My fingers sweep across the desk, hoping to find something, a pen, a brush, that can be used as a weapon.
It’s bare.
Each time he pulls at my clothing, I fight. Growing more tired but gaining seconds with each response.
Then he tears my jeans halfway over my hips.
I’m losing ground.
I dig my nails into the hand across my face, then reach over my head to snatch at his hair. The heel of my palm hammers against his forehead and he punches my stomach. Hard.
My breathing stops.
My knees buckle.
Pain twists through me until I sag.
I hear breaking glass but I’m too dizzy to tell if it’s close or far away. A dull part of my mind waits for worse. A whine climbs the scales in my ear, then pops as a roar fills the air.
The hand on my mouth is ripped away. I gulp in a breath and the revolting weight of the teacher’s body pressing against mine is gone.
I stagger two steps to the side, turning, eyes watching blankly as Zane grips my attacker in a chokehold, the man’s face a vibrant red.
He punches him, the blows hitting as hard as Mr Simmons’ fist hit me.
Fear and adrenaline have me in such overload, I’m numb. Not even questioning his sudden appearance.
Then the world swims back into strong focus and gratitude rushes in to fill the space.
I watch as Zane drops his arm, letting the man stumble from his grip, dancing around him before slamming a fist into his face.
Blood splatters into the air, grinding into his knuckles as he makes contact again. And again. He kicks the teacher’s legs out from under him. Stamps on his chest. The side of his head. His throat.
He reaches for a charging camera and wraps the cord around Mr Simmons’ neck, pulling it tight.
“Stop!” I yell, snapping out of my strange hypnosis, the joy of watching him take revenge. “You can’t kill him.”
“Sure, I can,” Zane retorts, then releases the cable, coming over to wrap his arms around me while the teacher lies unconscious on the floor, blood bubbling from his nostril with each snorty breath.
Zane holds me so tightly I’m once again unable to breathe, this time for a far better reason. We rock gently from side to side, our hearts thumping in unison.
Finally, he pulls back and cups my face, staring into my eyes. “You’re, okay? Please say, you’re okay.”
I nod, a tentative smile playing across my lips. “I am now.”
His eyes close, bending down to touch his forehead against mine, his breath sweet and warm as it gusts over my face.
“How are you here?” I ask and my eyes drop to his ankle monitor, widening with alarm. “You shouldn’t be here. Did Clare call you?”
“I got an alert.”
Something lurks behind that thought but I push it away before I can work it through to its conclusion. Too full of relief, of happiness to ruin it with inconvenient facts.
The teacher groans, regaining consciousness.
“Can you get his phone?”
Zane fumbles in his pockets as Mr Simmons sputters into life, blood and spit drooling from his swollen mouth.
