The door swung open. The middle-aged man's hand crawled disgustingly along my arm.
I screamed and bolted. The sound of footsteps chasing me nearly shattered my courage.
Until I stumbled into an embrace that smelled of fresh soap.
It was Jeffrey.
He couldn't afford a dorm, so he'd set up a makeshift bed in the school's storage room.
His classmates helped keep his secret. The teachers turned a blind eye.
The boy who had always seemed so cold and aloof—in that moment, he was the most solid, dependable person in the world.
He chased the man away for me and called the police.
It wasn't until he helped me into the ambulance that he finally spoke.
"Stop crying. If you're ever out late again, text me. I'll come get you."
That was how we exchanged numbers.
And how our story began.
The memory drew a bitter smile from my lips.
I still didn't understand how we'd ended up here.
The wine had gone to my head. I excused myself to find the restroom.
I never expected to pass the smoking area and hear Laura's tittering laughter.
"Did you see her face just now? I almost died."
"After all these years, she still has no idea you're the one who told us to lock that door, Jeffrey."