“Slutton . . .”
Shit. “Come on, Evan,” I say, taking the sleeve of his jacket. I hold my breath and look back. Patrick starts to jog toward us.
I look quickly around the hall, but the only escape is the bathroom. And that would be stupid. It would be stupid to trap myself in a room with Patrick. Panic tears through my chest. Where the hell is everybody? I can’t scream—it would terrify Evan. I have to get us out of this.
“Slutton,” Patrick sings from behind us again.
I reach the end of the hall and stop. My heart races and my fingers are trembling so badly, I’m losing my grip on Evan’s jacket.
I lead Evan to the corner and kneel next to him to get on his level. “Hey, buddy,” I whisper. “I have to go talk to my friend. Will you wait here?” Please don’t let him hear the panic in my voice.
He stares at me for a moment, and then nods. I smile. “Sit down,” I say, pointing to the floor. He slides down the wall, never taking his eyes off me.
I get up, and when I turn, Patrick is there, waiting with his big arms crossed over his chest. He leans to the side to look at Evan. “How’s it going, retard?” he asks him.
My fear turns to anger, and my face catches fire. I walk straight toward him, wishing I had something to stab him with now.
“Come here,” he says, taunting me. “Come here, Savannah.” He opens his arms. I clench my fist, ready to punch him. I’m going to punch him until he leaves.
But before I finish cocking back my arm, there is an explosion of pain high on my left cheek where he hits me. I stumble back, too stunned to scream. Patrick grabs me by my still raised wrist and spins me around, slamming me chest first into the tiled wall near the bathrooms.
I gasp as white-hot pain shoots up my arm, starting at my wrist and stretching up through my chest. Blood spurts on the white tile from between my lips. I try to catch my breath as Patrick holds me face-first against the wall, his heavy body leaning into me.
My face is turned in Evan’s direction, forced to make him watch my expression. His eyes are wide and frightened. My wrist hurts so fucking badly, but if I cry, Evan will be so scared. He’ll absolutely lose it. So I try to smile at him to let him know we’ll be okay. Then I close my eyes and hold back the tears.
Patrick pushes his body further against me, pinning me to the wall and making it hard to breathe. His lips touch my ear. “You are very violent. Do you know that, Savannah?”
I keep my eyes closed. His free hand slides down over my ass, and the violation of it all nearly breaks me. I bite down hard on my lip.
“You seriously need therapy,” Patrick says. His breath is hot on my ear, and I can feel that he’s excited. That this sick bastard is getting off on this.
“My wrist is broken,” I whisper. The cold tile on my face is good because it’s keeping me from fainting. I can’t open my eyes. I don’t want Evan to see them.
Patrick laughs, sliding his hand between my legs. “Mm . . .” he says.
Tears leak out, running down my sore cheek. “Stop,” I murmur. Helpless. So completely helpless. I whimper as he changes the grasp he has on my wrist, so that he can get closer to me. But it only makes the pain in my broken bone worse.
“You owe me an apology,” he says, his tongue touching the outside of my ear.
“Please, stop . . .” This isn’t happening. Patrick squeezes me hard through my jeans, and I draw in a harsh breath as I try to back up. But he uses my arm to draw me back and slam me into the wall once again, knocking the wind out of me.
“Say you’re sorry,” he hisses, and grips the back of my neck.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. I want to choke on it. When I get out of here, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to drop Evan off, and then I’m going to find Patrick and kill him.
“What are you sorry for?” he prods.
I’m broken. Violated. “I’m sorry that I stabbed you, Patrick.”
He makes a noise as he pushes himself against me once more, getting one last feel. He is dead. I will kill him.
“Good girl,” he murmurs in my ear. “Now was that so hard?”
And suddenly he lets me go. I don’t move. From the coolness on my cheeks, I know they’re wet with tears. I want to collapse and sob. But I need Patrick to go first.
“Take care, Savannah,” he says as if I were someone he was passing in the school hallway. “See you later, retard,” he calls to my brother.
I still don’t move. I want to stop shaking. I want to disappear. My face is against the tile and my arm is beginning to go numb as it hangs limply at my side. Patrick chuckles to himself before I hear his sneakers squeak along the mall floor.
