"Please. Stop," I plead after he removes his dirty hand from my mouth.

He smiles, but it is the wrong sort. This man runs on hostile malice instead of any form of positive feelings. Sharp pain lances through my head and colorful spots flash in front of my eyes as his fist hits my face. The moment he lets go of me, I fall to the floor like a bag of potatoes. He takes hold of my clothing, drags me away from the wall, and drops me on my back. The hard, chilled concrete makes me shiver, but when he bends and his palms touch my breasts through the fabric of my dress, and they move south, my mind and body scream. Please, no!

A sudden loud bang makes him jump up and turn to scan the alley. I take this opportunity and roll on my side. Pain spears through me, and I stop crawling when his boots connect—full force—with my back repeatedly. I grunt in agony while his dark, evil laugh fills the air.

After what feels forever, he whispers, "I'll see you later, doll face."

Footsteps retreat, and I try to move, but every movement causes a muscle or bone to ache. I keep still as the deep, warm, nauseating pain throbs inside my body. I attempt to collect them, but there are too many too fast. They come in waves, and when they increase in intensity, I hold still and inhale and exhale slowly until they wane. There is no blood, but my everything hurts with every breath. It is as if a nail bomb is exploding in my innards. Gradually, a black mist swirling at the edges of my mind takes over, and I let it draw me into sweet oblivion.

"No!" I shoot out of bed and hit the light button on my nightstand. My breathing is high, and tears beg to be released, but I push them away. I will not cry. I slide off the mattress, walk towards my kitchen, and turn on the coffee machine. While the espresso pours into the cup, I glance up and huff: 3 a.m. Just great.

A long, exhausting sigh leaves my lungs when the clock hits nine. Time to get ready for work. A loud knock on the door causes my heart to leap out of my chest. Goddammit. I'm in my house, and nobody is here. Stop being so goddamn jumpy. It doesn't matter how hard I scowl at myself—my body keeps disobeying me. My muscles tense when the intrusive sound repeats itself.

"Alisha Alexandra McQueen, open up. We know you're home."

Hearing the familiar voice, I hurry over and swing the door open.

"Jeez, give a girl time. I was in the bathroom."

My two best friends stand next to each other. Emma places her hands on her hips, and stares straight into my eyes, while Bella, my artistic friend, wanders into my living room, and takes a seat on the couch, crossing her right leg over her left.

I close the door after Emma walks in. She stops by the redhead and speaks, "So, how are you doing?"

I roll my eyes. "Both of you. Stop asking me that stupid question every single day. I'm fine, look," I say, making a pirouette.

"We're not here to analyze your outfit," Emma says with frowned brows.

"How are the nightmares?" Bella asks.

"I don't have them anymore."

Two pairs of eyes glare at me in disbelief. "Bullshit! You can't fool us! You're not yourself."

I cross my arms in front of my chest and glare at Emma. "God, is your son sharing his testosterone with you? Because your courage is skyrocketing, girlfriend."

My pregnant friend laughs and places her hand on her growing belly. "Alisha, tell me the truth. Did you sleep last night?"

I huff. "A few hours. But if you'll excuse me, I must go to work. Amanda is waiting in the store."

My eyes wander over Bella and Emma, who are in full-on stare mode. I love these women, but now they're going into an overprotective sister act. And I hate it.

Emma raises a brow. "We're going if you answer Bella's question truthfully. Do you still have nightmares?"

I turn and walk to the hallway where I stop and answer the question while having my back towards them. "Yes. And they're better called night terrors," I say, before walking to my room to make myself presentable.

* * *

After a long exhausting workday, I drop my ass on my favorite spot in my apartment—my loveseat lounge chair—a giant, purple, in-your-face piece of furniture. I lift my legs and get comfortable by resting my head on the headrest. This was a typical day in the clothing boutique, with enough well-paying customers. I love my job at Venus, but I hate how it keeps triggering memories of that night. But I'm not letting fear stop me from doing the work I cherish. I grunt and massage my temples as the other issue I'm dealing with crosses my mind—men.

I never minded men getting close, but now, my body goes tense every goddamn time the male species comes within arm length proximity. Today the cheek of the handsome delivery guy—who I used to flirt with—met the palm of my hand after he scared the shit out of me when he tapped me on the shoulder while I was busy with a shopper. God, will I ever go back to my usual self? The sound of something sliding over the ground alerts me. I sit up straight and inspect my surroundings until my attention falls on a pink envelope lying on the floor by the door. I stand up and walk over. Weird. There is nothing written on the outside. I pick it up, open it, and slide the paper out. The hairs on the nape of my neck rise, and air has a hard time entering my lungs. Starved for oxygen, my heart races at tremendous speed while I stare at the typed text.

See you later, doll face.

The note falls out of my numb fingers as I keep walking back. When I hit the wall, my legs cave, and I drop to the floor. With trembling limbs, I pull out my phone and push a button.

A second later a voice comes through. "Hey, girlfriend."

"Amanda..."

"What is it?" She laughs softly. "Why are you whispering?"

I sniffle. "C-can you please come over?" My eyes are fixed on the door as my entire body starts trembling.

"What's wrong?" Her previous playful tone laces with concern.

"I-I... I'm scared."

"What—I'm on my way, honey." The clinking of her keys resonates on the other end of the line. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

I end the call, draw my knees to my chest, and rock myself back and forth while my heart bounces against my ribcage as if I'm running a marathon. Tears roll down my cheeks, soaking the sleeve of my robe. I want to wipe them away. But I can't. I can't think...

Time passes, and I stay in this position until there's a knock on the door, followed by my friend's voice. I get up, and when I let her in, she closes the door and focuses her attention on me.

"What's wrong?"

My lip trembles as more tears leave the corner of my eyes. "He found me!"

"Who?"

I point to the letter on the floor. Amanda picks it up, and her jaw clenches as she reads the text.

My hands roam through my blonde locks. "I have to move, Amanda."

She grabs my hand and guides me to my favorite chair. "Come, take a seat, and I'll make you a cup of tea." She hurries to my open kitchen and grabs a teacup, fills it with boiling water out of the cooker tap, and drops an herbal bag inside. After placing the drink on the table, she sits next to me on the lounge seat and speaks. "Alisha, I understand you don't want to, but we need to call the police. This is going too far. They need to find this asshole."

I let out a huff and nod. "I regret ever going to Six-Pack. If I had stayed home, this wouldn't have happened."

"You don't know that. It may have occurred in another bar or another day. So don't beat yourself up about it. What happened isn't your fault." She hands me my phone, lying beside me. "Now, make the call, or I will." Her tone is commanding yet sweet.

I give her a side glance. "You sound exactly like Bella and Emma this morning."

"That's because we're your friends. We love you, and we want to help you get through this, but you need to accept help. It's okay to say you're not okay. You hold up a strong front to the outside, but behind the external layer, you're afraid."

I want to disagree, but she holds up her finger, stopping me.

"Do it."

I press a few buttons on my cell phone and bring it to my ear.

"Boston Police Department. How can I help you?"

When I don't react, Amanda places her hand on my knee and gives it an encouraging squeeze.

"H-hello, my name is Alisha McQueen. I'm calling because I've received a threat letter at my house from someone who assaulted me a few months ago."