Page 85 of Across His Line

It’s a comfort. It’s torture. It’s both at the same time, and I don’t know how to hold both. A lot can happen in twelve minutes.

The worst thing isn’t even the money. It’s that nothing here changed. And I did. I went to college. I raised my hand. I made friends. I built a business out of a cardboard box. I stayed at a party. I told a boy no in a grocery store. I learned how to talk. And I came home and have to deal with this shit.

I know what Dylan’s capable of. He’s high on drugs. His pupils are blown wide.

I try to get out, but Dylan’s grip tights on me, holding me in place. His friends stand in my way. The girl grabs my bag.

Shit.

“Hey!” I say to the girl.

“Dylan,” his friend warns.

Dylan pulls me closer until he can whisper in my ear. “You should’ve just handed it over.”

I push him, but he’s strong. He puts me into a headlock because he knows I’ll fight back. He knows I’ll be dirty about it too. Dylan nods at his friends, and they walk over to my bag.

“No!” I shout.

Dylan presses a hard palm over my mouth. I can only breathe out of my nose, and it’s not giving me enough air.

They start tearing apart my bag while I try to get out of Dylan’s hold. His bicep crushes my throat, and his palm over my mouth pulls me flush against his chest.

“Shut the fuck up, Tess,” he says into my hair. “You’re going to wake up Grandma.”

He holds me firmly, but I’m able to throw an elbow at his ribs. It does nothing but make him cut off my air supply. I bend at my hips and stomp on his foot. That pisses him off, so he bangs me into the counter. Hard. My gut hits the counter, and I’m winded with no air entering my lungs.

This fucking loser.

I try to bite him. He pulls his arm tighter. I’m so mad that I barely feel him banging my body against the counter again. Pain shoots up my ribs.

I thought leaving had changed this place.

It only changed me.

“What on earth is going on?” My grandma is in the hallway in her robe, with her glasses pushed up on her head and one hand on the wall. She looks small. She looks so much older than she did this morning at the counter.

Dylan says, “Go back to sleep, Grandma.”

I’m hyperventilating under his sweaty palm. My voice is mumbled, and he’s pressing harder.

“Gonna take you to an ATM for your hundred bucks, Tessa,” he says. He starts inching me to the door.

He stumbles because I drop my body weight and catch my foot on whatever I can. A chair knocks over, and he’s swearing into my scalp.

“Fucking cunt!”

My shit is all over the living room from his friends.

“Stop this right now, Dylan,” Grandma demands.

“I just need some cash, Grandma. You understand.”

He’s squeezing my neck even harder now with his arm because I’m fighting back too much. I’m starting to see stars. I can barely breathe. I start tapping on his forearm to let him know I’m tapped out. I need him to let go.

Grandma is yelling at him, but I notice that she doesn’t physically grab him. She lets him choke me. I’m trying to catch my breath, but his hand refuses to let air to get in. I tap him again, and then I smack his cheek. I try to poke his eye, but he leans back. He bites my finger. I wail in pain.

He pushes me onto the couch, and I fall breathless and start coughing. Dylan’s laughing.