The knife is still pressing against my throat. Tim’s not bluffing. I can see it in his eyes; he’s waiting for a reason to slice.
I swallow hard. My breaths come shallow. The air feels thick, too heavy to breathe.
Then slowly, hands trembling, I lift myself to my knees.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, voice raw. I look up, and there they are. All four of them. Standing side by side like some twisted council, smirking down at me. Their shadows swallow the dim light leaking into the room.
The bile in my stomach turns, cold and bitter.
Caleb lights a joint, like this is a party. He takes a long drag, lips curling with satisfaction, before handing it to Josh, who does the same. The smoke snakes through the air, bitter and sharp. Then to Tim, who only releases the knife from my throat once it’s his turn.
But he doesn’t put it away. He holds it proudly.
Tim drags in the smoke, exhales, then passes the joint to Nate. Nate takes it like he’s holding something sacred. And then he steps toward me.
“Open your mouth,” he says, voice low. Calm. Too calm.
I shake my head, lips tight.
I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I’ve never touched any of it, not even with a mother who practically lives in a cloud of smoke and cheap tequila. I sell weed, yeah—but I’ve never let it own me. Someone in my fucked-up family had to stay sane.
“I said open your fucking mouth,” Nate growls.
Then his fists slam against my face hard, sharp, and fast. My head jerks to the side.
Pain explodes across my cheek. The burn radiates to my jaw. A small, helpless whimper slips out of me, and I hate it.
I blink through the tears that threaten to fall, vision swimming, but I don’t let myself cry.
I open my mouth. Slowly. Weakly.
He shoves the joint between my lips.
“Inhale,” he hisses.
I do.
The smoke floods my lungs like fire, and I break into a fit of coughs, my chest heaving. My body recoils on instinct—but they laugh. They all laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve seen.
“Pathetic,” Tim sneers, watching me like I’m nothing but a joke.
They make me inhale again. Then again. My lungs burn. My head spins. I try to turn away, but every time I resist, a slap follows. One side of my face stings. Then the other. But I don’t cry. I won’t.
Even if my cheeks sting. Even if my eyes blur.
Then I hear it.
A belt snaps open.
A zipper.
My body freezes.
I blink through the haze, forcing my gaze to clear, and my chest tightens when I see Nate standing there, just in his briefs.
He’s hard.
And he’s looking at me like this whole thing — my pain and fear excites him.
