Val's P.O.V

Jax opened the door, and we entered. He proceeded to the refrigerator, grabbing out a can of beer. Let me rephrase….he grabs five cans of beer. I raised an eyebrow, folding my arms.

"Jax, you've had too much to drink tonight," I said, trying to sound stern. "You'll regret it tomorrow."

"Relax, babe," he said, opening a can with that annoying smirk of his. "This is nothing. I don't get drunk."

"Suit yourself," I muttered, running my fingers through my hair as I walked into the living room.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was scrolling through Netflix, trying to find something to watch that wasn't Tyler Perry Sisters, when I heard Jax call out to me from the kitchen.

"Val!" His voice was more keen than it needed to be, and I could already tell he was past the point of return.

I sighed and set the remote aside, going into the kitchen. "What's wrong?" I asked, bracing myself for whatever rubbish was about to come out of his mouth.

"You've got really pretty eyes," he said to me, his words lightly slurred. For an instant, I could sense my cheeks redden until I noticed the five empty cans of beer strewn about the counter.

"Jax," I said firmly. "Bedtime."

"But it's early," he complained, his goofy smile making it hard to stay mad at him.

"It's after midnight," I said, arms folded. "You're done."

"No," he said stubbornly, and then fainted right there on the kitchen floor.

Seriously. Just great. I couldn't just leave him lying there, after everything he'd just done for me, and I owed him one. But pulling him upstairs? That was going to be an exercise regimen.

Ten seconds into trying to lift him, I was already regretting it. He was so heavy, I'm not even sure if having a beer beforehand assisted. "Oh my God, how are you so heavy?!" I huffed, struggling to haul him up the stairs. His muscle, which was always so beautiful to behold, was now my worst enemy.

Before I reached the top of the stairs, I was sweating and heaving. I grabbed his ankles and dragged him the last few feet to his room, all in silence for apologizing to him over rough treatment. At last, I managed to roll him onto the bed, falling beside him as I gasped for air.

I moved to look at him, my head going back to thoughts of how we had almost kissed at the party. A small smile crept over my lips as I remembered the way he'd looked at me. But before I could stand, his hand flashed out to grab my wrist and tug me back onto the bed.

With a single swift motion, he rolled us over, trapping me beneath him. His eyes were fixed on mine, and for a moment, I couldn't recall how to breathe. But the memories returned to me; memories that I didn't wish to remember.

Before I could even turn myself, his lips were on mine, soft and unrelenting. My mind came to a halt, and I kissed him back stupidly. When he finally released me, his lips hovered just above mine.

"You still owe me a kiss," he murmured, his tone low and pressuring. Jax was such a challenge.

The following morning, I woke up next to him, feeling confused and disoriented. It was a moment before I recalled I was not in my own bed. Recollections of the previous evening came back to me, and my eyes opened wide as I looked around. This was Jax's bedroom. And Jax, who was also shirtless, was lying next to me.

I sprang up, slipping off the bed and falling onto the ground. I had his sweatshirt on, and he had his boxers on. My face burned at what this must be like. I had to go. Now.

"Why do I have his sweatshirt on?" I complained about looking at myself repeatedly.

"I place it on you to protect you from the night's cold." He answered quietly with a drowsy eye.

I could not accept what I had just discovered about myself, and therefore went home straight away. I crept into my home as softly as I could, and only to see Reynolds asleep on the sofa, still dressed in the clothes he wore from yesterday’s party. I tiptoed around him, praying that I would be able to sneak upstairs without being noticed.

"I'm awake!" he exclaimed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Okay," I replied carelessly as I made my way to the stairs.

"Are those Jax's clothes?" he asked, his eyes wide in shock.

"Oh fuck shit, I forgot to take them off." I thoughtfully declared within myself.

"Maybe," I replied hastily. "Why would you ask?"

"No reason," he replied, leaning back on the couch. "You guys didn't do anything…?"

"Ew, no," I cut him off. "Okay, bye!" I took off up the stairs before he could ask me any more silly questions.

Reaching my room, I plopped down on my bed, my mind reeling. Had last night really occurred? Did Jax actually kiss me? And did I kiss him back? My stomach flipped over the afterthought, and I couldn't suppress a smile.

But the smile didn't last. The recollection of what had happened leading up to the kiss came back to me; the way that boy at the party had embraced me, the way his hands had lingered on my skin. I was sick.

I just made it to the bathroom in time to vomit, shuddering as I leaned over the toilet. It had been a year, but I couldn't help but think of it. I couldn't escape it.

Some hours later that morning, I sat at the kitchen table, playing with my breakfast. Reynolds remained silent, but I knew he was waiting for an opportunity to bring something up.

"Jax spoke to me yesterday," he said finally, in a conversational tone but his eyes flashing.

"Oh?" I said, without lifting my head from my plate.

"He told me you had a panic attack at the party," Reynolds said softly. "Is that true?"

Bridget, our maid and practically a second mother to us, wheeled around from the stove, hands on her hips. "Is this true, mija?" she demanded, her tone a mix of concern and reproach.

"Yeah," I shrugged as if it was no big deal. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Valentina, didn't I tell you?" Bridget shouted, her voice rising. "You must always tell me when something like this happens!"

"It slipped my mind," I muttered, turning away.

"Slipped your mind, my ass," Bridget snapped, shaking her head. "Next time this happens, you come straight to me. I'll beat that boy till he begs for his life."

I choked back a laugh, trying to stifle it. Bridget's mothering was cute and a little intimidating.

"This is funny to you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, of course not, Bridget," I said quickly, trying to keep a straight face.

Later in the evening when I was sleeping, I was forced to experience another flashback. His hands were on all parts of my body, but I couldn't speak or move. I was paralyzed. I had to stand there and see him unzip his pants in front of me as I strained as hard as I could to scream or even move, but I couldn't. I was helpless and stuck.

An hour later, I gasped for air when I leapt out of bed in fright. I turned on the lamp next to me and looked around my room. I am alone. Safe and alone. There is no one else present but me.

I held my blanket in one hand and tried to control my breathing, placing my hand over my chest.

“You are safe. Reynolds is in the next room. If something goes wrong, he'll be right here. No one and nothing can hurt me. I'm safe.” I realized as I muttered to myself.

I repeated the words to myself, trying to calm my racing heart. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I saw the guy from the party. I saw Ronan. I saw every man who'd ever harassed or assaulted me.

It's hard.

My mind flashed through my worse moments and the pain hit me harder than I could contain.

“Oh my God!”