Falling For Us Again

11. DARKNESS

Chapter 11

DARKNESS

Jenna

“Please, switch on the lights.” My words are strained as I clutch my chest, feeling my breath leaving me in ragged gasps.

The darkness swallows me whole, and suddenly, I'm back there. I can’t see anything but the haunting faces of those men pursuing me, their cruel smiles etched into my memory as they push me to the floor. The panic is overwhelming, and my heart races as I struggle to breathe.

“Please, please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, trembling with fear.

Out of the void, Dylan’s hands find mine, grounding me with their warmth. He pulls me into his chest, his grip firm yet gentle. Over the rising tide of my panic, I hear his voice cut through the darkness.

“Can someone turn on the light?” He yells, his tone urgent and commanding.

To me, his voice is softer and more soothing. “I’m here, Jenna. It’s me, Dylan. You’re safe. You’re okay.” His hand moves in comforting circles on my back, his touch anchoring me to the present.

I try to focus on his words, on the sensation of his hand, but my mind is trapped in the past. The memory of those men is vivid and terrifying. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the images away, but they keep resurfacing, each one more menacing than the last.

“Breathe with me, Jenna,” Dylan whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “In and out. Slowly. You can do this.”

I force myself to mimic his breathing, drawing in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly. It feels like I'm trying to breathe through a straw, but I cling to Dylan’s voice, letting it guide me. Gradually, the frantic beat of my heart begins to slow, and my breathing steadies just a bit.

The lights flicker back on, bathing the room in a warm glow. I blink against the sudden brightness, closing my eyes and opening it slowly to adjust as I cling to Dylan.

“Jenna, are you with me?” He asks, his eyes searching mine with genuine concern. He turns his back, shielding me from other people.

I nod, though I don’t trust my voice to speak yet. The terror is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but with the lights on, the memories lose some of their power. I focus on Dylan’s face, his presence a balm to my frayed nerves.

“Jenna?” He squeezes my hand. “Are you with me?”

“Yes.” I manage to whisper, my voice shaky but audible.

“Good. Good.” He rubs my back in gentle motions as I try to focus on his voice.

Around us, the other participants resume their activities, the brief disruption fading as they return to their canvases and conversations. But for me, everything has changed. The vulnerability of the moment has shifted something inside me.

“Jenna, are you okay?” Lola grabs my hand. “What happened?”

I take a slow, steady breath. “I’m sorry, Lola,” I say, my voice stronger. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

Lola shakes her head. “You don’t have to apologize, just focus on breathing ok?”

I nod weakly. “I’m tired now. I want to go home.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Dylan says immediately.

For once I don’t have the energy to argue with him.

Lola hugs me, her eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you tonight?”

“It’s okay, Lola. I’ll just go to bed when I get home. I don't want to bother you.”

“Nonsense, you're not bothering me.”

“I know, but this is your event, and you should enjoy the rest of the evening with Brian.”

“I’ll drive her home, Lola. She’ll be fine.” Dylan steps in.

Lola sighs, hugging me again. “Alright then. Take care of yourself. I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”

I nod.

As we step outside, the cold evening air hits me like a freight train. I rub a hand over my arms to keep the chills away, wishing I had brought a warmer coat. Dylan shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around me.

My lips part as I glance at him. “Thank you.”

He doesn't say a word.

Dylan opens the car door for me, and I slide in, grateful for the shelter from the biting wind. He gets in on the driver’s side and starts the engine, the heater humming to life. The warmth slowly spreads, but it does little to ease the chill that has settled in my bones.

We drive in silence; the only sound is the hum of the tires on the pavement and the faint buzz of the heater. I stare out the window, watching the town pass by in a blur of lights and shadows.

I steal a glance at Dylan, his profile illuminated by the streetlights as we pass. He’s focused on the road, his jaw set in a hard line. I can’t bear to look at him for too long; the intensity of my emotions is too overwhelming. I know I’m always going to carry my wounds, no matter how much time passes or how much support I have.

We arrive at my house, and Dylan pulls into the driveway. He turns off the engine and looks at me, determination etched into his features. “I’m coming in with you.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

“You don't look fine Jenna. Why don’t you call me a piece of shit instead and yell at me.”

“Piece of shit,” I say, sniffling.

“It’s lacking in strength and conviction.” He touches my face, rubbing a thumb against my cheeks lightly.

I crack a small smile. “I’m okay, Dylan. I just want to be alone right now.”

After a moment, he nods, but I can see the reluctance in his eyes. “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.”

“I will,” I promise, though I know I won’t. Not tonight, at least. I need to sort through my thoughts and feelings without anyone else around.

I get out of the car and walk up to my front door, fumbling with my keys. The door swings open, and step inside. I close the door behind me and lean against it, letting out a long, shaky breath. The silence of the house is deafening, amplifying the turmoil inside me.

