Page 67 of Whistle

Nausea rolled over me upon seeing my lacy, delicate panties stuffed into his dirty, bigoted hands. Knowing that when I’d left the room, he went scouring through my things, spying on pieces of me I kept private, and soiling them with not only his gross touch but his unacceptance.

The violation of that act, the complete lack of respect, shook me. All I could do was stand there, door still propped open by my body, and stare at the private things that once gave me comfort but were now tainted.

All the drawers on the small dresser I was using were half open, clothing falling over the edges from how he rifled through it all. My favorite pair of panties—hot-pink thongs—dangled precariously off the corner. The lace was so delicate, so soft against my skin…

Ronnie stirred suddenly, the abrupt movement disturbing the air and making the thongs drop onto the floor out of sight.

Anger punched so strongly through my veins that it made a whooshing sound between my ears. I was standing there struggling to get control when he drew back his arm and launched a handful of the delicates in my direction.

“You’re a fucking freak.”

Some of the fabric hit me in the chest, some fell short on the floor between us, and a couple items landed on the bed. I stared down at the blue pair that bounced off my chest, feeling my nostrils flare.

“You went through my stuff,” I said, flat. “You have no right.”

Ronnie grabbed a yellow pair from his other hand before tossing the rest in my direction. Hooking his fingers into the thin straps on the sides, he held them up and sneered. “Do you even have a dick?” he asked. “How the fuck do you put it in these?”

Something in me snapped. Letting out a loud cry, I launched myself at him. We both went down with me on top, and I swung, smashing my knuckles into his nose. He grunted in pain, and I swung again, hitting him in the cheek.

I would have hit him a third time, but he caught my wrist and rolled, pinning me under him and retaliating. My face snapped to the side as his fist plowed into me, the still-tender skin from my fight in jail blooming with fresh pain.

He hit me again, and his knuckles knocking against my teeth made me cringe. The sharp, metallic tang of blood burst in my mouth and trickled over my lip.

I brought up my knee, nailing him in the balls, and he fell to the side, clutching his middle. Back on my feet, my attention fell to the scattered lingerie around the room. Embarrassment clouded my head, and I tried to shove it away, not wanting something else I loved to be taken from me.

Not this too. Just let me have something.

Ronnie burst up from the floor and grabbed me from behind. I slammed my foot down on top of his, and he howled. I pulled free, seeing that the door was wedged open because my bag was in the way.

I headed toward it, but he caught my arm and pulled me around, using the momentum to slam his fist into my face. I fell sideways, body hitting my bed. He leaped on me, fisting his hands in my hair and pulling. My scalp screamed, and I yelled, struggling to overtake him.

A shout and more commotion erupted. The sound of the door hitting against the wall filled the room. Ronnie was yanked back, and I pushed up in time to see a body bulldoze him back, the pair hitting the desk and making everything on it rattle.

“You hit him?” a vaguely familiar voice grunted. “You should know better.”

The newcomer pulled his fist back and slammed it into Ronnie’s middle. Groaning, Ronnie slumped onto the floor, and the newcomer turned.

Ryan Walsh.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, breathing heavy.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, shocked once more.

Ronnie pushed up from the floor.

“Stay down,” Ryan growled, pushing him back with his foot.

“Me? I’m not the one who’s fucked up in the head!” he wailed.

“Bro, are you okay?”

I spun, seeing Jamie Owens standing just inside the room.

“You’re here too?”

“We come as a set,” Jamie said, motioning to Ryan.

Someone pounded on the door, which was now shut. “Open the door. This is the RA.”

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