Page 27 of Broken Skulls

“I don’t believe you,” he says coldly.

Another thirty minutes pass.

Tears are streaming down my face now, and I’m finding it nearly impossible to keep my composure. “I’m sorry,” I sob.

“That story you wrote was highly inappropriate.”

My head falls in shame. I’m so embarrassed.

“Do I need to call your parents?”

I shake my head no.

“Hold out your hand.”

When I do, he picks up a piece of paper and runs the edge of it across my palm.

Tiny beads of blood begin to emerge from the paper cut. It stings when he runs his finger across it, momentarily distracting me from the pain in my legs.

He smears the blood over my cheek, his dark eyes fixated on my skin. Slowly, he meets my gaze. “You’re dismissed.”

My legs scream as I try to stand. Quickly, I grab my bag and toss it over my shoulder. As I’m just about to unlock the door, he stops me.

“You forgot something.”

He’s standing now.

Internally I groan, but I rush over, bending to retrieve my pencil from the floor. His big hand lands on the back of my head, holding me down.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

I stare at his shiny black dress shoes. “I … I don’t know what you mean.”

His fingers thread through my hair, making me cry out as he grips it tightly with his fist. He pulls me upright.

“You forgot to thank me.”

My gaze bounces over his face as anger begins to bubble on the backburner of my mind. Danielle and I were wrong. Mr. Baxter isn’t attractive … in fact, he’s the ugliest person I’ve ever seen.

As much as it kills me to say it, I hear the words leave my mouth. “Thank you.”

His grip tightens, making me cry out and rise to my toes. “Try again.”

I don’t know what he wants from me!

He leans forward, lowering himself so that we are eye to eye. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” he mocks, telling me exactly what he wants to hear.

“Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” I whisper.

His grip loosens in my hair, and he cups the side of my face. “That’s a good girl. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

He leans forward and presses his lips to my bloody cheek, holding himself there so long that my mind begins to scream at him to stop.

I gasp, flying out of bed just as JD opens my door.

The light illuminates the room, and I rush past him to the bathroom. I scrub and scrub and scrub at my face until JD stops me.

“Hey. Elizabeth, stop.”

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