“I don’t know, I have two hours to decide,” Colson replies as he turns the key in the ignition, bringing the Bronco to life. “Maybe I’ll still see what you taste like.”
I shoot him a look from the passenger seat, “I still didn’t say you could kiss me.”
He gives me a once-over and shifts into drive, “I don’t have to kiss you to find that out.”
●●●
When I wake up, it’s still dark. I can see the moon in the window, but the silhouettes of the trees are upside down. Why are they upside down? And why do I feel like I’m moving? Where am I?
I’m jolted awake as I fall off the bed and hit the rug. I can’t move one of my arms. Colson has hold of my wrist and is dragging me across the floor away from the bed. I try to roll over and get up, but my muscles don’t work. I’m only half-awake, murmuring incoherently, and I’m moving too quickly to find my footing.
Finally, Colson releases my wrist and lets me fall with a thud onto the floor, startling me awake.
It’s cold. I’m naked.
I see a shadow pass over me and then he grabs my shoulder and jerks me onto my back before dropping down and lodging his knees on either side of my hips. His fingertips dig into my shoulders as he grabs me and slams me into the floor, over and over. I see stars, but I’m not sure whether they’re in the window or my head.
“Colson!” I gasp for air and my arms fly to his shoulders, but he crosses his forearm over my chest and pins them back down.
He’s pressing me into the floor so hard I think my bones might shatter under his strength.
“Shut up!” Colson shouts through his teeth before he lets me go long enough to lunge for the side table next to the bed.
I roll over in time to see him jerk open the drawer and grab something before spinning back around. My body is pulsing with adrenaline, but my legs won’t cooperate and I can’t stand up in time. In one stride he’s on me again. He grabs my bicep and wrenches my arm back, throwing me across the floor.
“Colson, stop!” I cough as a sharp pain radiates through my shoulder.
He steps over me and drops down onto my hips, smashing my shoulders into the floor with his arm again. When his other arm swings into view, I see the outline of a gun in his hand. I let out a shrill, airy scream, my eyes fixed on the black 9mm held out at his side. And then I see his face. He looks dead behind the eyes. His pupils are dilated, making his irises look black instead of blue.
He presses my hips into the carpet, his jaw clenched in a blind rage. Screams burn my throat as I claw at his arm with one hand while extending my other out in front of me, as if blocking his gun with my splayed-out fingers will protect me.
I let out another jarring howl as Colson raises his arm and brings the gun down, pointing it between my eyes, “No, no, no, no, no!” I scream as my legs flail beneath him in a surge of panic.
“I said shut the fuck up!” he yells so loud I think my eardrums will burst.
I press my lips together and squeeze my eyes shut, but my body shakes with the silent sobs pulsing from my chest. All I can feel are his muscles like stone crushing my shoulders and the tap of the cold gun barrel between my eyes. When I dare to open them, Colson is glaring down at me, his teeth clenched through parted lips and every muscle in his body trembling with rage.
“I know what you did,” he rasps, pressing the barrel harder into my forehead.
“No!” My jaw drops and I shake my head frantically, “What?”
“Say it!” Colson shouts so forcefully, I feel his spit hit my cheek.
“Colson,” I sob, tears pouring down the corners of my eyes and into my hair, “I don’t know—”
“Open your mouth,” he barks, sending a jolt through my chest.
I freeze, my mouth still half-open as he slides the gun down the bridge of my nose. I shut my mouth but he presses the barrel hard into my lips.
“Open your mouth,” he snarls, “before I knock your goddamn teeth into your throat.”
A pathetic sob escapes my throat as I do what he says. And when I open my mouth, he slides the barrel over my lips, catching my teeth. It’s disgusting and leaves an oily metallic taste on my tongue.
“Colson, please…” I plead with him, but it just comes out like wet gibberish.
Colson slides the barrel over my tongue and further to the back of my throat. It scrapes across my palate, making me wince in pain. I finally gag on it, digging my nails into his arm as my chest heaves beneath him. He pulls it back and pauses, then does it again. After a third time, I think I’m going to throw up.
He looks like he’s enjoying it. Each time I retch into his gun, his cheek muscles twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
“You want to tell me now?” he snarls, shifting his weight on my body.
And when he does, he loosens his arm ever so slightly. I feel the relief in my shoulder and, by some miracle reflex, I reel back and swing my fist as hard as I can. Somehow, I catch him solidly in the jaw, throwing his head to the side with a pop and knocking him off-balance.
Colson falls backward, the gun tumbles out of my mouth, and he throws his head to the side with a curse. I roll over, unleashing another torrent of screams as I scramble across the carpet. But Colson is between me and the bedroom door. He hasn’t moved, still on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
Finally, he lifts his head, his mouth hanging open. Swallowing hard, he rises up onto his knees, the window panes casting black stripes across his face and torso. He raises an arm and touches his bare chest with his palm. I watch him, absolutely petrified. I want to run as fast as I can, but I’m frozen in place, shaking and crying. Colson slowly looks down at the gun in his other hand, then back at me.
Get out.
Finally, I feel a rush of adrenaline, jump up, and scurry over the bed. I keep my eyes glued to him as I move around the other side, shaking and gasping. I need to get out, escape before he decides to shoot me right then and there. I see a balled-up article of clothing on the floor and grab it. It doesn’t matter what it is.
Colson stands up and takes a few steps toward the bed, still holding the gun. I make myself take a few more steps, slowly creeping toward the end of the bed. He doesn’t move at first, he just stands there watching me. He doesn’t look angry anymore.
He finally speaks, his voice returning to its normal baritone, “Baby…”
As soon as I hear his voice, it’s like a whip crack and I leap toward the door, throwing it open and bursting into the hallway. I half run, half fall down the stairs and tear across the living room, down the hallway to the foyer, and out the front door. I grab my tote next to the door and flee the house, literally naked, leaving the door hanging open as I sprint across the grass to my car parked behind the red Bronco.
I throw my belongings across the center console, not caring where they land, as I tear through the front pocket of my bag to find my keys. Fumbling with my keys, I keep an eye on the front door to see if he’ll emerge and come after me.
