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“A bad precedent?” I realized something awful, “This isn't the first time you've done this. How many other people have you screwed?”
“One-hundred and thirteen, and I remember them all, vividly. Most were blondes, but I like your hair. It's the same color as milk chocolate,” he reached toward my hair with the hand that held his drink. A wispy strand was fighting the effects of the straightener.
My hand lashed out, smacking into the cold glass. It hurt my knuckles, but the glass was dashed out of his hand and shattered against the wall. Glass shards sparkled on the ground like a dropped bag of stolen diamonds. The ice melted quickly as he held on to my hand, tightly.
He looked surprised. He was hurting my hand with his grip, while he looked at me, ignoring the mess on his expensive carpet. I knew I couldn't get away from a grasp like that.
I stared back at him. However scared I felt, however heavily my breath rose and fell, my chest earthquaking like mountains while he touched me, I wouldn't let him know. I glared into his eyes as he looked at me in shock.
He turned my hand over and held it with a lighter touch. He brought his other hand over to graze my fingers lightly, which were red from the collision with the glass. He gently touched the redness until it faded.
Then he let go. He walked back to his big window and looked out. We sat in silence.
“I can't give you what you want, even though it's yours by right. What I can give you is the keys to the kingdom.”
