Page 70 of Rush of Jealousy

His shadow lassos me back to the present and keeps me there. When he leans his head down to capture my lips again, I throw mine forward and smack my forehead against his teeth. Blood splatters onto my naked stomach. I stare at it and let out a wail. One that is heard. It startles Mark so much, he whips his hand back and smacks it so hard against the side of my cheek that I see spots.

I float to a time when things were simple. Like James and me deciding between vanilla and chocolate pudding. Momma would make the best homemade pudding out of heavy cream. It was thick and creamy—not like the kind you get in the little cups in a pack of four. This was decadent. But both flavors were so delicious. It was hard to tell which one was better. It all depended on our moods.

She would let us lick the beaters. It became our ritual. If we were really good, she would swipe them into the batter to give us extra. That is love. Momma would go through her day doing these little gestures to show us how much we meant to her. We were her world.

I miss her.

My eyes flutter open and the light burns like acid.

“Oh good, you are awake again. Just in time for the main event. You won’t tell, will you?” He bends to kiss my nose that appears to already be swelling. “This can be our little secret?”

He is standing above me along the side of the bed. My face throbs with the pain from him hitting me. I can bet I am bruised with shades of blue and purple. I watch through my hooded eyes as he pulls his black trousers down, throwing a few wrapped condoms on the nightstand in presumptuous glory. I stare at the yellow foil-wrapped coins and think back to all of the moments leading up until now. This is it. This is the exact day that I get…I can’t even think the word again. Saying it in my head will make this real. My head flops side to side.

He saunters over to the other side of the bed, silver silk boxers highlighting his erection, begging to escape. The mattress dips with his weight. His strong hands grasp my naked ankles, pulling them down to the foot of the bed. The weight of his body crushes me. He readjusts his forearm at the side of my neck, his free hand roaming up underneath my bra. His blood has now dried on my stomach and part of me wishes it was mine. And that I was dead.

Lips press to the curve of my neck. Acid and bile burn my throat as the nausea persists. How the hell am I going to stop him?

Mark’s fingers pull at my bra, tugging gently to undo the snaps. His eyes marvel at my rising breasts.

“I usually don’t play with my test subjects. But you are so fuckable that I can’t resist. Plus, taking something from your fucker of a boyfriend will bring me great pleasure, knowing that every time he looks at you, he will see the possession of another man written all over your body.”

A wicked grin plays on his lips as he bends down to suck at one of my breasts. They are heaving, not because of pleasure but because of panic. He moans at the heaviness of the globes, weighing them in the balance of his hands like ripe fruit. I whimper from the injustice of my situation. It is entirely my fault for thinking that his friend was waiting here for me. A series of horrible choices and bad cards to play. I am doomed either way I move.

My hands regain some feeling. Just my hands. I ball them into tight fists of sheets, in an effort to distract myself. Illusions of doing this with a man I love drift away like lighted lanterns in the night.

Suddenly, something hits my head, and the sound ricochets off the walls as more beads fly and skitter across the floor like scurrying insects.

My dress. It is completely ruined. All of my hard work—the embellishments and details—destroyed.

“Yum.” He grins, his eyes sparkling with pent-up desire.

I am naked except for my panties. The last piece of self-respect I have left.

The once tender Mark is now the I-need-to-get-my-money’s-worth Mark. And that idea alone makes my stomach sour with the realization.

I don’t even have time to process what is happening as his hands roam over my body. I can feel the pressure. I just cannot get my body to turn away from the unwanted prying and squeezing and pulling and smoothing. Only one last lacy strip of sheer black panties stands in the way of my fleeting modesty. I am nearly naked. The panties are see-through in all the right places, except at the crotch. That is my only saving grace. Ironically they are a gift from Graham.

Graham.

And out of all times to force him to stay away from me. To call off all of the guards and security team…I do it when I need them most. He has never listened to my wishes any other time I have asked him to—except this week. He has been completely silent. He has not texted or called or stopped over unexpectedly. No one has followed me or trailed my movements around Portland.

So here I lie, helpless. On my back, dressed only in a pair of lace panties, as Mark rubs at his cock and preys on me like the devil in flesh form.

The light from the room seems to get brighter. More painful. It blinds my vision, and I blink hard to try to keep the queasy-floating feeling from consuming me. Everything blurs and refocuses in time with my beating heart. Damn light. Things would be so much easier if my vision was shielded. Maybe make it less real.

Images of my mom taping up the time capsule box and making me and James swear that we will not peek until we are past the start of freshman year in college flash over my vision. “Angie, maybe you will meet a nice boy by then and you will need this box more than you know.But you must wait until you find the right one.And you definitely must not spend too much time crying over me whenever I go.Promise, baby?Promise me you’ll wait.Promise me you will fight for what you deserve in this life and not settle for mediocre.”

Her sweet voice penetrates my senses and alerts me to what I need to do.

Promise me you will fight.

I can’t get the words out of my head as they play on loop over and over again—driving the little ounce of sanity that I have left over, over, over…the edge.

Stop! Stop! Please stop!

The voice in my head screams and panics. STOP! Please! I can’t do—

Before Mark has a chance to tear at my virtuous shield, I rationalize a plan of action out of this predicament I voluntarily put myself in.

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