Page 53 of Tell Me It’s Right

His hand pushes farther up my leg, trailing under my skirt, and he presses his lips against the side of my throat.

“Miles,” I say, and I hate the way my voice shakes. “I’m really not comfortable with this.”

He kisses my collarbone, his other hand coming up to weave in my hair. “The nerves wear off. Promise.”

The blood drains from my face. He’s just…not getting it. Or choosing not to.

“No, Miles, I mean I don’t want to do this at all.” I grab his hand that’s nearly all the way to my hips and push it away for emphasis.

The look on his face when he pulls back makes every alarm bell in my mind go off. It’s his eyes. They’re just…dark.

“So that’s your game, huh?”

I blink rapidly and shift my weight, trying to put more distance between us. “I—I’m not playing a game. I just—I just take things slow, is all. This is moving too fast for me.”

“Don’t you think we’re a little old for this? I pick you up, bring you flowers, take you to the nicest place within fifty miles, I pay for your food.”

My hands tremble as I tug the hem of my skirt lower. “I really just want to go home now.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath as he shakes his head.

We sit in silence for what feels like forever, but he doesn’t put the car in drive. He faces forward and wraps his hands around the steering wheel in a death grip.

“You know what? No.” He whips toward me and juts sharply with his chin. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Car.”

I look from him to the dark nothingness outside the window. “Miles, you can’t?—”

“Yes the fuck I can. It’s my car. You thought I was going to be your chauffeur and meal ticket tonight?—”

“That isnotwhat I?—”

“Get out, Gracie.”

I flinch at the volume of his voice in the small space, and hot tears spring to my eyes.

“Get out!” He reaches across me and shoves the door open.

In the process, his elbow clips me under the chin. I rear back, my mouth filling with the taste of blood.

He grabs my purse from the floor and chucks it out the open door.

“You can either climb out yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

I scramble with my seat belt and trip over my feet as I hurry out of the car, a mix of tears and blood streaming down my face. I barely have both feet in the gravel before he’s speeding off with my door hanging open. It slams shut as he twists the car.

The rev of the engine echoes as he drives away. Within moments, the headlights disappear, and then I’m in complete darkness. My mouth throbs, and the coppery taste of blood overwhelms my senses. I gingerly fish around with my tongue to find my lip split.

I don’t know how long I stand there, unable to move. Long enough for goose bumps to blossom over every inch of exposed skin, and then I start to tremble. From the cold night air or the adrenaline subsiding, I don’t know.

Because surely this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening right now.

A shaky breath passes my lips, the sound suddenly too loud in the quiet. I take a step back from the road, and my heel digs into the gravel at a weird angle, making my ankle roll, and it’s enough to snap me out of whatever trance I’d been in.

I hunt for my purse on the ground, and once I find it, my hands are shaking so badly that it takes three tries to get the clasp undone. The first thing I notice when I dig my phone out is the angry red symbol in the top corner of the screen—low battery.

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