Page 27

But my throat was drowned with cold tears.
I moved my lips, mouthing the words I wanted to say. It was pathetic. His hand was down past the waistband of my pants, grasping roughly at my skin, fingers curling around the fabric of my panties.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he muttered again, jerking his thumb along my clit, making me shudder. “Huh? I think it’s obvious, sweetheart.”
“Stop,” I managed to whisper, struggling to take in a breath even after that one word that sounded so weak, so feeble. “S…”
“Shut up.”
He smacked his hand over my mouth. The force was enough to knock my head to the side, and I felt the burn of a mark on my jaw.
“I’ll fuck you up, alright,” Tommy hissed in my ear. His fingers tightened around my pussy, clutching me like a piece of fruit that he could crush with a single flex of his palm. “I’ll fuck you so hard.”
“Fuck you,” I snarled, finally managing the strength to grab onto his neck, trying to dig my nails into his skin.
He responded by yanking his hand out of my pants and shoving both my arms up against the wall, gripping my wrists so hard his hands felt like iron handcuffs.
I knew I was strong.
Mentally, emotionally.
But I couldn’t deny the fact that he was physically stronger. And no amounts of teeth baring or swears or resistance could change that.
So, I surrendered.
“Please …” I begged, hating the sound of my shaking voice. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. Just, please—”
“Sorry’s not going to cut it, sweetheart.”
He clamped his hand back over my mouth.
“Maybe this will.”
Keeping his one hand over my mouth, he moved his other to his belt.
I closed my eyes.
“Kat!”
And then, all of a sudden, he was off me. Vanished. It felt like a cloud of smoke had been pulled out of my gut and my arms released from chains. Collapsing to the floor, I cradled my head in my hands, and just remained there. My skull was throbbing so hard I felt like it’d crack.
You’re fucked up, that’s what you are. I couldn’t get those words out of my head.
“Kat,” the voice said again, closer to me now. Too close. I felt their breath on the top of my head, their hands hovering over me. I didn’t know who it was, couldn’t guess in a hundred tries, but all I knew was that it wasn’t Pierre.
“Get away from me,” I growled into my knees, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.
You’re fucked up.
I just wanted to go home.
“Kat, it’s me,” the voice said again. He said again. “Look up. Please. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Nope. Still not Pierre.
Curled up there against the wall of a university restroom, I came to a grand realization—I hated men. For now, at least.
I loved fucking men—but I fucking hated them. Even hate wasn’t strong enough a word to describe how much I wanted every single man in a ten-mile radius of me to drop dead.