Collide Series Box Set

by J. C. Hannigan

  It was the most terrifying moment of my life. I attempted to run away, but Andrew caught me by my hair, pressing the cold steel of his knife against my throat. He dragged me back to my room, throwing me on the bed, and started talking about all the horrifying things he was going to do to me...with and without his weapon.

  I put up a commendable fight when Andrew climbed on top of me. I kneed him hard in the balls, hoping to stun him enough to get away. Instead of the escape I had hoped for, Andrew cracked the butt of the hunting knife down hard against my cheekbone, breaking the skin and nearly the bone.

  I remember the sensation of my blood dripping, wet and sticky, down my cheek and into my ear as Andrew struggled to get into position. I truly thought in that moment that I would die. I had almost wanted to die. It could have been worse—so much worse—than what it was had Jax Walker not come to the rescue when he did.

  Jax had exploded into my room and thrown Andrew clean off me. His large, imposing size and his training in Mixed Martial Arts made him the stronger, faster fighter. But Jax suffered a stab wound when he turned to tell me to run.

  I swung around, my foot connecting hard against the solid punching bag with a smart thump. I continued my assault, pounding my fists against it until a tear escaped, trailing along the same pathway of sweat droplets from my forehead. I finally stopped, my breathing labored. I hunched over with my hands on my knees, my eyes still focused on the punching bag.

  Grabbing my hand towel and water bottle from the floor, I dried my face as I took a deep drink of cold water, finally beginning to feel at peace. I kept my eyes on the punching bag, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the few others working out.

  I wanted to be normal; I wanted to be happy, but it was impossible to be happy with every subconscious thought drowning me in that night.

  My chest heaved with frantic breaths—partly due to the exertion, but also due to the panic that the memories brought on. I placed the water bottle down slowly, keeping my eyes on that blasted punching bag as if it was to blame for all of the turmoil I felt.

  I got into position again, taking a brief pause before I resumed the therapeutic thumping of my fists against the textured surface. The punching bag was anchored to the floor and the ceiling by a thick chain; it wasn't going anywhere, but I punched it like I could free it from the chains and send it flying across the gym. I punched it like I could unload every last negative, confusing thought that gripped my mind and soul and darkened it.

  I balked before the mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. I was dressed and ready for the day, but I hesitated in doing my usual final check. My reflection mocked me, showing a young woman that looked strong and resilient when I felt anything but. My body was beginning to reap the benefits of my new, vigorous gym schedule; my muscles were leaner and more toned than they had ever been before. My long, wavy dark hair and emerald green eyes were the same as ever, but my face had lost some of its roundness…its innocence.

  Each time I looked in the mirror or any other reflective surface, my eyes would instantly find the only physical scar from that night.

  I gingerly touched the three inch mark that cut across my left cheekbone. Three weeks ago, I was attacked. Three weeks ago, it was an angry reddish purple colour. Now, it was faded to a soft pink. The plastic surgeon that glued the split skin together on my cheek told me it would take time to heal, but would eventually fade.

  It was unfathomable to me just how quickly my body healed in three weeks. My skin had meshed itself back together while my mind and soul remained tattered and torn. I couldn’t help but feel as if the emotional scars of the trauma would never fade.

  I was lucky. I knew that. I was thankful for that. I knew that it could have been a lot worse than it actually was; I could have walked away with worse than a mere cut on my cheek.

  My body could have been mutilated. I could have been raped. I could have been killed. I could have lost Jax.

  My hand trembled slightly, memories of that night resurfacing. I squeezed my eyes shut, gritting my teeth. Now was not the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not that part of my life, but I was powerless against the onslaught.

  I shook as the memory of Andrew and Jax fighting exploded in my brain. The terror that gripped my heart as I watched the knife in Andrew’s hand lash out against Jax was still very real to me, even though it was just a memory—even though Jax was fine.

  I still shivered when I remembered the white bone when Jax had raised his hand to wipe the blood from my cheek wound away. He hadn't even realized that Andrew had cut him with the knife—at least not until I pointed it out before fainting in his arms.

