Page 57 of Pen Pal

21

Amara

Blood dripped from my scalp, warm and sticky, sliding down my cheek in slow, pulsing streams. My ears rang with a sharp, endless screech that made the world tilt as I fought to breathe.

Mark loomed over me, his chest rising and falling with a sick satisfaction, the barrel of his gun pressing into my temple. His weight pinned my body on the cold floor, and his odor wrapped around me like a noose.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetie,” he grinned, thoroughly amused. “You should know better by now.”

My fingers twitched against the floorboards, the bitter taste of bile lingering in my mouth. Fear clawed at my chest, but I let it fuel me.

With all my strength, I shot my hands up, nails raking across his face, straightfor his eyes.

Mark howled, the gun jerking away from my skull as he stumbled back, clutching his face. “You bitch!”

I twisted on my stomach, forcing myself to get on my hands and knees as I crawled, slipping in my own blood. Every muscle screamed, nerves fried, but I couldn’t stop. I had to get out.

I barely made it a few feet before Mark fisted my hair, pulling me back to him. “No, no, no,” Mark sang, his breath ragged and his grip tight like a vice. Pain burst along my scalp, and I felt hair tear from it.

I twisted, kicking out with my feet, aiming for his face, but he was faster.

He wrenched my legs apart and straddled me, pinning me down. He grabbed my naked hips, never letting me put my pants back on since that first night.

Primal terror flooded my veins. I thrashed, nails swiping as my voice tore from my throat in a broken shriek.

“Help!” the word was desperate and useless.

Mark laughed. “No one will save you, Amara. It’s just you and me.”

The words sent a wave of panic through me. I slammed my head forward, the crown of my skull cracking his nose. He cursed, his grip loosening.

I clawed at his throat, my nails sinking into his flesh. He growled, wrapping his hands around my wrists, crushing them in his grip.

“Haven’t you fucking learned yet?” he yelled. “You can’t fight me, Amara. I’ll always overpower you; nothing you can do will stop me.”

I refused to give up or let him win. I’d rather die than let him take one more piece of me.

I reached for his gun and pointed it at him. I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. I realized too late that the safety was on and grabbed my wrist, twisting it so the gun was pointed at me. He clicked the safety on, smirking, daring me to eliminate myself to get away from him.

But he misunderstood my desperation to escape him.

I’m sorry, Enzo, I thought before I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

My ears rang louder than ever as Mark yanked at my wrist at the last second, the bullet lodging in the wall behind me. I sobbed, realizing that I was still trapped here with him.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, and I felt his glare on me. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

His voice sounded far away, like I was underwater, the ringing in myears deafening.

I heard the dull jingle of his belt buckle before warm flesh pressed against mine, and he took from me again.

My thighs ached under his unbearable weight, and my channel stung, burning at the intrusion. I slid back and forth on the floor rhythmically but kept my eyes shut. I didn’t want to look at him or the ceiling like I had since Mark took me hostage in my own home this past week. It was too much to bear.

I thought of my family and how worried sick they’d be about me. I wondered if anyone from my job filed a missing person report on me. Did anyone notice that I was gone? Did anyone care?

When Mark finally stilled, he pinned me down for another minute before he rose to his feet, tucking himself back in his pants as he fastened his belt.

“Go wash up,” he snapped, his nose wrinkling with disgust. “You stink.”

---