He closed the last inch between us. My heart hammered against my ribs.
When he kissed me, it was a bruising collision, ragged and relentless. I tried to twist away, lungs burning, but my limbs wouldn’t obey.
He was reminding me that he was in control and had the power while I was powerless.
I didn’t scream or fight the way I should have. Instead I froze. The way a rabbit does, out in the open, as the hawk’s shadow hardens over its neck.
He was all muscle and hate, shoving me deeper into the brick as if he wanted my bones to fuse with the wall. With my arms trapped, even my knees could barely buckle; all that was left to surrender was my breath. My last weapon, gone.
“Fuck off,” I finally snapped, nails raking his arms,
“Fuck,” he whispered, and the heat in his voice made my stomach lurch. “You’re feral today.” He pressed the length of his body against mine, hips pinning me so hard I thought he’d shatter my pelvis.
He smashed his lips against mine again, filled with anger.
“You taste like fear,” he slurred, and I saw, for a split second, the wreckage inside him: a hunger to ruin and be ruined in turn.
His grip tightened until spots fuzzed the edge of my vision.
My tongue was a shard of glass, my mouth glued shut with something worse than terror.
Shame. And hunger.
I managed to twist my head, catch a glimpse of the lot. Empty except for a dying robin flapping in the gutter, wing broken.
I saw myself in that bird: ugly, helpless, only good for suffering.
For a minute all I could be was a body: heat wrapped in terror, ribs cinched so tight my heart might splinter. The world narrowed to the stink of booze and his darkened anger.
I understood exactly what my mother meant when she said some men were born hollow and lived only to swallow the light out of girls like me.
Somewhere distant, a voice cut through: “Dude, c’mon. Leave her alone. You’re drunk. You shouldn’t even be here.”
I looked to see Dante, his hand trying to yank Caiden away.
Caiden growled, shoved off, and staggered away with Dante behind him as he shoved him forward.
Dante looked back at me only once with pity and concern.
Light flooded back into my vision, and I sagged against the wall, trembling so hard I thought I might shatter.
Tears slicked my cheeks, hot and shame-laced.I scrubbed at them, but they tracked stubbornly over my jaw. The taste of defeat was sour in my mouth.
I wondered if soap or water could ever wash away the memory of his hands on my skin. Raw disgust coiled in my belly. At him, at myself for feeling so powerless.
I bolted to my car and floored the pedal, vision blurring with each passing streetlight. By the time I pulled into my driveway, my chest felt hollow, every breath a ragged gasp.
Inside, the house reeked of cigarettes and vodka. Mom’s usual aftermath.
Empty bottles were clustered on the counter. My fingers brushed the scarred walls, the faded nails and holes where pictures once hung. Those scars whispered stories of chaos, but nothing comforted me.
Lillian emerged from the hallway, dead eyes behind smudged mascara. She offered a flat, “Hey, Amelia.”
I met Lillian’s eyes, searching for a sign that we could be allies, at least for tonight. All I saw was the same mask I wore in every mirror.
Her silences cut sharper than words. I wanted to scream: Mom’s out again. Maybe gone for nights this time. But I only managed, “Where’s Mom?”
Lillian shrugged. “With some guy. Said don’t wait up.” She slipped away, and I realized how much I wanted to shake her, demand we be sisters again.
