Page 16 of The Ache That Stayed

“No,” she said slowly. “We did shots. Then Callum saw you arguing with someone. And then… you were just gone.”

My insides churned. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the ominous green goop or the flashes that surfaced uninvited, jagged shards slicing through the fog.

The fox mask.

My skin tightened at the thought.

I remembered Callum. The stranger whispering to him.

Callum walking away.

I remembered the heat.

His mouth on mine, stealing tequila.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I remembered cold leather beneath my thighs, a seatbelt clicking in place. Streetlights streaking past the window. Warmth after cold. A voice, low and close. Calm. Almost like panic wasn’t allowed in its presence.

My pulse spiked. I swallowed hard. The bitterness of the green goop still lingering in my mouth.

“Earth to Roxy.” Ritu said, snapping me back to the present.

“I… don’t remember getting home.”

Her brows pulled together. “Rox.”

My heart began to race.

Did he bring me here?

No. Someone would have told me. Someone would have stopped him.

…Right?

I glanced down at myself. I was wearing an oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts, and nothing underneath. On any other given day this was my go-to bedwear, but today, it felt like a violation. A sick coil twisted low in my stomach.

“Wait,” I said. “How did I get into these clothes?”

Ritu’s face drained of colour. “You don’t remember changing?”

“No.”

Ice slid down my spine.

Did he undress me? See me naked? Touch me?

I turned and rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, heart hammering loud in my ears. I flicked on the light and stared at my reflection—bloodshot eyes, pale skin, lips still faintly stained red. Fake blood from the costume was gone. He’d even wiped that away. My reflection looked scrubbed, altered, like someone else had decided what version of me should wake up.

I checked my arms. My thighs. My neck.

No bruises. Nothing. I tried to steady myself and checked lower—I slid a finger inside myself, breath held, searching for soreness, for tenderness, for proof of consent violation.

No soreness. No burn. Nothing.

Relief hit so fast I could barely stand upright, but it didn’t wash the unease away. It only left me shivering in its undertow, knuckles white against the counter, breath dragging shallow and uneven.

What the fuck happened?