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Allie doesn't believe the car crash that caused her amnesia was an accident. She knows the truth...
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MY HEAD FEELS like it's going to explode.
There's a heaviness in my extremities, and I feel rigid, and unable to move, stars still bursting in my vision. My weighted-down eyelids blink slowly, trying to focus on something, and make sense of my surroundings. The sight before me sways, my head lolling back and forth as it hangs forward. It takes a while to realize I'm staring down at my lap, my jeans a jarringly normal thing to be the first to grace my eyes.
It takes a second longer to realize I can't breathe. Not properly, anyway.
My mouth has been forcefully clamped shut, my lips sealed together with duct tape that tugs at my skin as I move.
Panic seizes my chest as I fully wake up, still feeling disoriented, and my breathing quickens, laboured and loud. I sit up straighter in my seat, my movements restricted once more, my wrists bound together behind me, a taut cord strapping me to the seat back. A tortured noise sounds at the back of my throat, as I finally understand where I am.
From the looks of it, my current location is the school's musty basement, the lighting dim, shelves of cleaning supplies and an old furnace as a backdrop. And I'm not alone.
Dylan looks agitated and nervous, pacing back and forth, but he stops when he notices my gaze. James is leaning against one of the shelves casually, passing a bloodied baseball bat back and forth between his hands, and a grin adorns his lips as we make eye contact. Zoe stands directly before me, her lips pulled in tight, arms crossed over her chest.
"Rise and shine, sweetheart," James says, but my eyes don't leave Zoe's face.
She shifts her position slightly, challenging my stare, and it's then that I see the sleek back object in her hands. A gun.
I can't suppress the primal urge to bolt, and I begin to wriggle in my seat helplessly, trying to break free. There's a thick silence in the room as they all watch my futile attempts to escape, the chair scraping against the floor.
Vaguely, I hear Zoe sigh, and she turns to James, waving a hand. He nods, resting his baseball bat against the shelf and heading in my direction as he cracks his knuckles. My heart races as he continues to approach me, and my struggling intensifies, my body trembling in anticipation of what he's about to do.
He gives me the briefest of apologetic looks before everything comes to an abrupt halt, and I register the feeling of his rough hand connecting with my cheek, causing my head to swing, my hair flying in the process, as a strangled sound leaves my throat. The room goes still again as I hang my head, a stinging sensation spreading throughout my face, and my body still trembles, though this time in rage instead of fear.
"Sorry, doll," I hear him say distantly, but I can't detect the slightest trace of remorse in his tone.
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling an onslaught of frustrated tears springing to the surface. I should've left with Mason. I should've gone straight home.
