Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Wrapping my fingers around the cold handle, I hold the knife out in front of me. It’s only a butter knife I took from the cafeteria, but it’s better than nothing.
I refuse to go down without a fight.
Holding my breath, I listen intently for the intruder, but I’m only met with silence. Clutching onto the knife tightly, I carefully stick my head out around the headboard to scan the room.
It’s empty. Maybe I imagined the sound. My mind is starting to play tricks on me, which is either from a lack of sleep, lack of food, or both.
Taking a few deep breaths, I slump back into my corner behind the bed. It’s uncomfortable, but it gives me this weird sense of comfort and safety. I already know people can enter my room, but if I sleep like this, they won’t see me until I’m ready for them to see me.
I lean my head back against the wood. Pulling the towel tightly around my upper body, I try to find an inkling of comfort, just enough to let me sleep for a little while. I’m so fucking tired. Tired of this school, of this room, the bullying… I’m tired of my life.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I force the darkness to take me, to let me forget everything for a couple of hours. I’m just starting to fall asleep when something startles me awake once more, but this time, it’s not a sound I imagined that’s waking me up. It’s something tugging at my towel.
Panic grips me by the throat, and without thinking, I start thrashing around me, kicking out my legs, hoping one of my limbs will connect with anything that hurts. My eyes are wide open, but the room is pretty dark—only some light from the bathroom is filtering into the space.
“Calm down. It’s me.” Quinton’s voice breaks through the fog of panic, but it doesn’t stop me from struggling. He’ll hurt me and break me if I let him.
My hands are empty, and I have no clue where the knife went, so I have to use my fists to try to fight him off.
I don’t get far, and the next thing I know, Quinton is grabbing onto my ankles. He pulls me toward him, so I’m flat on the ground, the back of my head almost hitting the floor.
Then he climbs on top of me, his mammoth frame blanketing mine, pressing me to the floor and leaving me completely immobilized. I turn my head to the side, and Quinton dips his face into the crook of my neck.
My back is cold from the concrete floor, but my front is warm from Quinton’s body heat. It only takes a moment until all I can feel is him, the weight of his body, the press of his thighs against mine.
“Just calm down,” Quinton repeats, his voice low, soft, and it’s only then that the words he said sink in. When I woke up, he said, “Calm down. It’s me.” As if the fact that it’s him visiting me and not someone else would calm me down.
Is he really that delirious?
Unable to move even an inch, I do the only thing I can and concentrate on my breathing. To my surprise, Quinton neither moves nor lets all his weight settle on mine. His arms are on either side of me, caging me in but also supporting some of his weight so as not to risk crushing me.
“I’m calm,” I whisper into his shoulder, trying my best not to breathe his manly scent into my lungs. It’s spicy and intoxicating, and I don’t want to admit for a second the way it makes my head spin.
He stays still for another few moments before pushing off me. I follow his movements and sit up, pressing my back to the wall.
“What do you want?” I finally manage to ask, still trying to figure out why he is here.
Uncertainty flickers in his eyes as he reaches for something beside him. I pull my legs up to my chest protectively. I’m terrified of what he might do next. After what he did in the corridor to me, I don’t think I’ll ever trust him.
“I just brought you this.” He picks up a comforter and hands it to me. I look at it, desperately wanting to take it, but I’m not stupid enough to do that. Not again.
“No, thanks.”
“Just take it.”
“No! Do you think I’m that stupid? This can only be one of two things. Either you’re giving me something to play fucked up mind games with me, or this is some kind of payment. Is this your ‘I’m sorry’ gift?”
“I’m not sorry.” He shrugs. Of course, he’s not. Someone like him doesn’t feel remorse. “And this isn’t some mind game. I told you I would get you a new blanket, and I’m keeping my word. I didn’t put that rat in your room.”