Page 2 of Every Broken Thing

Right?

“Shut the fuck up,” he ground out as he fisted the front of my shirt.

Defiant till the end, I refused to cower. If I was going to get a beating, I was going to take it like a man, damn it.

“Fuck you, Boyt,” I sneered back, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin.

Regardless of how many times I’d taken a punch, it still hurt when his fist sank into my stomach. Air whooshed from my lungs, and I doubled over with a groaned gag.

“That was my liver,” I wheezed. “Hope that’s not important.”

He forced me to straighten as my body shrieked in protest. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“I hear it’s part of my charm,” I gasped, fighting against his hold on my shirt. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Or what?”

He raised his fist again, aiming for my face, and I kicked out wildly, shocking us both when my foot connected with his knee. He grunted and stumbled back, his grip on my shirt loosening just enough for me to spin free.

Using my full weight, I shoved him before sprinting toward the bathroom exit. I almost made it. He tripped me, and I tumbledto the floor, knocking my chin on the tile hard enough to rattle my brain.

I yelped as he hoisted me to my feet and slammed me face-first into the wall. My cheek stung, and I tasted blood from where I’d bit into my cheek.

“I hate you, you know that?” he seethed in my ear, his breath hot against my neck.

“Yeah, I’ve picked up on that, despite your subtlety.” I struggled against him, claustrophobia tightening my throat as he pressed me harder into the wall with his body weight. “Get off me, you psychopath!”

“Someone should really teach you some respect.” He twisted my arm at an unnatural angle, and I cried out as he continued to mutter under his breath, “Acting like you’re better than everybody else.”

When he added even more pressure to my arm, I whimpered. Holy shit, he was going to break it!

“Stop! Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

“You’re nothing but a little bitch, strutting around asking for it,” he continued, like I hadn’t even spoken. “Think you’re so damn special, don’t you? Like you’re better than me.”

I hated how pathetic I sounded as I choked out, “Let me go.”

He smiled, his chuckle ghosting over my cheek. “Beg me.”

And oh, that pissed me off. White-hot fury burned through my chest until I felt like I’d explode.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said through gritted teeth.

Instead of dislocating my shoulder like I expected, Boyt crowded against me, his free hand tangling in my hair and grinding my cheek into the wall. With my arm pinned between us, and his weight trapping me against the wall, I couldn’t move. I could barelybreathe. He was everywhere, and genuine fear slid through my veins as something hard pressed against my ass.

Oh God, was that… was he getting off on this?

Terror replaced my anger, and I bucked against him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Think I’m gonna teach you some manners,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

“Get off me!”

“Why?” He somehow pressed in closer, and my stomach heaved as his erection dug into my back. “Isn’t this what you fags like?”

The next several seconds passed in slow motion, like I was moving underwater. Sound faded, and my brain glitched as Eric dragged me away from the wall. I found myself bent over the sink, the counter digging painfully into my stomach as he ground against my ass.

“Isn’t this what you want?” he panted.

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