Page 67 of Cry Baby
I couldn’t help but smile, even as I could feel my own oxygen cutting off now, with his knee on my neck.
I dipped my finger in the come that fell, reaching up and swirling it around on his exposed chest.
He choked me harder, and I saw the black spots starting to appear.
“No one touches me! I’ll fucking skin you.”
A cough escaped, but I finished my design.
A frowny face.
Tears were falling down his cheeks onto my face, and my own cheeks felt hot.
Hollis laughed cruelly and smiled wide. “Yeah, that’s fucking right, freak. Let me see your tears.”
I couldn’t breathe anymore. The world was going black, but did I really hear Hollis lean down to my ear and whisper,
“Paint me with your tears, Picasso.”
Fuck. Me.
I was angry before I even opened my eyes.
That resounding anger sat heavy in my chest, hot enough to burn through the pounding headache currently splitting my skull in half.
The motel room smelled like stale beer, cheap soap, and probably leftover semen that had never gotten cleaned up.
I stared at the ceiling for a long while, trying to remember how the hell I’d even ended up here.
The mansion…
I couldn’t go back home, not after that.
What the fuck was my life?
The pieces started falling into place.
The bar.
Ryan.
Whiskey.
Jailbait.
That fucking grin.
My stomach dropped at the image, and my dick decided that now was a splendid time to rise and shine.
“No…”
I sat up too fast, and the room pitched sideways before it finally settled in my unsteady gaze. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing both hands over my face while I chased memories that refused to come together.
I remembered… him watching me.
I’d followed him outside.
We were angry and fighting over something.
