Before he can pull me back through, I grip the top of the window frame and slam it down on Jonah’s arm. There’s a loud scream behind the glass, and he releases my dress. I fall backward, landing hard on the wood floor.
Jonah is unable to get the window back open with one hand, his palm sliding along the glass. Instead, he slowly pulls his trapped arm through, crying out in pain. Once it’s free, he pushes up the frame roughly. I see the bruise already on his forearm just below his elbow, a scrape all the way to his wrist.
“Stay there!” he snarls at me.
I’m not about to be held prisoner in an upstairs bedroom. I rush out the door, darting toward the stairs. I need to get to Sydney.
“Wait!” Jonah yells from the room, followed by a loud rumble as he crashes to the bedroom floor.
Lyle suddenly appears at the top of the stairs, eyes wide whenhe sees me running toward him. He quickly assesses my torn dress, looking like he’s about to puke. He holds out his hand.
“Help me!” I say desperately, the music louder now that I’m near the stairs.
Lyle reaches to take my forearm, steadying me. Even though I don’t mean to, I start to cry. Jonah scared me, terrified me.
Jonah bursts from the room, hitting the opposite wall before straightening himself. He’s drunk. His eyes are red and glassy, perspiration dots his face. He sighs with relief when he sees I’m with Lyle.
“Bring her back over,” he tells him, waving down the hall.
I turn to Lyle, getting my foot on the first step down before he tightens his grip on my arm. I lift my eyes to his, but rather than finding protection or sympathy, I find fear. He darts his gaze from me to Jonah.
And then I realize that he’s not scared for me. He values Jonah’s inclusion over my safety. He would gladly feed me to the wolves in order to join their pack.
Lyle’s fingers pinch my skin as they tighten their grasp. I try to yank away, stunned by his sudden strength when he begins to pull me toward the bedroom. Understanding that he plans to hand me over to Jonah, I scream for Sydney. I’m not sure if she can hear me over the downstairs music.
With no other choice, I slap Lyle hard across the face, hoping to snap him out of this. He bares his teeth at me.
He’s not the nice guy. He’s just another monster with angerthat he can’t contain, living in a community that makes him believe it’s acceptable.
Lyle drags me down the hall, and when I’m close enough, Jonah grabs me roughly by the elbow.
“Relax,” Jonah says, as if I’m overreacting. “We need to talk.” He pushes me inside the room.
The Nice Guy
He is my friend.
He’d never hurt me.
Why would he?
He’s such a nice guy.
He’d never hold me down.
Why would he?
He’s such a nice guy.
He’d never leave me crying on the floor.
Why would he?
He’s such a nice guy.
He’d never lie to my face about what he’d done.
Why would he?
