Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series)

by Vera Hollins

  His gaze was so intense as it slid down and up my body ever so slowly that I felt ridiculous having ever thought he might not like any part of me. He liked everything, and when his eyes finally stopped on mine, his craving was almost tangible, like nothing else in this world mattered for him but me.

  He hooked his hands under my arms and set me in the center of his bed. He sprinkled kisses all over my skin, covering my neck, chest, stomach, and legs before he fondled my breasts and buried his head between them, giving me overwhelming sensations.

  Our lips met again as he covered me with his body, but this time his kiss was different. His lips moved over mine like he was pouring all his feelings out, mending my scars one after another—telling me I meant everything to him, and it felt truer than anything.

  He pulled away only to take the condom out of his nightstand and put it on. Bubbles of nervousness and excitement rose up my belly. I’m going to sleep with Blake.

  “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” I whispered.

  The smoldering look in his eyes took my breath away. “Me either.” He pulled a strand of my hair away from my face. “Was what you said at that party true? You aren’t a virgin?”

  “Yes.”

  He pinched his eyebrows together as if he was in pain. “You don’t know how much I wanted to be your first. I know it’s selfish, but I couldn’t help it.”

  I ran my finger over his lips. “Does that make me any less desirable?”

  He shook his head. “Fuck no. Nothing can make you any less desirable.” He positioned himself between my legs and supported his weight on his forearms. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

  I didn’t get to respond because his lips covered mine, and he slowly slipped inside of me, drinking in the breathy moan that slipped through my lips. A pure pleasure burst through me and claimed me, becoming more powerful when he started moving. I moved my hips against his, chasing the wave of pleasure.

  This was so much more than sex. It was like our souls were communicating with each other, knowing that our time together had an expiration date, and we enunciated it with the contact of our bodies. It was like a happy melody on a gloomy day, like the sun warming cold skin. It was a safe haven that sheltered us from all the pain of the past, and I refused to think about tomorrow.

  All we had was now and this connection between us that lasted through all the heartbreaks. I wrapped my arms and legs around him to bring him as close to me as possible.

  He slowed down and cupped my cheek with eyes full of adoration. I felt like I was dreaming.

  “I think I’m falling for you even more,” he whispered suddenly.

  My eyes widened along with my smile. I thought I would burst from happiness. “Now I’m sure I’m dreaming.”

  “You’re not.” He flipped us over so I was on top of him and planted his hands on my hips. “I’m all yours, so take as much of me as you want.”

  My pulse throbbed faster. I placed my hands on his chest and started to move slowly and then fast. We never looked away from each other, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, and I tried to etch this moment in my mind and store it forever.

  He placed his hands on the sides of my face and pulled me in for a kiss. Both of us moved even faster, and when he came, I followed, drowning in the most intense sensation I’d ever felt.

  His arms encircled me as I sagged against him, and he held me in a loving embrace. I closed my eyes, listening to his heart racing at a tempo that matched mine. I felt peaceful.

  “It’s never been this way for me,” he said after a while. “It was never like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Different. Special. Fuck, special doesn’t cut it.” He kissed the top of my head. “The best moment of my life.”

  I grinned and snuggled closer to him. “I feel the same.”

  He held me more tightly in response. I wished we could stay like this indefinitely.

  The next day, we would go back to the harsh side of reality.

  But today…today, I got the taste of the sweet reality I’d always dreamed of.

  Today, he was all mine. And I was his.

  I woke up with a start in the dark and squinted at the ceiling. I wasn’t sure what had awoken me. I wasn’t even sure how I’d fallen asleep. I sat up as my eyes adjusted to the dark in the room that wasn’t mine and frowned at the shirt I wore. It was a guy’s shirt…

  Right.

  Blake and I had been cuddling in his bed after our second time, and it seemed I’d fallen asleep in his arms.

  I fell asleep.

  The clock on Blake’s nightstand showed 9:25pm. Crap. I was supposed to be at Mel’s place hours ago. She must’ve sent me a dozen texts. I should get up and—

  Blake’s whimper cut through my rushing thoughts. I turned around to face him. Now that I could see better, I could make out the features of his face. He was frowning, his lips parted in a quick succession of silent gasps.

  “Blake?”

  He threw his head to the side and gripped the sheet beneath him with his hands. “No,” he said, barely audibly, but with the way his neck constricted, it looked like he wanted to scream it out. His naked chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Don’t. No.” He threw his head to the other side.

  He was having a nightmare. I turned on his nightstand lamp and reached out to touch him, but then I gasped when I saw tears falling down his temples. He was breaking into a sweat.

  I touched his upper arm gently. “Blake,” I said softly. “Blake, wake up.”

  He twisted his head to the other side, breathing even more quickly. “No. No!” He jolted.

  I nudged his arm twice. “Blake, it’s just a dream. Wake up.”

  “No! Leave her alone!”

  The words cut sharply into my chest. “You’re just dreaming. Wake—”

  “NO!” His scream pierced through my soul, infusing me with so much pain. He flinched and snapped his eyes open.

