Nine Marines' Shared Property - Nicole Casey Page 0,48

and punched; I scrapped and clawed. But a few minutes later, I was in his apartment being dragged down a corridor, pulled into his bedroom and thrown onto his bed.

“You’re as feisty as ever,” he said. He stood over me, grinning, and unbuttoned his shirt.

I sobered up pretty quickly then. I jumped off the bed. The room started fading in and out, tilting and turning. I reached out and grabbed a lamp on the nightstand for support.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Michael grabbed me by the arm. “You’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” He pushed me back onto the bed.

But I didn’t let go of the lamp; it came with me, the cord offering a little resistance before being yanked out of the wall socket.

I tried to sit up, but he put his hand on my neck. I swung the lamp and hit him on the side of the head.

I expected it to shatter in a thousand pieces. I expected him to reel back, stagger and fall to the floor. But none of that happened.

Instead, the lamp hitting his head made a dull thud sound. Michael said, “Owe” and he grabbed my wrist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He squeezed my wrist and the lamp, not Michael, fell to the floor.

“That’s not how we treat my property, here.” He pinned my arm to the bed and he climbed on top of me. “I treat my property real good,” he said with a crazed look in his eyes. “You’ll see. You’ll see how good I treat my property.”

I squirmed and scrapped, but he straddled me, pinning my other arm to the bed with his knee. “You’re my property, Gwen. You know that, don’t you? You’re mine.” He unfastened his belt. “You’re my property and I’m going to take real good care of you.”

I bucked and thrashed. He lost his balance just enough for me to pull my hand from under his knee.

I punched him in the neck, not hard, but I hit the perfect spot. He let go of my other hand, threw both his hands up to his throat and rolled over.

I jumped out of the bed. My foot, however, landed on the lamp lying on the floor. I lost my balance and fell face-first, too surprised and disoriented to effectively break my fall with my flailing arms.

Smack! The hardwood floor hit my cheekbone. Pain shot from my face to the back of my head, but I didn’t stay on the floor.

I pulled myself up and ran to where I thought the door was. I couldn’t be sure; my vision wasn’t so clear, and it was dark in the room. But Michael stood in my way, one hand on his throat, the other stretched out in front of him as if to ward me off. I saw pain in his eyes, and that invigorated me.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” I said.

He didn’t move.

I kicked him in the knee.

He crumpled, and I walked past him.

He grabbed me by the hip and pulled me to the bed.

I kicked. My foot hit his chin and then his chest.

He fell back, and I ran to the door.

The corridor was dark and unfamiliar. I looked left then right.

“You fucking bitch!” Michael called out from behind me.

I ran left. There was an open door to the right. I glanced in the room, saw that it was a small living room and turned around.

Michael was staggering toward me.

I spun around, opened the door behind me and went in.

It was the bathroom—and a small one at that. I locked the door, turned and, my back against the door, slid down to the cold tile floor.

“Gwen.” The doorknob rattled. “Gwen, are you all right?”

He sounded so concerned and sincere. He should have been an actor.

“Gwen, unlock the door. Let’s talk this out.”

I felt tears welling up. I had to fight them back. Get it together, Gwen. Now is not the time to get weak.

The doorknob rattled again. Michael punched the door. “Gwen, unlock the door!”

“Fuck off and die!” I shouted back.

“Gwen.” His voice was soft and smooth now. “Gwen, we got off on the wrong foot. You had too much to drink, and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

I pulled myself off the floor and searched the small bathroom for something I could use as a weapon. The rod holding the shower curtain came down with ease.

“Gwen, you can’t stay in there forever.”

I turned the rod over in my