Cruel Kisses (It's Just High School #2) - Thandiwe Mpofu Page 0,128
of smoke—not just any smoke, tobacco. My father smokes that when he’s with his friends, but I know this intruder is not my father since my father left two days ago with my mother for something I never bothered to know about or understand. Why would I when I was looking forward to attending my first teenage party? The best party of the year where everyone, and I mean everyone important and popular in Westbrook, would be in attendance to ascertain the ever fun and ongoing social power struggle for teenage superiority, and I was going to ascertain my place once and for all.
At least, that’s what I thought the night would bring.
But this, this kind of danger, I never anticipated this. I’m not one of those girls in the news or in books who falls victim to all sorts of vultures and predators in the dark. I’m a fighter, and I will fight this. . . fight him.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest, threatening to deafen my ears. But that heartbeat, it reminds me that I’m still here, and I still have time to fight. The haze that has fallen over me dissipates, and I realize my back is plastered against the wall. Literally and figuratively.
“Beautiful, vivacious, young Astraea.” His deep voice awakens goose bumps and shivers all over my body—not the good, delicious kind, no. It’s the kind of shivers that alert of an impending disaster.
“I guess it’s my lucky day. I didn’t think you would come back this early. That drug must have worked faster than I thought,” the man says, ignoring my pleas.
He drugged me? He has been waiting for me? Was he at the party? How did I not sense I was being watched? How did I not see him?
“My father has money. I can give it to you. Please,” I plead, but the mysterious man with a ski mask covering his face begins to laugh, hard. His throaty, ugly laugh grates at my ears, but what shocks me about it is the genuineness of his laugh.
Like, he is truly laughing—however ugly it is, anyway—as if he finds my cries and pleas amusing.
“You are so stupid and naïve to think your father could give me what I lost,” he says, and my gaze frantically searches the room for anything, any weapon, that I can use to defend myself and escape.
“He’s very rich, please let me go,” I stammer, the pitch of my voice becoming higher as the man advances.
In a sudden move, he pins me to the wall with his large, fully grown male body, stinking of body odor much like a pigsty. My panic becomes full-blown now, the realization of danger now ripe in the stale air filled with the harsh remnants of tobacco.
My entire body cringes. I feel like I’m going to vomit as bile rises up my throat. His breath smells so bad, like a rodent crawled up his body, straight into his mouth, and died in there. I feel like I’m going to pass out when he opens his mouth to speak, as he leans into my ear.
I lift my arms from where they had helplessly fallen like deadweight, and plant them on his chest, and with all my might, I start fighting like a banshee from hell. But he doesn’t so much as blink or move.
In that moment, I realize, I’m now in the fight of my life.
“I’ll make it quick. A rich bitch like you needs to loosen up. I can help with that.” He watches me with an evil glint in his eyes.
“Get away from me. You’re a sick asshole,” I shout, then spit at him.
That makes him angry because in two moves, he steps back and strikes a blow across my face with a force that knocks the wind from my lungs, knocking me off my feet. I fall to the hardwood floor in a pile of agonizing pain, gasping for breath. I cough, choking on my own tears, spit, and snot.
“You think you’re above me?” he shouts as I gasp in pain, struggling to breathe, but coiled deep in me is the need to do as much damage as I can to him and escape.
“The great, wealthy residents that live at the top of the hills, thinking that you’re better than everyone else.” He goes on, his voice getting louder in his rant.
But I need to get away.
I crawl toward the door. I need to get out. This evil man with the rough, scratchy voice