  “Blake—”

  “Stay away from me!”

  He moved away and pressed his back against the headboard, pulling his knees against his chest and shielding himself with his arms. I just stared at him in shock.

  Then, slowly, as if finally realizing it was just me, his wide eyes lost their edge and recognition replaced terror on his teary face.

  “It’s just me.” I placed my hand on his knee gently.

  He stared at me, looking more vulnerable than ever. It was heartbreaking. His breaths came out so quickly I was sure he was going to hyperventilate at any moment.

  “You’re okay.” I reassured him and took his hand in mine. “Everything’s okay. Breathe slowly.” His eyes were glued to mine as he gasped for air. “Breathe slowly, Blake. Just breathe slowly. You’re okay.”

  He took slow breaths, clutching the sheets with a white-knuckle grip.

  “That’s it. Just keep breathing slowly.”

  He wasn’t breathing as quickly as before, and I started relaxing. I smiled at him.

  “You’re doing well—”

  He burst into tears and buried his head in his hands.

  “Blake.” I scrambled to sit next to him. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his head to my chest, cradling him in my arms. “It’s okay. I’m here. It’s not real. It was just a nightmare.”

  He whimpered. He shook against me as his tears drenched the shirt I wore, rubbing the back of his hand quickly.

  “It’s never just a nightmare. It’s real. It’s fucking real, and it’s on repeat.”

  I stroked his hair as I rocked him slowly. “I’m here, with you. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

  He stopped rubbing his hand and clutched my shoulder, holding me like I was his only anchor in this world. His sobs quieted, but he was still breathing unevenly. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked quietly, hoping my voice didn’t show how afraid I felt for him.

  He stayed quiet, and I didn
’t push him to speak. I closed my eyes and drew him closer to me. I hoped my presence would help him cope with his nightmare more easily.

  He took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t tell you everything earlier. There are so many things you don’t know. No one knows.”

  He pulled out of my embrace and brushed the tears off his extremely pale face.

  “That kidnapping fucked me up in more ways than one.” He met my gaze with red eyes shaded by pain that knew no boundaries. “It gave me post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD. That’s why you saw me at my therapist’s office that day.”

  My mouth rounded in a silent O. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was going through on a daily basis. I wished it were in my power to help him.

  “So, this nightmare is a part of your PTSD?”

  He curled up his lips in a bitter smile. “Yes, and it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  He gripped the sheets, staring at some spot on the wall. I didn’t want to press him for answers, so I waited for him to continue talking.

  “It’s ironic. Most of the time, I’m afraid to go to sleep because of the nightmares, not that I can fall asleep on most days. But then there are times when my day can get so bad that even nightmares feel like nothing compared to the other things.”

  My heart sped up. “What are those other things?” I raised my hands in the air. “You don’t have to talk about your PTSD if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, but I’ve kept everything inside me for so long that it’s too much. I need to get it out somehow…some way…”

  I wound my fingers around his cold hand and gave him a soft squeeze. “Okay.”

  He stared at our hands. “It’s strange. It’s hard for me to trust people, but I’m about to open up to you even more.”

  I ran my thumb over the back of his hand. “Look at me.” He returned my gaze. “You can trust me.”

  He looked at me intently for a long time, like he was searching for confirmation that I wouldn’t betray him.

  “Just promise me one thing. No, two things.”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t tell anyone about this, and don’t judge me.”

  I frowned. “Of course I won’t judge you or tell this to anyone. Why would I judge you?”

  “Because I don’t feel normal. I can’t feel normal ever since the kidnapping. My life became so fucked up that I’m sure you’d run away if you knew all about it.”

  “I’d never run, Blake. I want to hear you out. I’m here for you. And I won’t discuss this with anyone. Pinky swear.” I wore a small smile as I raised my pinky finger for him, wanting to cheer him up a bit, but he remained motionless.

  He stared at my finger but wasn’t actually seeing it.

  I dropped my hand. “Um, the bottom line is, I promise I won’t say a word to anyone.”

  He hung his head low and took deep breaths as he grasped and released the sheets time and time again. If this had been any other moment, I would have been distracted by his shirtless torso, but now, all I could think about was how to help him.

  “Imagine living your life on alert all the time. You’re always hypervigilant because anything or anyone can hurt you. Imagine walking through the unknown where any object, person, sound, smell, word, color—you name it—could be your next trigger. You keep watching out for triggers, but they can be anywhere, even your own thoughts or feelings. And when you encounter a trigger, you’re brought back to your trauma. Repeatedly. Many times a week. Hell, many times a day.

  “That’s a flashback, and it’s the worst because it’s like you’re seeing a movie of your trauma playing out in front of your eyes, but it’s also so much more. You’re reliving it. You’re there. You struggle to breathe. Over and over again. You’re stuck in those moments. You feel the same fear, anger, panic, physical pain, sounds, smell…and you can’t prevent it from happening.”

  “You’re…you’re saying you actually go through all of that as if it’s happening to you again?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you feel…you feel physical pain? For real?”

