He moves to the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses, setting them down on the coffee table with a clink.
“We’re going to play a game,” he says.
I don’t move.
“You want to leave?” he says, voice syrupy-sweet again. “Win the game, it’s simple.”
My throat tightens.
“What game?”
A dark smile curves across his mouth.
“Truth or Drink. But here’s the twist—you lie, you drink. You refuse to answer, you drink. You annoy me...” He waves the bottle at me with an unhinged grin.
“You drink.”
I don’t trust him, but if there’s even a chance to get out of here faster, I’ll take my chances.
I edge toward the couch and sit down stiffly.
The first shot glass slides toward me.
“Let’s begin,” Elliot says. His eyes go up to the ceiling, pondering, his finger tapping a rhythm on his chin.
“Mmmm...let’s see...Ah, I know.” His eyes crawl over my body, his tongue flicking out to lick his chapped lips. “Do you ever fantasize about me when you’re touching yourself, Violet?”
Disgust churns in my stomach.
“No, why would you even say that?” I snap.
He breathes out a soft laugh like it’s funny.
“Liar, now drink.”
“I’m not lying,” I spit.
But he’s already picking up the glass, moving closer, looming over me.
“You know the rules,” he says, almost with tenderness. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”
He presses the rim of the glass against my lips.
My stomach heaves.
The smell of raw tequila makes my eyes water.
I turn my face away—but he grabs my jaw; not rough, but firm enough that there’s no mistaking the pressure.
“Drink,” he murmurs again.
With no other choice, I choke it down.
The alcohol hits hard, burning all the way down.
Another pour.
“Next question,” he croons, his hand reaching out to finger a lock of my hair.
