Page 27 of Anarchy Chained: Alpha Thomas

Out. I was sleeping. That was a dream—nightmare—I correct myself. I reach up to wipe the sweat from my forehead and stop.

There’s a rope burn ringing my wrist. I check my other hand and find the same leftover evidence of… my nightmare. I lean down, pull up my pant leg, and look at the matching burn on my ankle.

It was real. He did that to me. He drugged me, took off my clothes, tied me down, and then… violated me.

“When you’re feeling OK, come out here. I think I know what’s happening,” Thomas calls.

Was it him? Maybe it was someone else. I didn’t see him, did I?

No, he taped your fucking eyes closed so you couldn’t open them, remember?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and lean my elbows on my knees, head in hands.

“Hey,” he says from the open door. “You still feel off?”

I look up at him from underneath my sweat-soaked hair. “Off?” I snarl.

“You look better though. A little flushed. You might have a fever. I have something for that.” He turns to leave, presumably to go get some drug that will put me out again.

“No,” I say, making him turn back to me. “No. I was just…” I turn to look at the bed. “I was under that heavy blanket, that’s all.”

“You’re probably hungry,” Thomas says. “We’ve got emergency food here. But we can go shopping. Pick up stuff for a good meal. The kitchen isn’t anything special, but there’s an oven and a cooktop.”

Is he for real right now? He practically raped me. While I was drugged unconscious. “What the fuck?” I yell.

His head instinctively retreats backwards, like my outburst took him by surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“You—” I stop. Because it’s so… unthinkable. That he would do that and then just… pretend it didn’t happen.

Maybe it didn’t happen?

“I have rope burns,” I say, holding up my wrists. “And on my ankles too.” I mean the words to be an accusation but they come out weak and confused.

Thomas walks over to me and sits down on the bed very close to me. So close I have to lean into him when the mattress sags. “Let me see,” he says, taking my wrist in his hand. His eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry they did that shit to you.”

“They?” I ask. “What shit?”

He shrugs, nothing but sympathy in his eyes. Pity, I think. That’s a much better word for what’s in his eyes. “I don’t know what they did.” He sighs. “But I can imagine. They did a lot of shit to me too when I was young. So I’m sorry. I have ointment that might help. Take the sting away, at least.”

I squint my eyes, unsure of what to make of this. He’s certainly not acting like he’s the one who did this to me. In fact, he’s insinuating that I came here with these rope burns.

Did I?

His hand squeezes mine. “Sadie,” he says. “It’s OK. Whatever they were doing, it’s over now. You’re with me. I know it’s not much since we’re complete strangers. But I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are now. The weeks and months after I left Prodigy were the worst time in my life. I was on my own because my friends and I had to split up. It was a very fucked-up time. I get it.”

I just stare up at his dark eyes. He’s definitely handsome. He’s got one of those faces that say—dashing. Square jaw with a light coat of shadowed stubble. He’s wearing a t-shirt now. His shoulders are broad and his arms well-muscled. His hand is big, completely covering mine.

“Did you… have nightmares?” I ask. “When you left?”

A slow nod of affirmation. “For years. I know we weren’t in the same school.” He looks away, like this is something he takes personally. “I didn’t know they had more than one school, you understand, right?”

I don’t know. I don’t think I understand anything right now.

“I would’ve blown up all of them if I had known there were more. I would’ve saved you.” His eyes dart away from mine, but return in almost the same instant. “Killed you, at least.”

“Killed me?” I ask, almost out of breath.

He shrugs. “To save you from what they were doing. So I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

I feel… defeated. And sad. And stupid. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I finally manage to say.

“I know,” he says softly. “But it’ll get better. I promise.”

“When?” I ask. “I don’t even have my memories. I don’t even know what they did. They’re going to come back and—”

“Shhh,” he says, putting an arm around me. Holding me close to him. “We can worry about that later. I’ll try to prepare you as best I can. I imagine it won’t take long for the effects of my blast to wear off, so we’ll talk about it today. But not now.”

“You have something to show me?” I ask. The panic has faded. The uncertainty is still there, but I don’t think he’s the kind of man who’d drug a woman and violate her. He seems concerned. It was a dream. A nightmare. A hallucination.

“Later, huh?” he says, smiling. “We’re going to go grocery shopping and then we’ll stop by a store and get you things to wear. When we get back, I’ll show you then. We can talk then.” He gets up and walks out of the room, only to return a few minutes later with a little bag in his hands. “Here,” he says, putting the bag down on the bed beside me. “There’s some stuff in there to help you freshen up. Toothbrush, washcloth, soap. You can take a real shower when we get back with clothes.”

He turns and walks out. Cool as can be.

It was a dream. That’s all.

“Don’t make this hard.”