The Concert

Part 31

A couple things to say before I start:

1) I am incredibly sorry for how lax I have been about updating, I suck, I know.

2) Thank you for your continued or new interest in his story. It has been going on for a long time and I hope to have it finished sometimes soon.

3) Any new and awesome Academy stories? I have fallen really behind on reading them.

A summary of what has happened so far:

Sang lives in the same circle as the Morgan family, but with abusive parents, not everything is as it seems. When the Academy boys start at Ashley Waters, they recognize her from the concerts she performs because she is a violin prodigy. When they realize her home life, they remove her father from the situation. Now Sang is having a sleepover with the guys when she has a nightmare. What will happen when Kota tries to talk to her about it?

It is really hard to keep walls up when someone is both nice and completely delectable is what I have realized.

I mentally berate myself. No thoughts like that allowed. If anyone in the world can read minds, it would be just my luck that I would end up stuck in the room with one of them.

Kota places a gentle hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Let's go to my room and talk," Kota says.

I don't know how to respond other than to follow him as he delicately leads me by the hand. His footsteps fall silent and I some to the realization that this must be his room. He motions for me to sit on his bed.

I don't like this. I don't like this situation at all. My mental alarm triggers. Then he sits next to me. My head blares.

My breath catches as I spiral into a whirlwind of what-ifs. The pressure on my chest increases, feeling vaguely like my ribs are caving in. My vision tunnels, then expands to show only swirls of color. It makes me nauseous.

A hand is placed on my neck and I cannot for the life of me remember where I am at. Where am I?

Hands are feeling, squeezing, groping. I curl further into myself.

With a slight pressure on my neck, my head is forced between my knees. I wind my arms around me.

The smell of spice washes over me, but not as thick as it comes when my father is around. Did he just take a shower? That must be it.

"Sang?" He must be playing Mr. Nice Guy, but I know my role well. I push myself to the center on the bed.

I still can't catch my breath. I really don't want to but since when do I have a choice. I don't get choices.

As practiced as I am in the art of silence, a small murmur of "please no" escapes me.

My lips have gone ever-so-slightly numb with the unsteady but rapid whooshes of air.

"Sang?" He asks louder this time, sounding concerned. But why would he? I must be imagining it. He keeps repeating the one word.

I hear garbled whispers before the bed groans with movement. I tense.

"Miss Sang?" A new voice is present and I don't know who? A male voice. Maybe he brought a friend. Not that strange when I think about it.

I try to resist it, but I can't avoid the recoil when he takes a step closer.