  Like I said, things could have been a lot worse than they were. Jax walked away with minimal damage. He had used his forearm to block the attack, and when the knife dropped down, it bounced off his rib cage.

  Jax hadn’t seemed bothered by the fact that he’d been sliced open because of me. He didn’t blink before throwing himself at a knife-wielding maniac. If that wasn’t romance, I didn’t know what was.

  I ran my brush through my long dark hair, working the tangles out. I was completely aware of the fact that I was procrastinating. Since the attack, I had strategically avoided almost everybody in my life. I didn’t want to see the worry on their faces; I didn’t want to hear the concern in their voices. I wanted to become a part of the background again. I didn’t want the attention this stupid attack had brought me. I wanted the scar to hurry up and fade away, and most of all, I wanted the fear to go with it.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the attention was going to go away any time soon. The university’s newspaper and the city paper had both blown up with the “breaking news” of Andrew Cooper’s attack. Naturally, some intelligent reporters had gotten the inside scoop on the North Bay drama too. Thankfully, the only dirt they managed to dig up was that I was involved in putting Carl Cooper behind bars. The stories ended up going viral on Facebook, much to my absolute horror and dismay.

  It was hard to forget about it because I was not only haunted by memories, but because everyone around me constantly brought it up in some way. Maybe it was a comment, an attempt at causal indifference when they asked “how are you doing?” but the pity and the concern underlying that statement are always there.

  My family and friends were absolutely horrified to hear that Andrew Cooper had been stalking me, biding his time for a while. He knew my every move, he was always watching in the shadows…and I hadn’t even known it. That knowledge made me angry and anxious. What else was lurking, waiting to strike out when I was most vulnerable?

  My cell phone started to ring, the shrill sound cutting through the silence of my bedroom and the hollow echoes of my thoughts. I picked it up and clicked answer without reading the caller ID. I instantly chided myself for my negligence when my mother’s frantic voice filled my ears. “Hello? Harlow?”

  “Hi, Mom,” I sighed, sinking down onto my bed. I had a feeling this conversation was going to take a while. It was the first time in a week that Mom’s attempts at getting me on the phone were successful. “How are you? How’s Larry?”

  “We’re fine, honey,” Mom said. “What about you? How’s counseling going?”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing that she couldn’t see me. “It’s going good, Mom. Really good, I’m great. Really, I am. And I’d totally appreciate it if everybody would stop acting like I’m made of glass now.”

  Mom chuckled sadly. “Oh, Harlow, nobody thinks you’re made of glass. I’d be calling you anyway to check in. I miss you.”

  The resentment and anger still lingered beneath the surface, and the thick blanket of guilt just made me feel as if I was suffocating. “I miss you too, Mom. I’ll get out there soon.” It was a lie and she knew it. I hated going back to North Bay. North Bay had never felt like home to me, especially not after everything that happened there.

  Andrew Cooper was well known in North Bay. He had been the town’s golden boy, its pride and joy. H
is connections protected him from facing the law for years, and when I walked into town and blew apart the pretty little façade that was the Coopers, everything went to shit. I immortalized the Coopers in the biggest scandal the town had ever seen; I had also tarnished their name in the process.

  Rightfully so, if you asked me and every last one of Andrew’s many victims.

  “Easter is around the corner!” she reminded me, cutting into my thoughts. The hope was evident in her voice. My eyes flickered over to the calendar pinned to the bulletin board hanging over my desk.

  “Easter isn’t for another two months,” I pointed out. I’d forgotten to change the calendar, and December winked at me tauntingly. I stood up, stomping over to my desk so I could flip it to January.

  “Well, time flies and I know you’re going to be busy this semester. It’s your last one, after all! Larry and I would really love it if you and Jax could book Easter weekend ahead of time. We’d love to see you both,” Mom said, trying to be casual. I could hear the yearning in her voice from miles away.

  “I’ll ask him,” I said, trying to pacify her even though I knew I’d likely forget all about it. “But look, I’m running late for class. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay, honey. I love you,” Mom said.

