No, but I can still do something. I don’t know what puts the idea in my head or why my brain latches onto it so suddenly, but I find myself opening the machine and sitting down at my desk. I pull up a blank document, and the cursor blinks at me.

It all started at a party shortly after I moved in, I type. The words come slowly like even my fingers dread the idea of going back through everything that happened. I didn’t want to go to the party, but I didn’t have a choice. While there, Nix and Colt forced me into performing oral sex on Nix while Colt touched me. They recorded it. The video is saved on Colt’s computer.

I typed it, and I’m still alive. The shame didn’t kill me. It didn’t consume me. I’m still here.

The night of my mother’s wedding rehearsal dinner, I continue, I took a painkiller before making the mistake of drinking champagne. I could kick myself for being so stupid. Nix and Colt brought me home. While I was under the influence of these two substances mixed together, Colt had sex with me. He made an audio recording of the encounter and played it for me the following day when I confronted him. The audio was stored in his phone.

It gets easier the more I type. Even describing what’s going on with James isn’t so difficult anymore. Tears occasionally blur my vision, but I wipe them away, more irritated by the distraction than anything else. I have work to do here.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with it or if I’ll do anything at all. I only know somehow I feel better for having typed it all out. Safer, too. As far as I know, nobody has access to my machine yet—and I hope none of them will. Colt wants to keep a file on his machine? I can keep files on mine, too.

By the time I finish detailing everything that went on last night, including when James tried to break into my room, the sun has risen. My fingers are stiff from all the typing—more than I’ve ever done all at once before, but I feel good. Like, somehow, telling the story puts me back in control, at least a little.

That good feeling evaporates at the click of the lock. I turn in my chair, holding my breath. What is it this time? Who is it?

“Hey.” Colt’s carrying a plate in one hand and a bottle of juice tucked under his arm. “I thought you’d be hungry. Figured you wouldn’t want to come down if you didn’t have to.”