Page 22 of Overcast

A puddle—that’s what I want to be right now.

Heat spreads everywhere, mixing with my anxiety, and it’s the perfect cocktail of the worst day of my life.

“Do you like it rough?” Emric leans in closer, replacing the position of his blade from my chin to between my breast. “Or sweet?”

“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

My fingers release my soaked sock as I pull back from his advancing, but it’s quickly halted by the wall behind me.

I’m afraid that if I invest a move towards his knife that he’ll stab me with it. Always positioned to hurt me. At the ready to perform a deadly move.

Carnage without a conscience.

“I don’t do this,” he mutters, removing the blade and replacing it with his knuckles. They barely brush up the column of my neck, sending a lethal injection of alarm through my veins.

“I don’t fuck women that need a push. But I think I’d enjoy you...a little too much. Punishing you, making you scream in, not only pleasure but because I need you to start unraveling all the facts. It’d be one hell of a fucking—” My head slams into his forehead. It’s as though I was just possessed, and some powerful and stupid entity propelled me to do it.

The immediate aftermath is regret.

I’m already experiencing enough pain, and now, thanks to my swift reaction, I really did it this time. He can blame me for something I’ve actually done now.

Fingertips brace my face, but that’s all. My eyes clenched shut during the outburst of losing my mind, and I can’t crack them open.

There’s nothing new to see, just the same hatred in his irises and the promise of the threats he’s going to make.

He’s too fickle for me to put it passed him to not do anything now that I just caused him bodily harm.

“Rough,” he voices finally. “Got it.”

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