Before I could even think, he yanked me away from the wall and threw me to the floor. I hit hard, my shoulder catching most of it and sending a jolt down my spine. I tried to pushmyself up and managed to get my arm under me –
His fist slammed into the side of my face. Pain exploded across my cheek, and my head snapped sideways. I hit the floor with a force that knocked the wind out of me. Everything went blurry.
My glasses were gone. I heard them skid across the floor, maybe crack against the leg of the table. The whole room spun sideways. My vision filled with static. I blinked, but nothing came into focus. Everything pulsed with light. My ears rang.
I tried to sit up again, but my arms wouldn't cooperate. The hit had scrambled everything – sight, sound, thought. I felt movement nearby but couldn't make sense of it. I couldn't make sense of anything.
Marcus grabbed my shirt and forced me flat onto my back. His weight dropped over me fast, his knees pinning me at the hips and locking me in place. My chest heaved on instinct, but I was too slow. His hand found my neck again and pressed hard against the bruises he left the night before.
I choked on the pain. My body bucked, tried to twist away, but the disorientation and the full weight of him kept me still. My fingers clawed at his arms, but they were useless. I could barely get a grip, let alone push him off.
I couldn't see clearly, but I didn't need to see his face to feel the fury coming from him. It rolled off of him in waves, sharp and toxic. And then I heard the voice I knew too well, low and venomous and stripped of all its charm.
"I could make this quick if I wanted to. But you're not getting off that easy. I'm gonna make sure you feel every bit of it."
A flash of panic ripped through me. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to do it again. Strip me down, take whatever he wanted, ruin me all over again. My limbs locked up as my brain screamed at me to move, dosomethingtoget him off of me.
His fist came down instead.
The first punch hit my ribs. The second came right after into my side and knocked the wind out of me completely. The third went for my face again, and I felt the wet crack of my lip splitting open. Blood flooded my mouth. The ringing in my ears swelled into a roar.
I couldn't keep track of the blows after that. They came too fast and from too many angles. My body jerked with every impact. I didn't even have the chance to register the pain before the next one landed. I tried to breathe, but I could barely manage short, stuttering gasps and the occasional choked-off sound.
I had no space to think. I couldn't fight back. My mind kept scrambling to catch up, to understand what part of me was being hit, what direction it was coming from, what I could do to stop it. Every time I tried to push up or twist away, he knocked me back down.
My arms curled in instinctively to shield my face, my stomach, anything. But it didn't matter. He just kept going, over and over. Each blow blurred into the next until all I could feel was the dull, overwhelming weight of it.
I couldn't breathe. My vision swam. I didn't know where I was anymore. I only knew that I needed it to stop. I needed to disappear. I tried to curl in tighter to make myself a smaller target, but everything hurt too much. I couldn't move fast enough. The pain was everywhere, deep and dizzying.
My body gave in before my mind did. Every muscle went slack. I didn't mean to let go and stop fighting, but everything suddenly felt far away.
Finally, the blows stopped. The silence felt louder than the violence had. I didn't move. Icouldn'tmove. I could barely tell where the floor ended and I began.
I heard him give a breathless huff. "God, you're a pain inthe arse."
Then his weight lifted off me.
I didn't try to follow. I couldn't even get my lungs to work right. Every breath scraped raw on the way in, shallow and useless. My arms wouldn't move. My legs wouldn't move. My head spun so fast I thought the world might flip over. I couldn't tell what part of me hurt the worst.
Then I thought I heard ... water? Was that the tap running?
I blinked and forced my eyes open enough to catch blurry movement across the room. It was tough to tell, but it looked like ... Marcus was standing at the sink. I saw the shape of him lean forward, his hands moving under the stream of water. It took a minute to figure out he was rinsing the blood from his knuckles and checking the damage. Like this was just another chore for him to finish.
I tried to move. Just an arm. A leg. Something. But when I turned my head, everything tilted sideways. The floor rolled underneath me, and my stomach churned with it.
Breathe... Move... Get up...
I couldn't.
I shut my eyes and tried to brace for whatever came next. But I heard footsteps before I could prepare.
My heart leapt into my throat. Panic flared hard and fast, but my body refused to cooperate. A second later, his hand closed around my arm, and he hauled me up to my feet.
The floor dropped out from under me. My ribs screamed. My legs gave out immediately, but he dragged me up by sheer force. I was too dazed to fight it. The movement knocked the breath out of my lungs. Pain shot through me as the room tilted again. Light smeared into streaks, and all I could do was hang there as he pulled me along.
He kicked open a door with a force that rattled the frame. The bang of the knob hitting the wall made me flinch,but I didn't have time to think about it. I was airborne for half a second, and then I landed on the bed with a jarring thud. Pain flared through every inch of me as the bed springs groaned beneath me. I tried to orient myself, but I didn't get the chance.
Marcus was already on me again. He straddled my hips and shoved a hand onto my chest to keep me pinned. The other shot straight for my throat, closing around it with crushing pressure. I gasped, but nothing came in.
