The young woman stares at you as they walk by, your gazes locked by some familiar experience. You feel her pity radiating from deep within her soul, as if she seems to have some understanding of what you've been through and what you have yet to face. One of her friends nudges her playfully, breaking her connection with you. She returns to the comfort of her group and doesn't look back. You hear the familiar sound as the lock pops open. You jump into the driver's seat and slump down as far as you can. Tears fill your eyes as the reality of the situation washes over you. You put the key in the ignition and drive away, still woozy from the drugs you imagine are still coursing through your veins.
You wander into your building staring ahead as if on auto pilot. Outside the sun is beginning to creep over the horizon. You stumble in the door, pushing the door closed behind you. You immediately lock the door and pull the door chain into position. Grief sweeps over you as you slide the chain into its channel. You collapse against the door, sobbing uncontrollably. Your brain tells you to make your way to the police departmentbut your shame tells you it would be pointless. You are the one that went out that night. You are the one that pounded drink after drink. You don't even know for sure that you were drugged, or even that Cade and Talon were the evil bastards that attacked you. What do you really have to wager a complaint against anyone with. A picture on your phone? Shit! You don't even have your phone. You don't even know if that was really their names. Of course it wasn't.