Haven
I don’t bash Kai’s brains in with a trophy.
I slap him over the head with my Activity Log so hard, thethwacksurely carries into the hallway.
“You fuckingloserpiece of trashscumbag!” I scream.
Kai shoots into a sit as I come in for another blow. The book connects with the side of his head, and the dull, bone-shaking impact shudders up to my elbows. He jerks sideways, stunned, but not fast enough to stop my next blow.
That glorious impact quivers my arms, so satisfying I’m clenching down on a manic grin. God, it feels good to beat the shit out of someone who’s wronged you.
“Jesus, Haven, stop!”
“I’ll kill you for this, you sick piece of shit!”
I bash the book into his ribs so hard it almost jars out of my fingers. His body contorts as he tries to fend me off, but short of kicking me, I’m not going anywhere.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells.
“You!” His face blurs, and I realize I’m crying, but now I’m too fucking riled up to control myself. “Kai motherfuckingJordanis what’sfuckingwrong with me!”
I try to get to him, but he just pushes me back. So, I drop the book and try to kick him.
Big mistake.
Because all that ends up doing is getting me onto the bed with him, where he overpowers me in an instant, flipping me onto my back and using his weight to pin me down.
Sitting on my thighs so I can’t kick.
Knees on my wrists so I can’t scratch.
Hands pressed to my shoulders so I can’t buck him off.
Hard as I try to do all three, it’s useless. Fucker’s too heavy.
God, how that pisses me off. It shouldn’t surprise me—he’s always been bigger and stronger than me, even when we were kids. But somehow I keep expecting the element of surprise to turn him into a weakling.
I’m a goddamn idiot.
Swinging that book like it’d do anything?
“Pathetic fucking dog turd,” I wheeze, and I’m not sure if I’m attacking Kai or myself.
I want my voice to be strong and malicious, but I’m breathless after all that struggling. I sound pathetic, and I hate myself almost as much as I hate him.
And I don’t like the way he’s staring at me, like he’s trying to decide if he should punish me, or throw me out.
I don’t want him to do either.
I want him to fight back.
He glances at the black notebook I dropped on the bed. His eyes slide closed, a frustrated groan croaking out of him. “I fucking knew I?—”
“Shouldn’t have gone through my stuff? Yeah, you fucking cockroach, it’s called privacy. Ever heard of it, you fucking loser?”
He laughs. “You’re one to talk.”
I scowl at him. “You don’t get to reverse Uno this shit, asshole.”
