Antagonym

Chapter 31

Everything around me was spinning. I couldn't focus on anything except the constant click of a clock in my ears. I felt the bruising grip of a pair of hands on my legs, digging their fingertips into my flash as they forced my legs apart. I tried to scream but my throat was growing raw with every exaggerated breath I took. Sharp, stabbing pain blossomed in my lower half, a deep scream burning my throat like it was made of legitimate fire. It felt like my throat was so burned it was fusing together, sealing off my air as my body tried to coil into a ball, the strong hands easily pushing my week frame back down.

When my eyes finally focused on something it was the face I dreaded. Spack was in his early twenties; he was the trainer every girl already had the hots for. Ever since that day he looked like a monster to me. The look in his almost black iris' only made me tremble in fear. His blonde hair consumed my vision like a blinding white light, taking over my head so I couldn't forget what he was doing to me. Another deep scream left my throat as I clawed at his hands as one of them grabbed my breast, a new feeling of torture pulsing through my veins.

"Danny!"

Like a light switch everything went black, only the pain in my throat and my chest was real. My eyes shot open like a dear in headlights with gasps for air. "Danielle, hey, hey. It's alright, Baby, I got you," a familiar voice assured me, huskier than usual. My entire body jumped in surprise, my arms going up in front of my face as a gut reaction for protection. Eventually, my vision focused on the raven haired law student with his brows pulled together in worry. "Danny, you're safe. I got you, I'm right here. I'm not going to hurt you."

I let out a breath of relief, dropping my arms from protecting my face. I needed a moment to collect myself, letting the tears in my eyes dissipate as my palms rested on my forehead. My raspy voice spoke up, "I'm sorry, Beckett." I was sorry for a lot of things. Scaring the crap out of him. Waking him up. Making him deal with my shit. Beck seemed to disappear for a week after his brother had surgery, which was understandable. Then the first night he's not at the hospital I wake him up screaming bloody murder.

"Hey, don't apologize. Everything is alright, I got you," Beck reassured me. He was sitting up in his bed beside me, looking down at me but not touching me anymore. He had shaken me awake but was quick to remove his touch, not sure how I was going to react. I sat up and made the first move for him, leaning my head against his hard chest. "Do you want to talk about it?" Beck whispered, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me into him.

"Six years ago today," my raw voice cracked. I didn't want to be a burden on him. It was two in the morning. "I'm sorry, Beck. You haven't slept a full night of sleep in at least a week. Just go to bed."

I tried to pull away again but Beck firmly kept me close to his warm torso. "I care more about your well being than an extra hour of rest. If you don't want to talk about it, than you can just tell me. I'm not going to be offended. I just want to help you. Danielle, you are one of the most important people in my life and I want to help ease your pain. It hurts me to see you like this; let me help you, Baby."

I exhaled deeply, closing my eyes and letting the tension leave my muscles while I tried to calm my heart rate. I don't know what I would do without Beck in all honesty. Seb knew how to comfort me when I woke up screaming but it was different. Seb understood me, I could say anything, and he was protective of me. With Beck it was the same, but there was something else there; another tinge of warmth that I didn't get with Seb. Maybe it was because I had feelings for my best friend, but I didn't want to think about that.

Especially not now.

"I don't get these nightmares often," I told Beck but he already knew that. For the almost two months we shared a bed, I'd never had this reaction. Not after my panic attack, or my confession, or even after Beck had fingered me. It was a periodic thing and I knew that. Maybe my initial thoughts about starting to wean off of therapy were wrong. I still needed it. PTSD didn't just go away. "But uh, it's periodic. Six years ago today is when my rape happened."