(Katherine)
Aching had me crying out and my eyes flying open. My jaw was chattering so hard, I couldn't stop the slamming of my teeth. With each move I made, my head throbbed.
Water poured over me, ice cold, and it took all my strength to push from the bottom of the tub to shut it off. Tightly, I hugged my bare chest, looking around my empty bathroom. My mind searched itself and flashes of...something came back. A man. A ... scary man?
I didn't feel alone. Was I alone? How had I gotten here?
My legs shook while I stood, and I reached for my towel. It was hanging right where it always was. I wrapped it around my body, cautiously walking to the door. Fear had me easing it open. The apartment was silent. But shouldn't it be?
No ... there was someone. The man. A suit popped into my head, and then eyes. Black eyes. Tattoos. They moved like snakes. He'd helped me out of the shower, hadn't he?
Moaning filled my ears and I groaned at the clips of me burying my face in his neck as he fingered me. Yes, he'd taken me to the bed.
I stayed at the doorway to the bathroom, scanning over the comforter. He'd cleared a section off, but my clothes were still there. Still spread out all over the surface the exact way I had left it.
I shook my head in confusion and turned back to the large mirror over the sink. A gasp tore from my throat and I raced forward, rubbing my fingers over the number fourteen cut into my shoulder. It wasn't but an inch long, but it was there. Had I done that? Why couldn't I remember? Nothing made sense.
"God." I walked backwards, toward my room, unable to immediately break my gaze from the wound that was no longer bleeding. My heart raced. Tears streamed down my cheeks and a sob escaped as more memories came. He'd fucked me. Or...I dreamed he had. And he was rough. I liked it, but I had told him to stop, and he hadn't. Then...pain and nothing.
Tightly, I held the towel between my breasts. I couldn't stop turning in circles as I tried to gather more of what happened.
"Takeout."
I staggered into the living room, crying even harder as the filth I knew all too well faced me. Nothing was clean. Everything was the same. Even the door was locked. Which meant, what? That I had imagined it all? That it was a fantasy-trip gone bad? Something in that had me taking a deep breath.
"A bad dream. Yes." I sniffled, wiping the wetness from my cheeks. Despite the small ounce of relief, fear wouldn't leave. It didn't feel like a nightmare. The memories were so real. And I'd never once had that happen with the pills before. A slight hallucination, yes, but a full-blown episode like that? Never.
Ringing had my eyes going to the coffee table where my clutch was. I headed over, frowning at my work number on the caller ID. I couldn't talk to them now. No way I was coming in early.
I took in the time, jerking my head up in panic. When I tugged back the blinds, more tears came. It couldn't be after seven at night. It just couldn't be. The sun was almost setting. Had I slept all day in the shower?
The pruning on my fingers as I stared down in disbelief said yes, which only added to my anxiety. Ringing, again. I jump at the sound, walking away from the window as I pushed the button.
"I'm late," I rushed out. "I know. I just woke up. I'm sick. I can't come in tonight."
"Can't come in?" Strickland ground out. "I'm already down two. Drinking isn't a sickness, Katherine—unless it is. In that case, I'll gladly cart your ass over to the DD."
A loud exhale left me while I rubbed over my face. "Fine. Give me twenty minutes."
"Hurry."
The line went dead, and I hung up, tossing the phone to the sofa. I was overreacting. It was the drugs. That's all it was. My mind invented something really fucked up and I ended up cutting a goddamn number into my shoulder. Surely, it happened to people all the time. Maybe not the cutting, but the bad drugs. I'd just steer clear of the pills for a while and this would go away.
Even as I tried to dismiss it, my hand came up to the back of my head. It was tender, but that could have been from the way my head rested against the tub for hours. Or maybe I had fallen and hit it at some point? It made sense. And nothing was different in my apartment. There was no evidence of anyone ever being here.
I headed back into my room. For the life of me, I couldn't go near the bed or stop looking at it. Grabbing some panties and a bra from the drawer, I slid them on. There was an aching on the outsides of my entrance, which gave me pause, but I ignored it, not wanting to think any more on the situation. Continuing to contemplate wouldn't help me. It would only feed the depression that rested inside, and I couldn't head down that road so quickly after a binge.
A pair of jeans rested on top of the dresser, and I pulled them on, then grabbed my uniform shirt that was cut and braided up the back. It exposed a good few inches of my stomach. For the first time ever, I wanted to wrap my arms around my waist and try to hide the skin that showed. Instead, I slid on some socks and my boots. I refused to look at my apartment as I grabbed my purse and stuffed my phone inside. My keys were on the counter, and I picked them up before heading out and locking the door behind me.
The Dirty Dogs was only a few blocks away. I kept my pace fast, weaving around the random people walking or just standing out in the street. The closer I got to the strip, the more at ease I became.
"Katherine? Katherine!"
I slowed, coming to a stop just a few feet from the entrance of the bar. A man with brown hair jogged across the street. I narrowed my eyes as I studied his appearance. He was familiar, but not enough for me to remember where I knew him from.
"Katherine, I thought that was you."
Blue eyes took me in and he smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. He was wearing a white t-shirt and faded jeans. They were torn at the knee, and something about them triggered something.
"Roy. We met last night at Lazy Ducks's." His head cocked to the side as he laughed. "You don't remember me. It's okay. We didn't talk long. But you, I remember." He glanced at my shirt, then turned his attention to the bar. "You work here?"
"Yes, and I'm late. I'm sorry I don't remember you. I was kind of messed up last night."
"You're telling me. You were falling all over the place. Spilled your beer all over me, but that's okay. I think you just wanted to get my shirt off."
I groaned, shaking my head as the memories came flooding back. "That's right. I remember now. I'm so sorry. I'm never getting that drunk again. I'm so embarrassed."
"You shouldn't be. You weren't that bad," he said, stepping in closer. "You were having fun. Nothing wrong with that."
Roy stumbled to the side, barely catching himself as a man in a black baseball cap clipped his shoulder—hard.
"Hey, bro, what the fuck is your problem?"
The stranger came to a stop at the door of the Dirty Dogs, holding still. My heart jumped into my throat at the size of his shoulders. Slowly, he turned, pinning both of us with a pair of bright green eyes. He had a square jaw and full lips, and there was slight growth tinting his cheeks.
Even though he wasn't anywhere near as tan as Oscar had been, my eyes shot down to his bare arms in search of tattoos. He looked...familiar, but it wasn't the stranger who had helped me home. It couldn't have been. No tattoos. Wrong skin color. Wrong eye color. But I knew that face, even if I couldn't really recall what the Oscar from my visions looked like up close. Was I losing my mind? Had the man who helped me on the sidewalk even come into my home? Had he taken advantage of me in my inebriated state? What if he didn't exist at all?
"Oscar?"
The anger tightening the man's face softened as his eyes went from Roy to me.
"Not tonight. Unless you want me to be."