Despite leveling my criticism in an ice-cold speech, I’m sweating inside my dress from pushing this man’s buttons, yet he’s not as much as faltering.
For a few seconds, we chant our hatred for each other in silence. His eyes slightly narrow, a clue I spot too late, and by the time I grab the meaning of that change, his hand is in my hair again, his arm is stretched out and turns off the shower, and I’m pushed into the stream of water.
My eyes, my lips, my skin are drowning in a jet of water.
I shoot my hands to my face to protect myself from the sting of water and mascara.
“Ugh… You fucking jerk,” I spat, dripping with water, my dress turning into a cloak of fluid, fighting and losing the battle with gravitational forces.
The fabric cries at the seams, hanging heavy, and my nipples peek through the soaked-up, silky layers, while my satin shorts get wet.
My hair is like a stack of folded laundry thrown back into the washer, and I can’t fight my way to the shower to turn it off.
I can’t move away either.
He doesn’t let me as he holds me still, allowing the water to do what he couldn’t.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the harrowing sound of torn fabric makes it to my ears.
Layers of destroyed textiles fall from my shoulders, my chest, my hips as he tears them apart with a vengeance.
Shocked, I move my hands from my face to my chest.
“What the fuck is this for?” I manage to push out as the water goes from warm to cold, and I’m dressed in goosebumps.
“This is just a glimpse of the life you’re so sure you can handle. Imagine this with a gun to your head, and perhaps between your legs. You know nothing, Leilani Gallo. Absolutely nothing. You speak of things no one can have. Every woman married to someone like your grandfather––yes, even your grandfather––is playing Russian roulette for the rest of her life. They don’t know whether they’ll wake up in the morning or perish at the hands of their husbands. You shouldn’t play with people. You’re not good at it. They’ll outsmart you, disregard your will, and force you into accepting their plans without a problem. And stop playing with me. I’m your worst enemy.”
Cupping my jiggling breasts, I shout at him.
“I don’t want them to marry me to some old asshole. Why can’t you understand?”
A scoffing grin tugs at his lips.
“And this is your fucking plan to fight them back?”
“There is no plan. Can’t you see?”
Towering over me, he clasps my chin and speaks slowly in my face.
“Drinking the night away and rubbing your pussy against a stranger is a plan. A bad one at that. You’ll gain nothing if you keep doing that.”
I scoff at him.
“Really, then why don’t you teach me what to do?”
He steps back.
That is the last thing I wanted him to do.
“You’re not my problem, Leilani. That’s your riddle to solve.”
I move closer to him, my heels leaving holes in the ruined dress lining the floor.
“Then why were you there by the pool, Callum? Huh? Was it because of him? Who did you protect? Were you worried about me, him, or yourself?”
The silence wraps around us like a giant snake.
“Were you only concerned with yourself? Why?” The curiosity is blatant in my voice. “What can someone like me do to someone like you? What can I do to you, Callum?”
