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house duty today. No more parties and stay out of trouble.”
    I chuckled. “Okay.” That may or may not happen.
    He gave me a stern look. “I mean it, Paige.”
    When he left, I was surrounded in the silence I dreaded so much. I took in a breath. I needed air. I needed something to take the hurt away, but nothing ever did. I was miserable, and it was getting harder to try to hide it. I was trying to survive when all I felt was hopelessness as I struggled to climb out of the black hole I fell down years ago.
    I had to get out of this room. I couldn’t handle the quietness any longer. I jumped out of bed and sat down at my vanity, frowning at the cut on my lip. I winced as I ran my finger over the cut.
    “Sore.”
    Reaching for my makeup bag, I took out my mocha, brown lip gloss and coated my lips until the nasty cut was barely even noticeable. Just how I wanted it. If it was out of sight, there was little chance anyone would notice it, which would save me from having to answer questions I would much rather avoid.
    I breathed through the heavy weight that pained my very being and walked as fast as I could out of the room, in a hurry to run away from the sereneness that allowed thoughts to wander back to the deep, dark places of my mind that I never wanted to visit again.
    The mansion was an absolute mess, reminding me why I preferred to go to parties instead of actually throwing them. The cleanup. As I made my way downstairs, stepping over solo cups and broken glass that was scattered all around, I heard Taylor’s voice coming from the living room.
    I exhaled. “Damn it,” I said through gritted teeth.
    Taylor was the last person I wanted to see. I knew he would want answers just like my father did, but I wouldn’t give him any. I was trying to move on and let what happened last night sail away into the past, and I couldn’t do that when they were only forcing me to remember. It was impossible to sneak past the living room and into the kitchen without him noticing me. Oh well, I guess I was just going to have to deal with it.
    I walked down the staircase and glanced into the living room where Taylor and Chelsea, his tall, very beautiful, like model beautiful, girlfriend with long, blonde locks were sitting down watching a movie. I hoped they wouldn’t stop me if they saw me. I didn’t want to talk about last night.
    I hurried into the kitchen, where bottles of alcohol and solo cups covered the granite countertops and breakfast bar. A blue bra hung from the matte, black chandelier, and chocolate syrup and whip cream, of all things, was smudged all over the floor, as if it was used as a slip n slide.
    I stood by the entryway of the kitchen, looking around. I was absolutely astounded by the mess. I could have cared less what they did last night, but now that I was completely sober and had to clean up the mess with a monster hangover, I was pretty damn irritated.
    I opened the paneled refrigerator, took out the orange juice, and poured myself a drink. I turned and grabbed the vodka from the counter and poured it in my orange juice, deciding to make a Screwdriver . I felt like utter shit. Plus, the constant sorrow that weighed me down dragged me farther into the darkness. Most days I was able to brush it off and not think so much about my regret, but today, I just couldn’t…not after last night.
    I had never been sexually assaulted and smacked around by a guy before. After the shock of what happened settled in during the night, the misery that clouded my mind and body had worsened. I was hoping a little alcohol would take the edge off. I took a gulp as the vodka and orange juice filled my mouth, and it was strong. I put more than what I should have, but it was intentional.
    I felt my body tense up as Taylor and Chelsea walked in the kitchen. I sat my glass down and wiped my mouth. Taylor, with a grin on his face, whispered something to Chelsea, who then let out a chuckle as she elbowed him in the stomach. He must have