AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Try never.
Try would rather be skinned alive.
Try would rather never have sex again.
Dylan wrongly takes my disgusted silence as an invitation to shuffle closer. “We could change that.”
“Eat shit, asshole.” Done entertaining this conversation, I shoulder Dylan out the way with as much force as I can exude, flashing both middle fingers as I make a second attempt for the bar’s front door. I’m almost home-free when an unwanted stinging pain spreads across my ass cheek.
When I whip around to find Dylan smirking, hand clenched like he’s trying to preserve the feel of my skin, I lose it. Closing the distance between with a handful of furious steps, I slap the bastard across the face, hard, before shoving him away. “Do not fucking touch me.”
Dylan smirks, hands raised in sarcastic surrender, not the least bit fazed. “You let everyone else.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, shoving him again. “I am not Amelia. I don't protect people who don't deserve it so if you ever touch me again, I will sue your ass so fucking fast, your head will spin.”
It’s a lie. A bare-faced lie. I wouldn't sue him, would never report him, for the same reason Amelia didn't.
No one would believe us.
She's never said it aloud, but I know it's what stops her. She's scared of the backlash, the questioning, the doubt. The assholes who would undoubtedly ask if she deserved it, if she provoked him, if she's lying because he cheated on her and she wants revenge.
I hate that I share the same fear.
On the off chance Dylan is suddenly smart enough to sense my bullshit, I make myself scarce quickly, finally succeeding at escaping into the relative safety of the bar.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass before I stop watching the door.
With numb fingers, I fish out my phone, moving on autopilot as I scroll through the contacts. I don’t realize who I’m calling until, after a lifetime of ringing, it connects.
“Luna?”
Jackson sounds… off. Tired, understandably because it’s late, but there’s something else. A lack of the usual stomach-clenching warmth that I’ve become way too used to.
That I really, really need right now.
“Hi.” I cringe at my shaky voice, fiddling nervously with the ring on my finger. An anxiety ring, I think it's called. A thin gold band with moveable beads that I can slide around the metal when I get fidgety or overwhelmed. There's usually something weirdly soothing about the simple action, but it doesn't seem to be working right now.
Background noise seeps through the call, the buzz of a television and a few other grumbling voices, before a door closes and the only sound is Jackson's gruff, concerned voice. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Even I can admit I don't sound convincing. Sucking in a deep breath that stings my lungs, I let it out on a ragged exhale. “No. Can you…” Another deep breath, almost painful, but that could be the ache in my chest. “Can you come get me?”
He doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Where are you?”
* * *
I'm perched at the bar cradling the hot chocolate I coerced the bartender into making when a cold breeze caresses my back. A second later, a hand lands on my lower back, spreading warmth through my body. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine.” I grimace at how curt my reply is but it’s instinctual.
The longer I waited, the more I regretted calling him. I feel like a fool. Embarrassed that I let Dylan get to me. Annoyed that I need a man to rescue me like some useless damsel in distress. Frustrated and confused that Jackson was the first person I wanted to call yet he didn't sound all too happy to hear from me. Even more annoyed that, out of everything, that’s what I’ve been sitting here fixating on.
Calloused fingers grip my chin, gently directing my gaze to his. His expression startles me, warm and concerned yet guarded. Too distant, so unreadable. “What happened?”
I attempt a nonchalant shrug. “Just Dylan being Dylan.”
Immediately, Jackson stiffens, a muscle in his jaw jumping. His eyes flit around my face, down my arms, over every visible piece of skin. “Did he touch you?”
“Just spewed bullshit as usual,” I lie.
