He grabs hold of my hips and pushes his body against me, crashing his lips to mine with so much force that I taste blood. My mind is whirling around with so many thoughts and bad memories. I try to scream and shove him away, but he overpowers me.

I struggle to free myself, banging my elbows on the door, sending shooting pain up my arms. Turning my face away from his, I scream as loud as I can before he grabs ahold of my jaw and makes me face him again.

"Oh don't you be a little devil now," he sneers. "In fact, let's take off this silly little costume." He starts lifting the hem of my dress higher on my thigh and pulling my hair back so I'm forced to look up at him.

I shut my eyes tightly to rid my vision of him, but am only met with blurry memories of another face that I last saw in a situation not too unlike this one. A tear slips out of the corner of my eye as my body shuts down. It's happening again. This is why I stopped going out in the first place. This is all my fault. Carter was right...

The door behind me flings open, causing me and my assailant to tumble to the ground. Tristan pulls the guy off of me and punches him square in the jaw. The guy tries to lunge at Tristan to retaliate, but is held back by two of the bouncers.

"Get him out of here!" Tristan orders the two men in black. They both give him a nod and carry the guy out of the security office. A crowd is starting to form outside the door, but Tristan ignores the onlookers and turns towards me. He offers his hands to help me off the ground.

He pulls me up and holds me upright. I'm shaking. Tristan says something to me, but I don't hear him. I'm still lost in my memories, still mentally fighting off both of my attackers. I'm cognizant enough to feel myself being led out of the office, through the club, and up the stairs. Before long, I'm sitting in Tristan's car and we're driving away from the little, innocent looking strip mall.

"Thank you," I manage to whisper to him.

"You don't have to thank me," he says, staring straight ahead at the road. His jaw clenches a little before he speaks again. "Who was that guy?"

"I... I don't know," I say. "I was looking for my friends and... oh no, I left Nicole! I have to tell her where I am!" I start to panic. What if I couldn't find her earlier because someone had hurt her too?

"I told Nicole and Nate that I was taking you home. Do you not remember passing them on the way out?" he glances over to me, the concern in his eyes clear even in the darkness of his car.

"Oh," I say distantly, trying to remember seeing them. All I remember is the attack and Tristan somehow being there to save me. "I think I might have still been in shock. And some pain."

"Yeah, you went down pretty hard when I shoved the door open," Tristan says apologetically. "Do you want some Advil or something? I can already see some bruises..." he reaches over to me when we get to a stop sign. The roads are deserted so he lets the car idle for a while in this spot. He takes my wrist in his hand and examines the small finger sized bruises already appearing. I don't even remembering the guy grabbing at my wrist like that. Just as that thought crosses my mind, I feel the aches in other places like my hips and my lower back where I must have fallen on. This is going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

"Leila?" Tristan breaks through my thoughts of future pain. "I have some Advil in the glovebox if you need it."

It might be because I'm still a little drunk, or maybe it's because I'm emotional and vulnerable. Or quite possibly because I trust Tristan for some unknown reason. But whatever the cause for the next thing that I blurt out, I don't regret it.

"I used to pop pills to get high in California and it got really bad sometimes. I almost got involved in some harder stuff, but then this party happened and I stopped. I know taking one Advil won't make me spiral again, but I'd rather not." I didn't realize I had my eyes closed while saying all of this. I open them to find Tristan looking at me. I know he's not judging me, I don't know how I know that but I do. Still, in the matter of just 48 hours he knows mental illness runs in my family, my mother murdered my father, and now that I'm an ex-future-junkie.

Tristan squeezes my wrist gently and returns his hands to the steering wheel. He starts driving again and doesn't say anything until we're close to our neighborhood.

" That must have been difficult for you," he finally says. "I'm sorry you had to go through it. All of it."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me, remember? We're not friends," he smiles a little at his own attempt to lighten the mood. His smirk drops off his face just as quickly as it appeared and he becomes serious again. "Are you okay though? I know you told me before to not feel bad for you, but I can't stop thinking about what could have happened if I didn't see that bastard pulling you along behind him."

"I'm fine, Tristan, really," I say, stopping myself before I thank him again. "What were you even doing at The Underground? It doesn't seem like your type of scene?"

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Leila." And he's back to being brooding and mysterious.

Tristan pulls the car next to the sidewalk in front of my house. He unlocks the door, but I don't move out of my seat.

"Shit, I was supposed to be sleeping over at Nicole's tonight. My aunt and uncle are home and I don't want them to see me like this," I tell Tristan. "You can just drop me at Nicole's and I'll wait for her to get home with Nate. I'm pretty sure she has a key under the front mat or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tristan mutters, putting the car back in drive. He pulls into his driveway and turns off the engine. "You'll stay with me."