Because I Can: The Because Trilogy, #1

By Elaine Marie

Jenna is a victim of an attack on her college campus. After barely escaping, she manages to make her way to campus security. With the help of the security guard, the local police are called, but she soon learns no one will help her case, and the police and the college administration dismiss her accusation, leaving her feeling empty.

Tired of the whispers and looks from her classmates and professors, she decides to take charge of the situation. Tired of being a victim, she's determined to take her life back.

Jenna soon undergoes a dramatic makeover…one that leaves even her best friend unable to recognize her. With her new look and the help of some online self-help videos, she begins her search for her attacker.

In her search, the one thing Jenna didn't expect to find was the handsome, new student, Nic. As she gets to know him, she learns he isn't who he claims to be. It's then Jenna begins to suspect the guy she's fallen for.

As she closes in on her attacker, she makes a few new discoveries, and she can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. As she races against time, will she be able to uncover the identity of her attacker before he strikes again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaine Marie
• Release date: Sep 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781537641034

Elaine Marie

A Jersey girl at heart! I love to write, read and spend time with my husband and children. I love to watch Football & Hockey-who wouldn't~ those uniforms!

Book preview

Chapter One

RUN, RUN FASTER, I tell myself. He can’t catch you if you run. The burning sensation creeping down my throat and the tightening in my lungs intensify each time I put one foot in front of the other. I can’t breathe. Cold, salty beads of sweat trail down my back as if they’re in a race with each other, only to learn no one will win. I can’t remember ever being this frightened. Turning my head slightly, I glance over my shoulder. There’s nothing but darkness consuming me.

It’s as if a spider has entangled me in its web and won’t let go. I feel like I’m losing the battle and there’s no end in sight. The only sounds around me are those of my footsteps pounding down the hallway.

"Because I can," the menacing husky voice calls out. As the struggle of everything consumes me, I can’t help but think I can’t let him catch me. But even though I’ve made my hasty retreat, I know he’s still out there. He’s running as I am. The only difference between us is he’s the hunter and I’m his prey.

Suddenly I feel long coarse fingers wrap around my throat. My eyes go wide in fear but the space in front of me is empty. This can’t be happening. There’s nothing I can do; my body is in peril as his punishing grasp continues to block precious air from reaching my lungs. I don’t have any fight left in me. Everything begins to darken and my last breath escapes as if it were a bird trapped in a gilded cage. I hold on as long as I possibly can but there’s no use; this is it. My muscles begin to go lax and I think, I should’ve run faster.

***

I awaken in a panic. My heart beats frantically against my ribcage. The unmistakable wetness of sweat dots almost every surface of my skin. Automatically my hands go to my throat. Nothing. The thunder of blood through my veins is a contradiction to the shortness of breath and sensation of what’s left of my cold dark soul.

My head spins, my mind whirling, causing the confusion in my heart. A few deep breaths are all it take to bring me back to reality. At last, a calm takes over. My eyes flutter shut and a sigh of relief escapes my lips. I’ve done this a thousand times and it never seems to get much easier. I’m not a bad person, I swear.

I know there will be no more sleep tonight, so I toss the thick blankets off my legs as I pull at my sweat-soaked shirt. I hate this dream. I fucking hate it. It’s eating at me like a worm trapped in the core of an apple. Every time I’m visited by the haunting images of the nightmare, a part of me dies and leaves me feeling broken. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sigh once more when I feel the plush carpet creep between my toes. Wiggling them back and forth, I take in the softness while pushing myself off the bed.

Why does every step I take feel like my feet are weighed down by an invisible force? Shaking my head, I walk the few extra feet towards the bathroom. I don’t bother looking into the mirror before turning on the scalding hot water. I know what I’d see—a distressed, sweaty, alabaster-skinned woman pretending to be someone she isn’t. This isn’t me.

The person I’d see staring back at me is only a fucking shell of a person. I’ve become a human being hiding underneath a cloak of disappointment and everlasting hate for myself. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to see something other than what’s there, it never changes. It’s always there, almost grinning in disgust as it chips away the real me, piece by piece.

Bracing my hands on the sides of the sink, I wait for the water in the shower to heat up. I want it to scorch my skin as I step underneath its spray. Maybe it will erase any remembrance of my fear and pain and wash it right down the drain. I need something to cleanse me of these thoughts. Maybe I can push away who I once was and become a new person. It wouldn’t be any different than an actress in Hollywood playing a part in a film. I could do it. I could pretend to be another person and shield myself from the hurt.

I don’t want to be this weak, pathetic excuse for a human being anymore. I want to at least pretend to have strength again. Yeah, I can and will fucking do this. As I stand beneath the water, I mindlessly pour shampoo in my hand and begin to cleanse my hair and body. This is how it is now. I coast through everything because I don’t know any other way of doing things. The searing heat from the shower alleviates the pent-up stress in my neck but not for long.

As the water slowly begins to cool, I feel the tightness returning. Reaching for the nozzle, I turn the water off and the knob gives its complaints with a sharp squeak as I twist it. I really should think about getting it fixed. After ringing out my soaked hair, I push the shower curtain aside and grab a towel off the rack nearby. Wrapping it around my body, I step up to the steam-covered mirror. I fucking hate this mirror. Shaking my head, I reach up and swipe away some of the condensation. Pitiful, I say as I stare at the reflection of me. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. How did I get this way? Of course, I know how. He did this to me.

