Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“How did you know?” He grins, stepping all the way into the apartment, closing the door behind him. We’re completely alone now. Yes, if I screamed loud enough, my neighbors would hear, but I’m not sure they would do anything.
“I don’t want you here. Leave. You can’t keep barging into my apartment. I’ll go to the police.” The threat doesn’t meet its mark and only seems to piss him off.
In a second, Jackson has me cornered, his huge body towering over me, making me feel small and insignificant.
He leans into my trembling form and whispers into the shell of my ear, “Call the police. They won’t help you. No one will. No one can save you.”
“Please, just leave.” I lift my hands out of instinct, mainly to push him away, but find the moment my hands touch his chest, the noise around me becomes a low hum. As if my touch burns him, he takes a step back, and my hands fall away, coming to rest at my sides.
“No can do. I’ve come to collect my payment. It’s time to use that mouth of yours. My cock is only so patient.” I swallow the scream of terror, trying to claw its way out of my throat.
“Jackson, please… please, don’t do this…” The fear is so real. The memory of that night is all I can see inside my head. The way they held me down and used my mouth over and over again. I can still feel their hands on my skin, feel the saliva sliding down my chin.
“Such a fucking slut. You think Jackson can protect you?” Fingers dig into my head, ripping the hair from my scalp, still, no matter how bad the pain, I don’t open my eyes. I refuse.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, bug. All you’re doing is sucking my cock. You owe me some fun, don’t you think?” Jackson’s voice pierces through the hazy fog around my mind, but every muscle in my body has locked up. Words refuse to come out of my mouth, and when he reaches for me, his hand grazing my shoulder, I wince and tuck myself against the wall.
“You want it rough, is that it? Do you want me to…” His words trail off, and his body comes to a standstill.
When I look up from the floor, I see his eyes glued to a spot on my bookshelf. It only takes me a second to realize what he is staring at. In a small pink frame is one of my favorite pictures of Jillian and me. It was taken on my thirteenth birthday. We were blowing out candles of my giant pink cake together. We did it together because she was making me laugh so hard, I couldn’t do it on my own.
“You don’t get to have a picture of her,” he says, his voice is low and gravely, laced with so much hatred it’s dripping from each word. “You don’t get to look at her! You don’t even get to think of her!”
Boots hit the ground heavily with each step as he walks over to the shelf. He grabs the picture and holds it in his hand. With his free one, he swipes the entire contents of the shelf off. Books, pictures, and knickknacks fly through the air before they can hit the floor, Jackson has already wiped out the shelf below.
He doesn’t stop until the whole thing is cleared, and all my stuff is scattered out on the floor. Then he walks to the cabinet and continues his path of destruction there.
I just stand there with my back pressed against the wall. Invisible restraints holding me down. I feel like my feet are cemented to the floor, my body unable to move, even my lungs barely work. I don’t think I’ve taken a full breath in the last ten minutes.
He continues destroying my apartment for what seems like forever. When he is finally done, he is out of breath and sweat covers his face. His eyes look dark, manic, and there’s this profound hurt, so much hurt in those green orbs. I want to go to him. Wrap my arms around him and tell him how sorry I am, but I can’t, nor would he allow it.
With a clenched fist, he takes a step toward me, but then as if rethinking what he wants to do, pauses. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to strangle me again. There is so much pain rolling off of him. I doubt he would be able to stop this time.
“Don’t you dare ever put up a picture of her again. You don’t deserve to see her smiling face. You deserve death. It should’ve been you. It should’ve been you!” he screams, the sound splinters through me. For a long moment, he stands there staring at me like a bull ready to charge, and then out of nowhere, he turns around and leaves.