I move to the living room and sink onto the couch, pulling a blanket around me. My mind races, replaying the events of the night and the memories they dredged up. I hate that those men still have power over me and that their actions continue to haunt me.

I close my eyes, and I’m transported back to that night. It’s a crisp autumn night, and the air is filled with the scent of fallen leaves. I had just parted ways with Dylan after spending a romantic evening together.

He was supposed to walk me home, but a call from his mother had him rushing back. I assured him I’d be fine, offering a brave smile as he hesitated before finally leaving.

As I walk home, the streets grow quieter and darker. The comforting warmth of our earlier laughter fades, replaced by an uneasy chill. I wrap my coat tighter around myself, my footsteps echoing in the silence.

I glance around nervously, the empty sidewalks offering no reassurance.

Then I see them. Four men are sitting by a car with its doors open, the interior light casting eerie shadows on their faces. They’re laughing and talking loudly, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves.

Fear grips my heart, but I steel myself, deciding to walk briskly past them. I keep my eyes forward, willing myself to be invisible.

But they notice me. I can still hear the murmur of their voices and the rustle of movement. I quicken my pace, my breath coming faster. Just a few more steps and I’ll be out of their reach, I tell myself. But it’s too late. A hand clamps down on my arm, yanking me back.

I scream, my voice piercing the stillness of the night. I struggle, kicking and flailing, but there are too many of them. A resounding slap lands on my cheek, the force of it knocking me to my knees. Pain explodes in my head, and I taste blood in my mouth.

They push me onto the cold, hard pavement. I look up through my tears and see their menacing smiles. One of them leans close, his breath rancid with alcohol. "Isn’t this Jenna, the one with the deadbeat father?" he sneers.

The other men laugh; the sound is cruel and mocking.

My vision blurs with tears. I can’t see their faces clearly, but I will never forget that laughter. I whimper, begging them to stop. My pleas fall on deaf ears as one of them starts to unbuckle his belt, his intentions clear and horrifying.

Desperation claws at my throat as I try to think of a way out. Just as the guy above me begins to lower himself, a loud noise shatters the night. A rock hits the car window, the glass splintering with a sharp crack, pieces of glass flying around us.

They freeze, looking around in confusion.

Another rock follows, then another, each one landing with a resounding thud. The next rock hits the one on top of me on the back of his head with. Blood splatters.

Panic sets in among my attackers. They realize they’ve been caught. Scrambling to their feet, they bolt towards the car, leaving me lying on the ground.

The car roars to life, speeding away with a screech of tires.

I lie there, trembling, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. The sobs come uncontrollably, my body shaking with the force of them. Then I see him—Dylan. He’s the one throwing rocks at the car, his face a mask of fury and fear.

He runs to me, dropping to his knees and pulling me into his arms. I cling to him, my tears soaking his shirt. "Jenna," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry." He holds me tightly, rocking me gently as I cry. That cold night, Dylan’s tears mingled with mine, and the two of us united in my shared pain and relief.

The doorbell ring is sharp, and it pulls me back from that dark place, and I know it’s Dylan before I even open the door. He stands there, a small grocery bag in one hand, concern in his eyes. “I can't leave you alone tonight, Jenna,” he says softly.

Tears prick my eyes at his presence. It is just like him to arrive when I need him to. He knows me a little too well, and in another circumstance, perhaps in the past when all was well, this would have made me smile, but it only makes my heart heavy now.

I step aside to let him in. He heads straight to the kitchen, pulling out a carton of milk and a can of cocoa powder.

“I’m going to make you some hot chocolate,” he announces, his tone gentle. “You always said that hot chocolate made everything better. Let’s hope it still does.”

I watch him as he moves around the kitchen, comforted by the familiarity of his actions. I sit at the table, my fingers tracing the wood grain. Dylan works quickly, and soon the rich aroma of chocolate fills the air. He sets a steaming mug in front of me, his eyes soft with concern.

“Drink up,” he says, sitting down across from me with his mug. “It’ll help.”

I take a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through me, easing some of my frayed nerves. I lean against the chair, letting the sweet beverage work its magic. We sit in silence for a while; the only sound is the occasional clink of our mugs against the table.

The tears start to fall before I realize what’s happening, and this time I don’t have the strength to hold them back. I am exhausted emotionally, and everything seems to hurt right now.

I clutch a hand to my chest as the intensity of my tears wracks my body.

I know my tears are not only about tonight but from all the trauma I’ve suffered throughout my life. As much as I’ve had therapy over the years, it was never truly healed, because of the unfinished emotions of Dylan. In a way, I’m weeping about what could have been with Dylan.

Dylan moves his chair closer, his hand finding mine. “It’s okay to cry,” he whispers, his voice soothing. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He stands and pulls me into his arms, I cling to him as a lifeline as the sobs rack my body, the tears a cathartic release.

Dylan’s presence is a balm to my wounded soul, and for the first time in a long while, I allow myself to be vulnerable.