I sit cross-legged on my bed, textbooks sprawled around me like a moat, drowning in equations and essays I can barely focus on. Every time my mind wanders and I think of last night, the homework comes back, pulls me back. It is the only thing keeping me sane right now, the only tether. If my mind spirals, if I think too deeply about what I don’t remember, about the terrifying blackout, about the sick feeling as he hovered over me, or the hollow feeling gnawing at my stomach — I might actually lose it. I’m halfway through a calculus problem when I hear the front door slam downstairs, making me jolt. My neck hurts from looking down for so long, and I hear my mother’s voice, shrill and furious. “Where is she?!” My stomach knots instantly, and I look toward my bedroom door.
“Who?” demands Fra
