Page 16 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

“Whatever it is, we can talk about it by the campfire.” I spin to head back toward the others, and I instantly know I fucked up. Before I even have a chance to correct my mistake, he’s on me.

One arm wraps around my chest, right over my boobs, while he splays his other palm across my lower belly. My eyes screw shut as I fight my body’s paralyzing urge to just shut down. I try to steady my breathing, but my brain is descending into darkness—flashbacks filtering through in the form of various sounds and images.

“Shit,” one of them hissed. “Shut her the fuck up!” CRACK!

His fist slammed into my jaw, and I saw stars. My eyes rolled about in my head as I felt the button on my jeans snap open, the denim being yanked down forcefully over my hips, while someone on my right forces up my shirt.

I can’t go through this again. I WILL NOT go through this again.

Regaining my bearings, the wooded area comes back into focus.

“Come on, Jones,” he whispers into the crook of my neck as his hand begins to slip lower toward the waist of my jeans. “I know you like me. I just want us to get to know each other better.”

My hand shoots up under the fabric of my crop top, snatching the blade and flipping it open all in one fluid motion before I drive it right into his thigh behind me. Trent starts to scream, but the music out by the firepit is bumping now. He releases me to grip the handle, and then I feel it—Trent being ripped back from me.

I spin to find him wide-eyed with fear, a large tatted hand planted over his mouth, gun pressed to his temple. The dark figure behind him is so sinister, he could strike fear in the heart of the Devil.

Maverick Bishop. And he looks fucking murderous.

Mav pushes the gun harder into Trent’s temple, eliciting a muffled cry, though his eyes never leave mine.

“He touch you?” Mav spits out through gritted teeth, his jaw tight.

Jesus Christ, he’s gonna snap and shoot him right here. And though that shouldn’t turn me on, it fucking does.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I hold Mav’s gaze.

Maverick starts visibly shaking, pressing the gun into him even harder. There’s no way that isn’t going to bruise.

“Can I kill him?” Mav asks me, his body practically humming with excitement. Trent whimpers and I look down in time to see him piss himself.

I inhale a deep breath, my jaw clenching in anger. He’s just another weak, pathetic coward. I am so fucking tired of weak men trying to assert dominance over me. Time to take that shit back.

“No,” I state firmly as I approach with purpose. “Hold him still, Mav.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” He tightens his grip on Trent, who by now is a sniveling mess.

I advance in a rage, ripping the blade from his thigh and plunging it into his shoulder without hesitation. Trent tries to scream beneath Maverick’s grasp but his palm covers half Trent’s face, his cries for help dying on his lips.

I lean in close to Trent, who’s still firmly pinned to Maverick’s massive frame. “I am so fucking tired of men thinking they can touch me without my consent.” I twist the knife in his shoulder and Trent’s eyes screw shut, tears expelling down his cheeks. “Drop him, Mav,” I order and he complies instantly.

Trent’s body hits the ground in a crumpled heap. His mouth opens as though he’s going to scream but he never gets the chance. I rear back, kicking him square in the face. His blood spatters across the fabric of my pristine white Vans, and I swear to God it’s the first time I’ve felt alive since those bastards robbed me of my soul.

Mav hangs back a few steps, eyeing me in awe with a malevolent grin playing on his lips.

“What about what I want? Huh, Trent?” I kick him again, this time in his stomach. He’s still pretty dazed from the shot to the head, but he winces when I make contact with his gut. “When do I get a choice? Hmmm?” I stomp his shoulder next, the same one I stabbed him in and I’m pretty sure I just killed his football career or, at the very least, his senior season. “When do I get to decide what I want?!” I scream before leaning forward and driving my fist into his face, knocking him out cold.

I stand over top of him, chest heaving as I ride the high of my blood thirst. “When do I get what I want?” I whisper to myself, eyes closed.

I can hear the roar of the music still going strong from the party, the loud bass of Hollywood Undead providing the perfect cover for my vengeance. Then, almost like the universe knew I was finished, the music cuts out and shifts to the next song.

White Flag by Bishop Briggs (Spotify)

White Flag by Bishop Briggs (Apple Music)

“And what do you want?” Maverick’s voice speaks low from the cover of night.

My head dips back, taking in the glimmer of random stars peeking through the tops of the trees. “What makes you think I get to have what I want, Maverick?”

---