The Laws of Founding is an adult novel that deals with difficult adult content. Please be aware of the following content: violence, sexual assault, blood, death, mental health episodes, swearing, drugs

I rushed across the hallway with one hand pressed firmly over my mouth and shoved my way into the bathroom. The door bounced off the bathtub with a dull clang as I stumbled into a cloud of humid air, groped for the toothpaste, and began brushing madly. The comfortingly domestic scent of my roommate’s tea-tree shampoo slowly dispelled the vision of flames and nausea that inevitably followed that particular nightmare.

Once my stomach ceased threatening me with violence and a few eyedrops brought the world swimming back into focus, I found myself confronted with a fuzzy pink bath mat and a shower curtain spotted with aggressively colorful daisies.

When I brushed my teeth before falling into bed last night, our bath mat had been white and the shower curtain pale blue. If Rayne thought turning our bathroom into a pre-teen paradise was a good idea, she had another thing coming. I was not prepared to put up with such violent displays of femininity so early in the morning.

Since we had agreed that common spaces would be decorated in neutral tones, I figured that questioning her decorating choices was a much better option than climbing back into bed despite the early hour. The feeling of blood on my hands was still so strong in my memory that the idea of walking back into my bedroom—even to change clothes—brought back my nausea, so I headed toward the kitchen instead.

Rayne sat on a barstool wearing multi-colored toe socks, sipping tea. Her damp blonde hair was piled on top of her head in one of those purposefully casual ballerina buns that I never managed to get the hang of. A sheaf of notes sat on the counter next to her saucer, the neatly printed words silently shaming me for ignoring my own homework.

As I passed the kitchen island, the leftover smell of oatmeal and blueberries made me think that a bit of breakfast might be just what I needed to calm my stomach.

“Allie,” Rayne said, looking up from her notes, “I didn’t know you were home. What time did you get in last night?”

I grunted in response and began pulling things out of the fridge.

“Well,” she said in mock offense, “good morning to you, too.”

“Sorry, Ray. I think I must have drank too much last night,” I admitted while examining the egg carton, “my stomach needs something that hasn’t been fermented before I can be civil.”

“You don’t remember how much you had to drink?”

I ignored the disapproval in her tone and shrugged, hoping my voice sounded more indifferent than I felt.

“I only remember having a few beers with Mat before I came home,” I said as I lifted the side drawer, only to find it bare, and asked, “didn’t I just buy a block of cheddar?”

“How would I know? I don’t eat that stuff.”

I would have laughed at the disgust in her voice if I wasn’t too frustrated for amusement. My vague desire for food to fill my unhappy tummy had bloomed into a full-on craving that had me whining, “How can I possibly have an omelet without cheese?”

“The real question,” she said, “is how you can put fried chicken placenta in your mouth.”

“With profound pleasure,” I countered, and set the carton of eggs aside to do a more thorough search of the bottom drawer of our fridge.

When the phone rang a second later, the ringer sounded strange—a muted digital tone rather than the sharp chime I was used to—and I wondered if Rayne replaced the phone as well as redecorating our bathroom. She sighed and climbed off her perch to skip across the room and chirp, “Hello,” into the receiver. “Hey! Oh, I think she left it in her room. Okay. Yeah, I’ll let her know. See you in a few.”

I was already whisking eggs by the time she climbed back onto the barstool and resumed sipping her tea.

“I still can’t believe we don’t have any cheese in this place,” I complained, churning my arm for all I was worth and watching the eggs blend into a smooth, bubbly froth. “I’m going to have to make a French omelet now when what I really wanted was ham and cheese.”

Rayne eyed my bowl, stuck her finger in her mouth, and made a gagging noise. I laughed and turned back to my eggs.

“Your preferences have been noted. By the way, Barbie called, and she wants her bathroom back.”

“We aren’t going to have this argument again, are we?” she groaned, “we agreed to get new stuff for the bathroom on payday. You can wait two more weeks.”

“Why don’t I remember this argument?”

“Maybe because you don’t pay attention to me when I talk?”

“Oh, please. Now you make us sound like an old married couple.”

“We might as well be. You’re always gone, and I’m the only one who cleans.”

I snorted and began pulling spices out of the cabinet. “I clean. I did laundry last week. Besides, you work more hours than I do, so you’re clearly the workaholic husband who leaves me to my own, desperate devices.”

“Well, I don’t have much choice if we want to pay bills, Allie. Unless you’d like to pick up more hours somewhere?”

She was starting to sound annoyed, which surprised me because both of us enjoyed a good verbal sparring match. I wasn’t sure what she meant about my always being gone, but I decided to change the subject and preserve the peace.

“I don’t want to fight,” I said, “I just want to eat. Who called?”

“The only person who would be calling this early in the morning.”

I turned from my omelet, pointed my spatula at her, and ordered, “Spill, woman. I’m hungry, and I have no time for riddles.”

