Page 185 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

I buck my hips to try and throw him off but he’s too fucking heavy.

“The fuck you doing in my town?” he growls.

In this position, I’ll be slashing out behind me, probably just snagging on his clothes. I have to be facing him, or behind him, if I stand any chance of my knife doing enough damage for me to escape.

I throw out a scream of frustration as I wriggle like a fish on a hook.

He’s going to kill me.

I’m going to end up just like Mom.

Is this karma?

Fear drains every last ounce of fight from me as I hear fabric rustle.

No, no,no! This isnothappening.

Hot anger swirls through me. I reach behind me, trying to grab him or scratch him. A second later, he has my arms pinned at the small of my back. Fear pushes back my anger, and I’m filled with cold dread.

Can he see the knife?

More importantly, can I reach him with it?

My voice breaks as I yell out, “Let me go!” I wriggle so hard, my hoody falls back and my loose hair spills over my face.

“What the…?” The guy lifts his weight, but only long enough to grab my shoulders and flip me over.

My back hits the cobbles beneath me, and for a moment, both my hands are free.

The silhouette above me cocks his head, and bends close as he settles over my hips.

“You’re a girl,” he states in a flat voice.

Briar

Jesus—how could I ever have thought she was a guy? I can blame the dark, I guess. Or I could blame myself for not giving a fuck either way. She’s trespassing. I don’t give a fuck that she’s a girl.

Even if she’s a pretty little thing. Big, green eyes peer out at me from a delicate oval face. The plump mouth beneath her snub nose trembles. Now that she’s between my thighs, I can truly appreciate how dainty she is.

I should have been paying attention to the rest of her.

When I make to grab the front of her hoody to haul her to her feet, the girl’s fist comes out of nowhere. But instead of the punch I was expecting, a knife slices over my face.

I knock it out of her hand a second later, but I’m so shocked that I let her wriggle out from under me. She staggers and rushes to her feet. Then she glares at me for a second, as if weighing up her chances of recovering her knife before I can get up.

I guess she doesn’t like her chances; a moment later, she’s gone.

I stand, wincing as I touch the oozing cut on my cheek. It isn’t a deep cut—thank fuck—but I think she knew it would be enough to distract me. I glance around until I see her weapon, and pick it up. I bounce it on my palm as my lips quirk into a smile. A compact switchblade.

“You’re just making this worse for yourself,” I holler after her.

She yells back “Fuck you!”

I let out a bemused huff, shaking my head. Got a bit of an attitude problem, my little stray. I’ll have to teach her some manners.

A growl catches in my throat as I sprint after her.

Indi

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