Sweet Little Nothing - L.K. Farlow Page 0,31

in a sentence.

“That’s Samson. He’s a... he’s someone I know. He brought us home, and he’s going to help get you inside, okay?”

My pulse hammers at the thought of some random guy touching me, but Stella’s quick to soothe my distress.

“I’ve known him since I was in diapers. He won’t hurt you. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, and she moves out of the doorway, making room for Samson to try again.

I whimper when his broad shoulders obscure my vision. He grits his teeth and asks, “You gonna try and kick me again?”

Just breathe. He’s not going to hurt you. “No.”

He leans into the car and helps me out and onto my feet. “I’ve got it,” I say, even as my knees wobble beneath me. Gritting my teeth, I press my palm into the side of the car and focus on breathing and holding myself up.

“Are you good to head inside?” Stella asks.

“I, um. Yes, I think.”

“I’ll help you.” Stella wraps an arm around my waist, and I wrap mine around her shoulders. Every step is grueling, not because I’m hurt but because I’m tired. Like down to my bones, through my marrow, to my soul tired.

We slowly make our way from the parking lot to the dorm building. At the door, Samson turns to us. “Gonna need your card, Luna.”

“It’s in my back pocket.”

He balks, looking unsure.

“Oh my God!” Stella cries. “It’s a freaking pocket. You might graze a little ass cheek. It won’t kill you.”

“It fuckin’ might,” he grumbles before sliding his hand into her pocket.

A wave of dizziness rushes me, and I sway in Stella’s arms.

“Whoa! You okay?”

I nod. Or at least I think I nod. “Just need to... bed.”

“Are you sure she isn’t on something?”

“Positive,” Stella growls, helping me over the threshold and into the lobby. “Now either call the elevator or go home. We don’t need your negativity.”

“No, just my ride.” He’s all attitude as he swaggers ahead of us toward the elevator. He curls his hand into a fist and pops the side of it against the up arrow.

Inside, he repeats the gesture, hitting the button for the third floor. The contents of my stomach rush up toward my throat as the cables begin pulling us higher. I gag a little as I slap my free hand over my mouth.

“Swear to God, if she pukes on me…”

“Stop being an asshole, Samson!” Stella scolds, already sounding like the teacher she’s studying to become.

I force myself to swallow. “I’m fine.”

In our suite, Stella helps me into my bed with a promise to check on me in five minutes. I wave her away, too exhausted to care about anything other than my head hitting the pillow.

Only, when I close my eyes, he’s there, waiting and ready to torture me some more.

“You deserve every single thing coming your way,” his voice taunts, wrapping around my body like a vise, squeezing and squeezing, tighter and tighter, until all of the air is expelled from my lungs.

I shoot upright, a scream lodged in my throat. “Why is this happening?” I wonder aloud. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Muffled voices filter into my room from the crack under the door. After a few minutes, I hear a door open and close, before the sound of the lock turning reaches me.

Followed by, “Emmy, can I come in?”

I groan out my permission for her to enter.

“Are you okay?” Stella asks, crossing the small space to my bed. She perches on the edge of it and reaches down, smoothing my sweaty hair away from my face.

“I-I don’t know.”

“What happened? You literally went from fine to on the floor in the span of a song.”

“St-Sterling.”

A fire lights in her blue eyes, making her look lethal. “What did he do? Do I need to kill him? Swear to God, I know how to get rid of a body, babe.”

“Um...”

“Just say the word. No one will ever find his sorry, no-good, rotten ass.”

“No,” I barely manage to croak the word as I shake my head. “No.”

“What did he do to you?”

I heave out a sad sigh. “Nothing more than I allowed.”

The admission nearly breaks me. It’s a reminder of how weak I am. How weak I’ve always been. I’ve been on this earth for eighteen years and spent a decade of them being abused at the hands of my stepbrother.

I quietly took his mistreatment, over and over, and the few times I tried to speak up, my pleas were cast aside as the whining of a bratty child.

I

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