He finally pulls out and shoves me back. I try to crawl away, but he pulls my legs back to him.
I kick him with my other leg, but that angers him.
“You stupid little cunt!” He flips me over, backhanding me so hard black spots dance in my vision.
He takes advantage, grabbing the front of my jeans and ripping them down my legs. I cry out from the burn and snap back into myself.
Fight.
I swing my fists, trying to push him off me so I can run. I can’t let him do this to me. I refuse.
He smashes the empty vodka glass against my head, and it breaks. It doesn’t register as pain at first—just shock. A brutal jolt that rattles through my skull. My eyes vibrate in their sockets.
Shhk.
Then the sound of his belt buckle jingling.
He brings the belt down, my forearms sting trying to cover my face.
The loud crack continues to steal the air from my lungs. I can’t tell if the cracks are his belt or thunder. I squirm, trying to buck him off me, but he uses his body to press down on me, his knee digging into me. Then he punches me. Pain explodes against my ribs, then my side. He flips me over onto my stomach. I can barely hear the words he’s yelling into my ear as I sob into the carpet. He grinds himself into my ass.
As he pulls me up by my hood, I choke and splutter, clawing at my neck.
“You ain’t gonna be nothin’ but this, Isobel. No one will want you. There’s only me now.” He throws me down and punches my side again, and all the fight leaves my body.
He wrenches my hips up and shoves them against his groin. He rips my underwear, his fingers dig into my hips, hard enough I already know that it’s going to bruise. There’s no ceremony, no warning, he forces himself inside me, the pain bright and sharp. He groans and the tears come faster.
He moves his hand under my shirt and grabs my breast so hard I cry out again.
The TV is still laughing, my face mashed against the rug. Salt from my tears and the metallic tang of blood swirl in my mouth. I retch but nothingcomes up. He hisses through his teeth, every thrust shoving me harder into the floor.
He yanks my hair and pulls me against him. “You smell good.” His voice is in my ear while he squeezes my chest again, and I sob.
“This is all you’re good for. No one is ever going to want you.” He grunts. “Even your daddy didn’t want you.”
I count the seconds until there’s nothing left to count.
He uses my body to get himself off, then his impossible weight finally lifts off me. Wetness runs down my legs.
He wipes himself off in my hair. The sound of his pants zipper. Everything hurts. I’m floating above my body. Sounds are muffled. I just want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. To find comfort in the darkness. To be nothing.
He grabs me, and I scramble to get my feet under me, but my jeans are still around my ankles. He drags me down the hall to my room.
He yanks open the door and tosses me inside like he’s throwing out a bag of trash.
“There’s a part of you that wants this,” he says with terrifying serenity, a sick smile crawling over his face. “Don’t worry. Pretty soon you’ll be begging for it.” He scans the threadbare room, then slams the door shut.
I lean against my mattress. I can’t breathe too deeply or else there’s a sharp pain.
My hand fumbles for my phone, but the pocket is empty. It must’ve slipped out.
Fuck.
I claw at my jeans, every movement sending sharp, electric pain through me.
The laughter from the TV is gone, but I can still hear it in my head.
She was there, high out of her mind.
