Page 37 of The Illicit Play

“Make ’em hungry for it.”Cleo smirks.

Wait. Who’s Cleo?

I mumble her name, picturing a girl with purple-and-black hair. She has a neck tattoo—a bird, the wings stretching around her throat. Her smile is bright, her laughter kind of maniacal. She spins around my brain like a horror movie. A carousel of images attack me from all sides—moans of pleasure, puking, tucking lipstick into my pocket, laughing, drinking straight from the bottle, a loud clash of drums, stumbling, landing on a bed, hands on me, tongues, moans, ecstasy, headache, crying…

The chaotic kaleidoscope swirls inside me until my brain feels like it’s going to explode.

I groan, clutching my head and struggling up to my feet.

I tip sideways, my shoulder slapping against the wall.

“Hey, you okay?” someone asks me. His voice is deep and soothing, his touch soft as he cups my face.

“Did you come to find me?” The words all blend together, and I can’t understand what I’m saying.

The guy brushes his hand down my face, curling his fingers lightly around my neck. “I’ll help you, sweet thing. You just come with me.”

My head lolls to the side. It’s too heavy for my skinny neck. I can’t hold it up anymore.

An arm comes around my waist. It’s strong and… and like a pincer.

It’s too tight. Too strong. Too unrelenting.

I don’t want it.

I try to pull away, but he holds me closer, his fingers digging into my side as he starts walking me away from the wall.

No! A sharp ping of terror jolts through me.

This is wrong. Something is wrong.

I push at him with floppy limbs that aren’t working properly. “I don’t want to go with you.” I try to make my voice strong, but it’s so soft, and he probably can’t hear me above this music.

Ugh. It’s thumping right through me. Pounding and painful.

My head is about to split open. I whimper, “No.”

“It’s okay, sugar. I’ve got you.” His voice is sweet and coaxing, vaguely familiar, but something feels off.

This is wrong.

I push at him with rubbery arms, but he bats my hand away with a soft laugh. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His fingers tighten around my waist again until I feel like he’s gonna cut me in half. My floppy head lands on his shoulder, and I don’t want it there.

“Stop,” I whisper. “Lemme go.”

He ignores me, leading us down a corridor.

I don’t want this. I don’t want this!

“It’s okay,” he croons. “You’re safe with me.”

“No, please,” I whimper, wrestling in vain but achieving nothing.

“Blake!” someone shouts. “Get your fucking hands off her!”

There’s a growl, and then the guy’s hold on me loosens. I start to fall, gravity pulling me to the ground.