He searches for the edge of the sheet with one hand. He finds it and slips his warm, sweaty hand under the covers, the knife in the other hand, above his head, in my peripheral vision. “Is that better?” he asks.
I hold still. I don’t move. His hand finds the hem of my shirt, slipping under, touching me like he has before, but this time it’s unwanted. This time is makes me want to scream.
Tears burn my eyes. I breathe out, “I want you to go.”
“No, you don’t, Reese,” he says, running his fingers up the side of my ribs. “You like me, remember? A lot. You told me so.”
“I don’t like you. I want you to go.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do.”
He takes his hand out from under my shirt. He props himself on the other arm, moving the knife to his right hand. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he says, pressing the flat part of the blade to my neck, and I lift my chin, arching my back. I cry out from the cold, softly moaning as he drags the knife across my throat, wondering what would happen if it wasn’t the flat part of the blade but the edge. How deep it would cut, how much it would bleed, if I would die.
“Take your pants off, Reese.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to have to ask you again. Just do it, Reese. This doesn’t have to be so hard.”
“You’re scaring me,” I whimper, my hands shaking as I push my pajama pants beneath my hips, and he moves himself on top of me.
“You know I don’t want to do that,” he says again, pressing himself between my legs, trying to convince me, to win me over, as if I have some say. His voice is soft, smarmy. He says, “You told me you want to be with me. I know you still want that, Reese. I want that too.”
I brace myself for it to hurt. But before anything can happen, from somewhere deep inside the cottage, a noise comes through the open door. Daniel looks up. His eyes go to the knife, and then something flashes on his face. Something dark. He slides off, puts his finger to his lips.Shhhh.
He starts to stand up, his eyes on the open door. As he does, I don’t hesitate. I react, catching him off guard. I smack his hand, and as I do, he loses his grip on the knife. It falls onto the bed. Surprise crosses his face. We both reach for the knife at the same time, scrambling, though somehow, I’m the one who manages to come up with it.
I brandish it in front of me, my hands shaking. “Get back. Get away from me.”
He rises from the bed, standing at the edge of it.
He laughs, mocking me. He swings his own imaginary knife out in front of him. “Get back. Get away from me.” And then, all of a sudden, he stops laughing. His face gets serious. His tone is patronizing as he asks, “What are you doing, Reese? You know you wouldn’t use that. You wouldn’t hurt me.”
He comes closer. “Why don’t you just give it to me so no one gets hurt.” He raises an open hand for the knife as if to take it.Instinctively I thrust it forward, a short, straight jab that connects.
Daniel flinches as the blade razes his skin. He looks down at his hand. When he looks up again, his eyes are cold. “You bitch,” he says, and though it’s dark in the room, I can see the blood on his hand. “You stupid bitch.”
He comes at me again, but this time, when I raise the knife, he stops. Because he knows I would use it. I would hurt him.
For a long time, he stares at the knife, and then my face, and then the knife again.
“You’re nothing,” he says, reaching down to the floor for my pink sweatshirt, which he wraps around his bloody hand. “You’re not even worth it.”
I watch him cross the cottage. He walks out the front door, leaving it open.
My heart pounds. My legs give. I sink to the edge of the bed, sliding to the floor, crying.
I hope it’s the last time I ever see him.
Courtney
We grab our things and leave the resort.
The motel, when we get to it, is even worse than I imagined.
“Where will everyone sleep?” Cass asks, taking in the two sagging double-size beds in the small room.
