Fuck if it doesn't do things to me.
He's beautiful out there, graceful in a way that reminds me of being on the silks. That feeling of being completely free, when everything else falls away and you're just . . . flying.
How can I ask him to give that up?
"Hey." Eli's voice pulls me from my spiral. "I'm going to run to the bathroom. Want anything from the concessions?"
I shake my head, offering him a small smile. "Nah, I'm good."
He nods and heads off, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which is probably not the best idea considering the dark places they've been wandering lately.
The arena's mostly empty now, just a few stragglers making their way toward the exits. So, I pull out my phone, scrolling through Instagram to distract myself while I wait for Eli to get back.
"Well, well. Look who it is."
My head snaps up, my stomach dropping as I recognize that voice. Three shadows loom over me, blocking out the overhead lights.
Fuck my life.
The frat assholes from the cafeteria stand in a loose semicircle, cutting off any easy escape route, looking like the poster children for "douchebags anonymous." The one in the cast smirks down at me like he thinks he's hot shit.
"Where's your boyfriend?" His gaze rakes over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Not here to protect you this time?"
My heart does a stupid little flutter at the word “boyfriend” before my brain catches up with the threat in his tone. Still, I can't help running my mouth as I stand. "Aw, do you miss him?"
The one on the right—the same asshole who punched Eli in the leg—steps closer. "You think you're so fucking clever, don't you?"
My fingers tighten around my phone. "I mean, compared to you three? A houseplant would look like a genius."
The words barely leave my mouth before a meaty hand shoots out, grabbing my ass hard enough to leave bruises. "How much to fill this slutty hole, huh? Bet you're cheap."
I smack my hand across his face so hard that my palm burns. His head whips to the side, and I can't help the surge of satisfaction at the perfect red handprint blooming on his pasty cheek like some twisted artwork. "Next time you touch me, I'll rip your fucking hand off and beat you with it."
His fist flies at my face, and fuck, there's nowhere to dodge between these seats. Pain explodes through my jaw when his knuckles connect, my head whipping back so hard my teeth clack together. I hit the concrete steps hard, my phone flying from my grip and skittering across the ground.
"Fucking faggot." A boot connects with my ribs, and I curl in on myself, trying to protect my vital organs. "Think you're too good for us?"
They're circling now, taking turns. Each blow comes with a new slur—slut, whore, cocksucker. The wordshurt less than the kicks, but they still sting. One of them hawks and spits, the glob landing warm and wet on my cheek.
Fight or flight kicks in hard, and flight wins by a landslide. I spot a gap, and I take it, my phone abandoned somewhere behind me. My ribs scream as I scramble to my feet and sprint toward the locker rooms to Zach.
To safety.
The corridor stretches endlessly ahead of me, my footsteps echoing off concrete walls. I’m almost there. Almost—
A hard tug yanks me backward, the collar of my shirt biting into my throat and causing me to choke. My body slams into the wall with a sickening thud, pain radiating up my spine and leaving me gasping as the air is knocked clean from my lungs.
Rough hands grab at me, pinning me in place. "Where do you think you're going, pretty boy?"
I let out a raw and desperate scream as I thrash against their grip, my voice tearing through the narrow corridor. But they don’t let go and start hitting me again.
Lifting my arms to shield my face, I keep screaming as my eyes close.
Then suddenly it all stops.
My eyes open and I peek between the gap in my forearms to see what’s going on.
Zach.
