Page 49 of Lesson Learned

His eyes take their time reading my face, a quiet smirk forming while he does so. I guess he gets off on my fear and, much as I hate that, at least he appears satisfied.

Growing up with large male cousins taught me a lot of things, most of all how I can’t get the best of them physically, no matter how hard I try.

Instead of hitting out at him, I lower my eyes to the floor. They snag on his jeans, tenting out in front of him and a sour taste of worry crawls up the back of my throat, my scalp squirming where he tugged my hair.

There were a lot of times in my uncle’s house where I felt concerned for my safety. Nothing ever as strong as this.

“What can I do for you, James?”

I try to manoeuvre around him, but barely get a step before he presses his hands against my shoulders, pinning me against the wall instead of the door. Not much of an improvement but at least the handle isn’t digging into my back.

“You borrowed something from my girlfriend. She’d like it back.”

A tick starts in the side of my throat, sounding louder with each swallow. “And what would that be?”

He releases my right shoulder and trails a knuckle along my windpipe, sending my anxiety soaring. His face moves so close to mine, I flinch, and his smirk grows wider.

“I bought her an expensive dress. Now she’s finally skinny enough to fit it, I find out she lent it to you, and instead of giving it back, you tore it.”

There’s a burn of injustice but not much. Marnie might have forgiven me but if she has this to contend with behind closed doors, I’m not surprised she dropped me in it.

I’d drop someone in it to get away from him, too. Anything to have him move back, move away. To stop the crawling sensation taking over my spine.

He shoves his lower body against me, and I feel the hard outline of his prick. When I grimace at the sensation, he grinds it on me.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to damage it,” I whisper, my throat practically paralysed with fear. Tears bank up behind my eyes, but I can’t afford to let them fall. If I do that, I’ll turn into a mess of fear and panicked energy, when I need to focus, need to work out what to say to start my escape.

And the guilt wells, too.

I knew Marnie was in trouble. My pussyfooting around the subject has just landed us both in danger.

“Do you know how much that dress cost?” I try to twist away, move so his foetid breath lands on my cheek rather than clouding my nose and mouth, but he pins my throat to hold me steady. When I raise my hand he grabs it, pressing it hard against his crotch. “If you can’t replace it, I’ll have to extract the money in kind.”

Don’t respond. Don’t give him anything for free.

I grind my teeth together, fighting the urge to speak.

“You can take it out if you want, Paisley.” His hand moves mine, up and down, rubbing me against him. “I see you looking. If you take care of me, I won’t need to hurt you.”

My stupid mouth opens to respond, and he moves like lightning, tugging me forward, spinning me, bending me over, then slamming his full weight onto me, landing us both on my bed.

White noise fills my head, crackles in my ears, sparks in my vision.

There’s a tearing noise as he rips at my underwear, shoving my skirt up. When I raise my head, he slams his palm onto it, pressing me so far into the mattress I can’t breathe.

“How many times do you think it’ll take to pay me back?” he asks, fumbling at his waist. I hear the teeth of his zipper undoing and I slap behind me, the movements so ineffective they’d be laughable if my brain wasn’t screaming.

Placate him. Talk him down. Agree with him.

Fucking do something!!!

“I can replace it,” I yell, my voice barely audible around the bedclothes.

His palm moves, no longer cramming my face into the bed. Instead, it fists in my hair, dragging my head back until my neck bones grind against each other, sending an agonising bolt of pain from my shoulder to my lower back.

“What was that?” He takes my chin in his other hand, squeezing my jaw until it feels like it’s dislocating. “Did the slut say something?”

“I’ll replace the dress. Please, let me…” I struggle, trying to turn over, to face him, to look him in the eye.

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