  “Love you too,” I muttered, ending the call.

  The sound of footsteps falling against the hallway floor made me take pause. Someone was approaching. Each footfall spoke of caution and determination.

  I glanced up as Jenna came to a stop in the doorway of my bedroom.

  Jenna’s short blond hair was arranged perfectly under her dark purple knitted toque. She was dressed in skinny jeans and the adorable knitted sweater that I bought her for Christmas; it was a dark gray with a scooped neckline that rested against her thin shoulders. She'd matched a black belt with it, and she looked perfectly put together…like always.

  I felt grungy next to her, wearing my favourite pair of jeans and a boring t-shirt. I’d done the same makeup regimen I’d done for years: cover up, mascara, and liquid-eyeliner “cat eyes”. It was almost automatic to do my makeup that way; I didn’t even think about it anymore.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked, almost seeming to steel herself against my response.

  “Yeah,” I responded, my tone void of any emotion. I brushed past her, making my way down the narrow hallway and through our apartment to the front door. I slid into my leather jacket and pulled my black knitted toque over my head, reaching over to grab my messenger bag from the hook by the front door.

  She sighed quietly from behind me, defeated by my mood. I had been in quite the foul disposition lately. Jenna understood, but I could tell that she was beginning to get sick of my scowling, perpetually angry attitude. Jenna was trying to be there for me, but I was making it very difficult. Part of it had to do with the fact that I really hadn't been sleeping well. If I wasn't waking up in a cold sweat, convinced that I felt the metal of a hunting knife against my throat, then I was unable to shut off my mind.

  I didn't really know what my deal was, but I knew if I didn't figure it out soon, I would push more than Jenna away.

  Thoughts of my boyfriend, Jax, nearly took my breath away. Thinking about Jax was like a double edged sword. Thoughts of him made me happy, but they also made me feel incredibly guilty, considering I had locked lips with my ex-boyfriend.

  Iain Bentley had been my twelfth grade English teacher, and in my final year of high school, I fell hard for him, and he had fallen for me too. I followed my desires and ignored the risks as they led me straight into Iain's arms. We carried on a relationship from September until February, when I received an envelope full of photos of the two of us.

  The photos had been a warning, more or less, from Andrew Cooper's father, Carl. I was going to testify in court for Jenna—I had been the one to walk in on them that night. I heard Jenna sobbing hysterically, begging Andrew to stop. I went into the bedroom and found Jenna in tears with Andrew. It was obvious from the tears streaming down Jenna's face and the way Andrew had casually tucked himself back in his jeans that he had forced himself on her.

  My testimony was important to the trial, and the pictures were a warning that if I spoke out, those photos would be brought to light. And Iain would get arrested.

  Not testifying wasn’t an option, though, and Iain knew that. He agreed completely with me, and...I would say that he sacrificed himself so that I could do the right thing and help Jenna attempt to get justice.

  I foolishly thought that Carl Cooper wouldn't make good on his threat, and I was almost lulled into a false sense of security as the days passed after the trial without incident. I knew that I couldn't run back into Iain's arms, but I had started to believe that we would both escape unscathed.

  Unfortunately, we weren't that lucky. Another envelope full of photos surfaced at the police station. Iain was arrested and served one year in jail for sexual exploitation of a minor. After his release, he didn't seek me out. I hadn't seen him until a few days before Andrew attacked me, when I randomly ran into him at the mall when I was shopping with Jenna for a Christmas present for Jax.

  I hadn't meant to kiss Iain, but when he showed up on my doorstep shortly after the attack, it just sort of...happened. He saw my face, got super emotional over it, and before I could react he was kissing me. It hadn't lasted more than a moment, but for that brief fleeting instant, I kissed him back...and I liked it.

  I kept no secrets from Jax though, not after my last secret nearly got us both killed. The very day it happened, I tearfully told him the truth about Iain.

