Ninety Nine

Ninety Nine
Emily's eyes snapped open, her chest heaving as if she had just surfaced from drowning in a sea of nightmares. The room was bathed in the soft morning light filtering through her pink curtains, the same ones she had since she was twelve. Her heart pounded wildly, sweat clinging to her skin like a second layer. She sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets to her chest, gasping for air.
It took several moments for the panic to subside. She glanced around frantically. Her bedroom looked exactly as it always did: posters of her favorite bands on the walls, her desk cluttered with schoolbooks and makeup, the stuffed bear her dad had given her for her sixteenth birthday sitting on the shelf. Everything was normal. Too normal.
But the memories... they flooded her mind like a torrent she couldn't dam. The masked party. The stranger's hands on her body, rough and commanding, pulling her into a world of forbidden pleasure. The discovery of the pregnancy, the devastating abortion, the years of secrecy and shame. Alexander. His cold eyes, his blackmail, using her body whenever he desired, treating her like a toy. The endless cycle of guilt and desire. And finally, the confession to her father, the shattering of everything she held dear.
No. It couldn't be real. It felt like years had passed in that hell, but here she was, in her bed, feeling the familiar ache of a teenage body untouched by such horrors.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand with trembling hands. The screen lit up: Saturday morning. The day before her eighteenth birthday. Texts from Katie and Nyla were already piling up.
Katie: Girl, tomorrow is the BIG day! 18!!! We HAVE to celebrate properly. Masked party at that underground club downtown. You in???
Nyla: Come on, Em! You've been so boring lately. One night of fun won't kill you. We'll sneak out after your family dinner. Sleepover at my place as cover.
Emily stared at the messages, her blood running cold. These were the exact same texts. Word for word. The ones that started it all.
It was a dream. It had to be. A long, vivid, terrifying prophetic dream. Or maybe a warning from her subconscious about the dangers lurking if she gave in to temptation.
Relief washed over her, mingled with lingering terror. No pregnancy. No abortion. No blackmail. No Alexander controlling her life. She was still Emily Thompson, seventeen for one more day, innocent and free.
But Alexander... even in the dream, he had been real. Her dad's best friend since childhood, the successful businessman who visited often, always with that intense gaze that made her squirm. In the dream, that one night at the party had unleashed everything.
This time, she would change it. She wouldn't go to the party. She wouldn't drink. She wouldn't let any masked stranger touch her. Especially not him.
"I won't let it happen," she whispered to herself, her voice shaky but determined. "I'll escape him. All of it."
She swung her legs out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. The house was quiet; her dad was probably downstairs making coffee, like he always did on weekends. She padded to the mirror, staring at her reflection. Wide blue eyes, long brown hair tousled from sleep, a face still soft with youth. No shadows under her eyes from years of torment. Just a girl on the cusp of adulthood.
Her phone buzzed again.
Katie: Earth to Emily! Don't leave us hanging. This party is legendary. Masks, music, hot guys everywhere. Perfect way to kick off being legal!
Emily's fingers hovered over the keyboard. In the dream, she had hesitated, then agreed reluctantly. That yes had doomed her.
This time: No.
Emily: Guys, I don't think so. I'm not feeling great about sneaking out. My dad would kill me if he found out.
Nyla: Boo! You're turning 18, not 80. Live a little!
Katie: We'll drag you if we have to. It's tradition. Remember how we planned this months ago?
Emily bit her lip. They were persistent, just like before. She needed a stronger excuse.
Emily: Seriously, I'm out. Maybe just a movie night or something low-key?
She hit send, then tossed the phone onto her bed. Phase one: Avoid the party at all costs.
Downstairs, the smell of pancakes wafted up. Her dad's voice called out cheerfully. "Em! Breakfast! And guess who's coming over later? Uncle Alex! He wants to wish you happy early birthday."
Her stomach dropped. Alexander. Already inserting himself.
She forced a smile as she descended the stairs. Her dad, David Thompson, stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, his broad shoulders and easy grin the picture of normalcy. No betrayal in his eyes, no shattered trust.
"Morning, kiddo," he said, ruffling her hair as she sat at the counter. "Big day tomorrow. Eighteen. Can't believe my little girl's all grown up."
"Yeah, Dad," she murmured, pouring syrup. "Time flies."
He chuckled. "Alex is bringing a gift. Said he's proud of you, heading off to college soon."
Emily's fork paused midway to her mouth. In the dream, Alexander had used these visits to corner her, to remind her of his control. This time, she would keep distance.
The doorbell rang that afternoon. Her dad answered, and there he was: Alexander Voss, tall and imposing, dark hair streaked with silver, piercing green eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He wore a tailored suit even on a weekend, exuding power and confidence. More than twice her age, yet undeniably magnetic.
"Emily," he said smoothly, pulling her into a hug that lingered just a second too long. His cologne enveloped her, the same scent from the dream that haunted her nights. "Look at you. Almost an adult."
She stiffened, pulling back quickly. "Hi, Mr. Voss. Thanks for coming."
He raised an eyebrow at the formality, but smiled. "Call me Alex, like always."
Her dad clapped him on the back. "Come on, buddy. Beer in the living room. Em, join us?"
"No thanks," she said hastily. "Homework."
She fled upstairs, heart racing. Even innocent, his presence stirred something dangerous in her. The dream memories of his touch, his dominance, flashed unbidden. Heat pooled low in her belly, betraying her resolve.
No. She shook it off. That was the dream talking. Subconscious fear mixed with forbidden curiosity.
Her phone exploded with texts.
Katie: Your dad invited us for birthday dinner tomorrow, right? Perfect cover. We'll pick you up after.
Nyla: Don't chicken out now!
Emily groaned. They weren't letting go.
That evening, as Alexander left, he paused at the door. "See you soon, Emily. Can't wait to celebrate properly."
His words sent a chill down her spine. Did he suspect? No, impossible.
She had to be stronger.
Sunday morning which was her actual birthday dawned bright. Family breakfast, gifts from Dad: a necklace, college fund boost. Normal. Blissful.
But the texts continued.