Page 3 of Every Broken Thing

And all I could think was,No. No, no, no. Please, no.

Fingers squeezed the back of my neck, pinning me down, and I froze. I just… froze. Inside, I was screaming and fighting like a wild animal. But my body just… laid there.

The counter was cool beneath my cheek. One of the faucets had a leak, and itdrip, drip, drippeduntil it was all I could hear. There was congealed soap from the dispenser an inch from my eye, and it smelled like cucumber melon.

Cucumber fucking melon.

A belt clinked.

“No,” I whimpered.

A hand tugged at my jeans.

“Please,” I begged.

Eric Boyt said, “I’ll show you respect.”

And I just laid there.

Because this wasn’t actually happening. It just wasn’t. It couldn’t be happening. Not to me. To some sucker who looked like me, maybe. But he wasn’t me—hecouldn’tbe me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember how to breathe.

Then the weight at my back was gone. Time surged forward in a rush, and I wasn’t underwater anymore.

With a broken sob, I shoved away from the sink. Scrambling away in a blind panic, I backed into the farthest corner to put as much distance between me and Eric as possible before he came after me again.

But he didn’t, because we weren’t alone in the bathroom anymore.

2

Cool Blue Eyes

There were three ofus in the restroom now, not two.

I cowered into the corner as the newcomer stepped between me and Eric. The back of a blue T-shirt blocked my view, and I craned my neck around it as Eric picked himself up off the floor. Why was he on the ground? Had he fallen?

“Last time I checked the dictionary, the meanings of the wordsstopandnohadn’t changed,” the stranger stated coldly. “Unless you’re aware of something I’m not.”

Eric stood on shaky legs, leaning against the wall for support as he glared at my rescuer with enough fury to set the wall on fire. I blanched at the sight of his unbuttoned jeans, the ends of his belt dangling obscenely.

“Shut the fuck up, pretty boy,” he snarled, pointing a thick finger in our direction. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy shrugged, his wet curls wiggling. “I suggest you rethink your current plan, asshole, because if you come at him again, I won’t be so gentle.”

Veins popped along the back of Eric’s hands as he squeezed them into meaty fists. “Last chance, Blondie. Walk the fuck away.”

“You’re not touching him again,” the boy said as he bent his legs into a defensive stance, readying for the attack.

With a bellow, Eric lunged, and a pathetic cry of alarm broke past my lips as I envisioned the stranger beaten to a bloody mess before the psychopath came after me again. But it didn’t happen.

Eric swung out a fist to land a bone-crushing hit to Blondie’s face, but the boy dodged and struck out his own punch, fast as a viper.The crunch of cartilage cracked through the bathroom as his fist smashed into Eric’s nose. For one suspended moment, both fighters froze.

With a rough grunt, Eric cupped his face to staunch the flood of red pouring from his nostrils. He glared murderously at Blondie, then at me curled in the corner, trying not to hyperventilate.

Indecision played over his face, and for a moment, I thought I saw something like panic in his dark eyes. Then his expression went blank and cold. He shoved the boy out of his way and made a run for it.

“Hey!” Blondie said as he attempted to stop Boyt’s retreat.

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