  It shocked the hell out of me when Jax didn't dump me as I expected him to. Most guys don't handle it well when their girlfriend tells them that she kissed an old flame that she still has lingering feelings for. He was hurt, but he also understood. He gave me a pass, more or less.

  The kiss with Iain had come at a confusing, conflicting time. I'd just been released from the hospital after the attack and was still in shock over the whole thing. My mind wasn't moving at the pace that it usually moved.

  Still, I couldn't help but overanalyze it. Did I kiss Iain back because I was in shock, or did I kiss him back because a part of me still wanted to be with him? My conflicting emotions about the whole thing were making it damn near impossible for me to get any sleep, even when Andrew wasn't haunting my dreams.

  Jenna was scrutinizing me with a concerned frown on her face. I shook my head, realizing that I had zoned out and completely missed whatever she had said.

  "Coffee?" I grumbled, trying to make amends. Jenna perked up, nodding. We headed out of our apartment.

  "I heard you last night," Jenna said, eyeing me carefully as she paused to lock the apartment door behind us. Jenna and I lived in the second floor apartment in a beautifully renovated Victorian house. There was no elevator, but the house was full of charm and it was within walking distance of campus. It was the first place I’d ever really been in that had felt like home and I loved it. My hand reached out, touching the wooden railing while I waited for Jenna to pocket her keys.

  "Sorry," I finally responded when Jenna fixed me with a penetrating stare. I guess the intense workout I’d had the night before hadn't succeeded in stomping out the nightmares.

  "Don't be sorry. Have you spoken to Dr. Philips about it yet?" She took a moment to slide her hands into the matching purple mittens. I shoved mine in my jacket pockets, my teeth clenching together with aggravation. It was bad enough that I had to deal with my mom hovering over me, making sure I was speaking about my feelings to the shrink.

  "No," I replied, starting down the stairs. Jenna was on my heels. I could hear her boots thudding against the wooden steps as she rushed to keep up with me, but I didn't slow my pace or look at her. I was trying to calm myself.

  I hadn't told Jenna—or my mother—about bailing out on my appointments with Dr. Philips. I didn't want them to pressure me into going again. The only person who knew I'd stopped going was Jax, and he wasn't
on my back about it. He just understood…silently.

  "You've still been going to your appointments, haven't you?" Jenna scolded, her brow furrowing as she assessed me. She'd been a part of my life long enough to recognize when I was keeping something from her. "Harlow!"

  "I've been busy," I argued, my voice rising a little in defense.

  "Harlow, you really need to go," she said, her voice gentle and soft. "I think she could help you."

  "Maybe," I sighed doubtfully, stepping out onto the stoop of our apartment. In the few appointments I had with Dr. Phillips, I hadn’t let her get close. I’d been stubborn and closed off, tight lipped. I looked back at Jenna, who was keeping a careful distance from me as if she thought I would lash out and attack her. My shoulders slumped slightly and I frowned. "You know me, Jenna. I don't open up easily...especially not when I know the person just wants to crack open my head and fix what's broken."

  "Don't you want that? To fix the broken parts?" Jenna whispered, her eyes wide.

  "What if it's not that simple?" I murmured, averting my gaze. "I've seen psychiatrists before; they always want to prescribe something. I've had antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. I don't need sleeping pills or anything else. I just want..." I trailed off, unable to put into words what I wanted.

  I wanted my life to stop being so bloody complicated and confusing. I wanted one year to go by without something traumatic happening. I felt dangerously close to the edge and I hated it.

  I used to be tough, untouchable, and almost ruthless. I used to wear armor; I used to keep myself so locked off from everyone else. After the trauma I had endured in my first year of high school, I never wanted to give anybody the opportunity to hurt me again.

  Much like Jenna, I was also sexually assaulted. It happened at a party that I had gone to with my first boyfriend, Cole. Our relationship was still in the early stages—the one where you were so enthralled with one another. Being with Cole felt like innocence and magic. It was exciting, dating a popular guy on the school basketball team. Cole was well known and well liked, and he chose me, the quiet girl that sat toward the back of the classroom.