One time was all it took and I can still feel his hands on my throat pushing me against the hard surface of the door. I remember the crushing power of his fingers as he dug them in like I was his own personal stress relief ball. I will never forget the fear that swamped me as I struggled to breathe in those moments. It happened one time, and it will never happen again.

Jenna, you are so much better than this. You can’t let him win, I say over and over to myself in the mirror. "You’re stronger than ever now and you don’t take shit from anyone. You delegate and they listen. Stand tall and walk like you own it."

Somehow it makes me feel marginally better when I give myself a pep talk. I know it can’t heal every broken piece below the surface but maybe it can soothe a few of my scars and make them somewhat bearable.

Once again, I have to face the real world. If I had my way, I’d stay here in my cocoon—my safety—forever. It’s not much but it’s mine. Yet, staying here will only make matters worse and wouldn’t be a real life. Shaking my head, I make my way into my closet and find my favorite pair of jeans. Clothing shouldn’t make me feel better about myself but somehow this pair of black skinny denim does. Yes, I’m a full-figured woman but I feel as if I carry it well. Having an hourglass shape has its benefits. It sure catches a lot of attention from the pretty boys on campus. But I never wanted it.

I guess that’s why I used to wear baggy clothes and keep my head down. Lately, looking in the mirror at my reflection makes me want to puke. He made me feel this way. I find my candy-apple red, wide neck, off-the-shoulder cotton T-shirt; sliding it over my shoulders I appreciate the softness and it smells of fresh grown lilacs courtesy of my laundry detergent and softener. Pulling on my black, higher-than-hell-boots with silver buckles that ride all the way up my calves—Hooker Boots as my friend Amy calls them—I admire how I look in the full-length mirror.

Reaching over to the desk and grabbing the small tube of lipstick that matches my shirt, I glide it across my lips like butter leaving a sheen of stained red gloss. Pulling a tissue from the Kleenex box, I dab my lips to remove any excess. My reflection in the mirror isn’t so bad. A faint smile appears. I start to build some confidence. I’ve got this! I say, blowing a kiss at my reflection before I turn and head out the door.

It’s time to face the real world, I say as I make my way to the college campus. I notice a few people going about their business as I continue toward my destination. I find it funny how most people walk around this place without a care in the world. They don’t know about the horrible things that have happened here. Most of them probably assume they live in a safe area where nothing bad ever happens. Isn’t it silly how some think their life is nothing but a fairy tale? When in reality, it’s a horror movie not fit for viewing. If inanimate objects could talk, I’m sure they’d have stories that would mortify most people.

As I round the corner, I spot a familiar place—The Corner Deli. The name is kind of blasé but I guess when you open a deli on the corner, you go with the obvious. Grabbing the metal handle, I yank open the plate glass door and hear the familiar jingle of the bells hanging above the door. I mosey around for a few minutes looking at the carb-filled treats and sugary drinks on the racks beside me. I don’t need any of that shit. The last thing I want is for my favorite pair of jeans to be too snug. Coffee is what I’m after.

Once I have the large Styrofoam cup filled and to my liking, I step behind the only other person in line to pay. She’s a skinny thing with hair the color of wet straw. Her perfume is so strong is smells like she took a bath in that shit, and those heels? She looks like she was walking on stilts for crying out loud. I thought my boots were high-heeled. I look down inspecting them; not as high as hers. I look back up in time to see her wobble as she takes cash from her back pocket. I honestly hope she breaks her fucking ankle when she steps outside. She deserves it for attempting to wear shoes that only a stripper should own.

Next, please, the man behind the counter says. I’m not paying attention, yet again. I take a step forward and set my coffee in front of him.

Can I get a pack of Marlboro lights please? I reach into my pocket for my cash. He pushes a few buttons on the register and tells me my total. That’ll be nine dollars and seventy-three cents.

I toss him a ten-dollar bill and wait for my change. After the quarter and pennies are securely in my pocket, I grab my coffee and cigs and make my way to the exit. As the refreshing outside air hits me, I look both ways down the sidewalk. So much for getting my wish. The fake blonde didn’t trip and bust her ass out here. Damn it.

I chuckle as I pull the plastic from the pack of cigarettes and lift the top of the box. Pulling one from the pack, I stick it between my lips and proceed to light up. I can’t help but love the first drag of nicotine in the morning. The burn of it hitting my lungs is second to none.

Continuing on, I take turns sipping my coffee and breathing smoke into my lungs. Yeah, I know this shit is bad for me, but I could give two-shits-less. Having someone’s hand around your neck was bad for me, too, but no one bothered to give a flying fuck about that.

Chapter Two

I STAND OUTSIDE the building; the one I want to burn to the ground. The features have changed since that night. Before any of it happened the building was the same as the others, red-brick faced and nothing out of the ordinary. Now, the rusted red seeps through the bricks like the dried blood matching the marks on my neck and face. How many others have there been? Imagining I see a glimpse of tortured souls through the shadowed reflections in the glass window panes, I bet there are many. Too many to count.

Following the brick-ridged surface to the front door, it’s as black as the darkness of the one that tortures me in my nightmares. It’s nothing but a