  He swallowed hard. A visible rigidness to his shoulders was always present. “It depends on the kind of flashback, but usually yes. I can feel pain.”

  I pressed my lips together to stifle a horrified gasp. The claws of his trauma had gotten into him too deep. I never could’ve imagined he was going through all of this—stuck in a loop, always held captive.

  “But what about your real surroundings? How about when you’re talking to people? How do you deal with it then?”

  He raised his eyes from our connected hands to look at me. “It’s downright confusing because I can be completely unaware of my present surroundings, or the flashback can mix with them, so I can see, feel, and hear everything at the same time.” He ran his hand down his face and sighed heavily. “You’ve been around me having a flashback twice already.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I have?”

  “Yes. Once in the janitor’s office when he told us about our detention, and once on the basketball court before we played one on one.”

  I inhaled sharply, reminded of those times when he’d spaced out. “So that’s why you looked like you weren’t there.” He nodded. “And the hand rubbing?” I pointed at his hand.

  “It’s my grounding technique.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It helps me focus on the present and pull out of the past more easily. I can’t quite avoid flashbacks, but I’ve learned over time to pull out of them more quickly. I can’t always pull out, but at least I can manage to deal with them on my good days.”

  “Good days?”

  “Yes.”

  He rubbed his forehead, looking extremely tired all of a sudden. I wondered if talking about it caused him more stress. I waited for him to continue.

  “There are good days, bad days, and just…days. At times, flashbacks can fuck me up so much that I can barely function for the better part of the day.”

  “And there’s no way for you to stop them from happening?”

  He smiled ruefully. “No. I can try to avoid triggers, but I can’t control everything. So I just use coping strategies I’ve learned in therapy, but it’s hard because I have to do it over and over again, and it never actually stops. It’s like trying to reach the top of the mountain, but you always slip down, and just when you think you’re closer to the top, you realize you’re nowhere close to it. You’re in the middle, at best.

  “There are extra things that drag you down. Panic attacks, mood swings, uncontrollable anger…so much anger. Little things can anger me so easily, and it feels like my chest is going to explode if I don’t get it out somehow. That’s where basketball, fights, and racing come in. They help me deal with stress and anxiety.”

  “And you listen to loud psytrance to drown out your thoughts,” I said, referring to what he’d said in his car.

  He met my gaze. “Yes.”

  “But I don’t understand. How do you do it? How do you go to school and function?”

  The lines of sorrow settled deep in his face. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I really don’t know. I just do all I can to push through fear and stress. I just…keep on living.”

  Push through fear…

  “I know fear the best. Hell, fear destroyed my life! But I never stopped fighting it. Every second of my life, I’m fighting it. You? You just run away from it, but running away doesn’t make bad things disappear.” His words from the gym returned to me with a punctuating echo. “Fight back.”

  Now, I could fully understand what was behind those words. I could fully understand why he’d seen me as a pathetic coward. There he was, always fighting through the horrors of his life, and then there was me, running away from them and sweeping them under the rug. It was no wonder he hadn’t respected me.

  I hadn’t respected myself. Or him. But now that I knew what was hiding beneath his exterior, I couldn’t see him as the old, ruthless Blake anymore.<
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  I tucked my hair behind my ears. I wanted to know everything, but I didn’t want to pry too much. I was amazed that he trusted me enough to share all of this with me. No matter what paths we were going to take going forward, we were allies in this moment.

  I wrestled with my thoughts for a bit, until I decided to ask the burning question: “What are your triggers?”

  He closed his eyes, grimacing. “I can’t actually talk about it, because even that’s triggering for me.”

  “I see.” I twisted a strand of my hair around my finger and released it. “Well, bananas are falling from the sky, making monkeys high, and children are hanging from the trees, spending time with bees.”

  He snapped his eyes open and chuckled. “Are you on something? What was that about?”

  “I’m just coming up with whatever I can to keep your mind off triggers.”

  His eyes shifted between mine for a few seconds, peering deep into me, before he burst into more chuckles. He shook his head. “I should’ve known you would be like this.” He reached out and cupped my cheek. “You really do have a big fucking heart, don’t you?”

  I blushed, shrugging. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to whine all the time about having to brush my teeth. My mom always had to remind me to brush them, and I hated it because I didn’t see the point. I had to brush them over and over again, and it was the most annoying thing because it’s for life. Unless you want to have bad teeth.” I let out a giggle. “I guess for you, dealing with PTSD is like having to brush your teeth a hundred times a day, but no matter how much you brush them, they keep deteriorating.”

  His lips lifted in something resembling a smile. “That’s a good one, but here’s the thing—you can always get fake teeth. I can’t get a life free of my mental illness.”

  It was so disheartening hearing him speak like this. I wanted to say something to lift his mood, but more than that, he needed my understanding. It was true. He had to live with his PTSD, but life didn’t end there.

  “You’re a fighter, Blake. You’re able to get out of bed every day and go to school, and that says a lot.”

  He curled his lips inward. “Yeah, I get up, go to school, and treat people like shit. I’m living the life.”