Page 58 of Silent Damage

It’s a game. He’s drunk and wants to see how far he can push me. He thinks I’m desperate enough to do something I refuse to do just to touch him?

Well, fuck that.

I open my mouth to speak, then slap a hand over my mouth. Excitement blazes in his eyes.

My mouth opens again, and I release a little whimper.

“There, you go. Talk to me.”

My hand covers my mouth again, and I make a show of slowly lowering it.

Then I curl my finger in an inviting beckon, and he leans in.

We’re close. So close.

I release more little sounds—showing that I’m trying to speak.

Jason’s face is next to mine, trying to hear what I’m about to say.

Joke’s on you, asshole.

I bite the fucker’s bottom lip.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH! YOU FUCKER!”

Jason dives on top of me, but I punch him in the gut, and he falls backward.

He’s a fighter—stronger than me.

But I know his cheap tricks.

I spent my whole childhood watching him fight people.

I leap to my feet, but he’s up in a flash, the two of us squaring up for yet another fucking fight.

“You piece of shit,” he screams at me. His hand makes contact with his lip, and he looks down to see the blood. “I’m fucking bleeding!”

I make an “Aw, poor baby” face, and that sets him off.

Jason lunges forward, sending me crashing onto the ground.

He hits my side, knocking the wind out of me, but I latch my teeth onto his neck and chomp down hard.

He howls in pain, then maneuvers his head and starts biting my neck.

We’re writhing on the floor, biting each other’s necks like vampires.

And I can taste him.

The salt of his skin. The taste of his sweat. His musky smell.

And there’s something else I notice.

I like the pain.

His teeth against my neck.

His grip on my hair.