She sighed, placed her empty cup on the counter, and slipped lightly onto the floor. “It was Seth, of course. He wanted to know why you didn’t answer your phone, and then said he would be here to pick you up in a few minutes. You may want to brush your hair.”

“Who?”

“Very funny,” she called over her shoulder as she headed toward her bedroom, ostensibly to put on a bra.

I pulled the pan off the heat and stalked after her. “Rayne, I’m not kidding, who are you talking about?”

“Seth, obviously,” she said as she pulled her tank top back into place over a white sports bra. “You might want to change into something that doesn’t say ‘homeless’ before he gets here.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Rayne looked down at her arm and said, her voice hard, “Allie, let go.”

I followed her gaze. White finger marks marred the skin of her arm where I’d grabbed her. I gaped at my hand, as shocked as if the limb had acted on its own. I’d never put my hands on Rayne. My stomach did a weird little flip-flop.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You said you weren’t going to drink anymore, Allie. You promised.”

“I did?”

Dark blonde brows lowered accusingly at me, and I shook my head, lost. Having been my best friend since we were both twelve, Rayne knew why I sometimes needed to quiet my thoughts with a few drinks. I had built up a rather high tolerance during my teenage bouts with self-destruction, so I rarely drank too much; certainly not often enough that I’d need to promise her I would stop. I might not be the most dedicated scholar, but I did take my classes seriously enough not to get blasted on a Thursday night, so why would I make such a promise?

Unrelated details began clicking together in my mind like Legos, building a picture that scared me; no cheese, when that was one thing I never ran out of, our blue shower curtain replaced by daisies—pink bath mats? We’d agreed to avoid pink while decorating. Then there was the strange ringer on our phone, an agreement I couldn’t remember, and my supposed promise to stop drinking.

My hands started shaking.

The doorbell rang, and Rayne walked away from me, rubbing her arm. I followed her but struggled to force my legs to move as dread took hold in the pit of my stomach.

A man stood in the doorway, smiling. He was handsome in an all-American, football player kind of way; light haired and wide chested with a strong, square jaw.

“Hey,” he said, walking towards me, his eyes appreciative, “your hair looks great, did you do something to it?”

I stood rooted to the spot while my heart fluttered against my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. He stopped in front of me and looked me up and down.

“Is this what you’re wearing to the game? It doesn’t look too festive.”

He was teasing me. I opened my mouth to respond, but my mind had gone blank. Who was he? What game? I’d never been interested enough in any sport to attend games.

He reached out, put both hands on my waist, said, “You want to go change? I’ll wait for you. I want a kiss, though,” and leaned forward.

It was then, when I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips, that shock gave way to instinct. I slapped him, hard. He jerked his head back, letting go of me so quickly that I almost fell and had to grab the edge of the couch to regain my balance.

“What the hell, Allie?” he demanded, fingertips against the handprint on his cheek.

“I don’t know who you are, but if you touch me again without my permission, I’ll do worse than slap you.”

His eyes grew wide as he stepped toward me, this time with his hands raised in a placating gesture that did nothing to stem my rising panic. The urge to run surged through my muscles like a lightning strike, but he was between me and the doorway. Rayne was simply standing there slack-jawed and unmoving. He continued to walk toward me, and I jerked backward, pointing a shaking finger at him. I couldn’t remember his face no matter how hard I stared at it.

“Allie, it’s okay, honey.”

“No, I’m not okay. Get the hell away from me! Rayne, who is this guy? Get out of here before I call the cops.”

Panting and sweating,, I felt as if the floor were about to drop from beneath my feet. The man, Seth, looked from Rayne to me with wide, worried eyes.

“Allie,” Rayne said stepping toward me, “Allie, you’re scaring me, what’s going on? Did you drink anything besides beer last night? You didn’t take any pills, did you?”

“She didn’t drink anything last night,” Seth said, eyes darting between Rayne and me, “we went to her brother’s audition, and had dinner with her parents afterward.”

“I don’t even know you!” I yelled, putting both hands on my head and trying desperately to remember what I’d done last night.

Seth approached me again, but I held my hands in front of me with my palms out to ward him off as my throat tightened. I couldn’t get enough air. My hands started to go numb. Vertigo hit me like a bus, and I toppled to the side, landing hard on my hands and knees.

“Allie!” they both shouted, leaning down to take me by the arms.

Full-fledged hysteria sunk its claws into my chest and I screamed, struggling against their hands and kicking at anything my legs could reach. My fingernails raked down one of Seth’s cheeks before he caught my wrists and wrapped our arms behind my back.

“Call 911!” Seth shouted at Rayne, but his voice was hollow and far away as if he were at the end of a long tunnel. The outside of my vision darkened, closing in until there was no light left but a tiny pinpoint at the center.

I felt myself falling.