Page 3 of When It Rains He Pours

The thought caused my breath to hitch and my lungs to ache. The air became too thick and painful to swallow. Gripping my chest, small hiccups of oxygen wriggled down my throat.

What now? What the fuck do I do now?

Who would do something like this?

Where the hell was I supposed to begin? How the fuck was I supposed to process the fact that yesterday I was floating and today I was drowning?

This was my everything, it was my passion. And now—now it was nothing more than oil colored tinder.

Picking up a thin strip of wood, I stared at the splintered ends, softly thumbing the jagged edge. Blood pumped through my ears, forcing the world around me into silence. This was one of the worst pains I had ever felt. I was numb, fixated on the shard between my fingertips, blankly aware of the splinters pricking my skin.

A fleeting echo tapped behind me, and I chose to ignore it. Because nothing else was important. Everything that held significance in my life was sawdust at my feet. This place, this was what I had been striving to build—and now it was nothing.

How the hell am I going to rebuild all this?

In one quick swoop, a large hand clasped over my mouth. A faint gasp tumbled from my lips, as an icy shiver ran over my body from head to toe.

I shouldn't have ignored that sound. If I had been more alert, if I hadn't been so lost in my own head, then maybe I could have defended myself.

On instinct, my hands flew up, latching around the thick wrists capturing my body. I held onto them, unsure of what else I could do. I couldn't scream, I couldn't wriggle away. So I held on with a death grip as if my touch would signal the distress I felt and the man behind me would let me go.

He didn't let go.

“Don't try a fucking thing.” His voice whispered in my ear, thick and heavy. Firm fingers cradled my cheeks and nose, making it hard to inhale. “If I pull my hand away, you need to stay quiet. Understand?”

Nodding yes, I could smell the scent of his sweaty hands as his fingertips dug into the soft flesh of my cheek. It was sour, tainted in twisted anger.

“Good.” Sliding his hand down off my mouth, the sharp edge of his nails dug into my neck, keeping me frozen in place.

Oh my god. . . What does this guy want? Why is he doing this?

Sucking in a huge gulp of air, tears started to fall swift and painfully as my heart beat fast and hard.

The stiff nubs of his fingers teased the pulsing artery under my skin, playing with my life. “Do you like it? Do you like what I did for you? It should make this easier, with it all gone, you have nothing else to lose.”

What? What the hell is he talking about?

My brain fired off in every direction, looking for an escape, trying to find a way to stop him before he did anything else, before it went any further.

“I. . . I can give you money—”

“Shut your fucking mouth. I didn't come here for your money.”

Then what does he—

Tumbling nerves twisted my stomach, as a painful heat seared my insides, turning me raw. This man had other plans.

I didn't want to be right, I wanted to be wrong, it was easier to be wrong. Unsure of how to respond to such a horrid truth, I asked, “Then what do you want?” The words squeaked out, built on nothing but air.

Please, tell me I'm wrong.

The man let out a devious chuckle, dancing the tips of his fingers back and forth over the lump in my throat. “You really don't know?” Lowering his lips to the shell of my ear, his tone darkened. “You can't tell? Are you really that fucking stupid?”

No. No, no, no.

He can't! I won't let him!

My throat was horse and dry, making my voice crack. “You don't have to do this.”

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