There’s a charging port. On the other end, it might be a lens.

Oh my God... is this a camera?

I sink onto the bed, making myself small without realizing it. All four walls are watching me. I’m afraid to move.

41

Harlow

I hurry down the hall of the dance studio, searching for Frida. When I spot her, she’s instructing a group of tween ballerinas.

I slip inside the classroom and wave, then gesture for her to come over.

She hesitates, but has a helper take over the lesson. As soon as she’s close enough, I clamp onto her wrist and practically drag her into the hallway.

“Have you seen Killian?” I start.

She folds her arms and shakes her head.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”