I break out of the covered path, rounding a giant wall of ivy, when another loud boom sounds, rattling the earth as lightning streaks across the black sky, illuminating the ground below. I see someone. Tall. Dressed in black. He’s there.
And then he’s gone.
Swallowing hard, I slow down and carefully approach the spot where I saw him, my heart racing. I hit my AirPod to stop the music, glancing around as I pull the buds out of my ears and shove them in my hoodie pocket. Wherever he went, he can’t be too far. Probably someone else out for a run.
Right?
Thunder cracks, startling me and then an arm comes around my neck from behind, holding me to a firm, lanky body. A mouth settles at my ear, his voice low as he murmurs, “Gotcha.”
I go cold, recognizing his voice immediately.
Elliot.
Closing my eyes, I remain completely still, telling myself to stay calm. I can figure this out. He’s hellbent on getting revenge, I assume, and I can play along for a little bit. I need to gather my strength and take my chance when the timing is right.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” he says, his tone menacing. “Out here all alone. No one else around. Everyone at the football game.”
“Why aren’t you at the game?” I ask, proud of how calm my voice is.
“I got suspended for one game thanks to what happened earlier,” he says, his grip tightening around my neck. His thick forearm presses against my throat, threatening to cut off my air. “Fucking bitch. You’re not worth the trouble.”
Another boy suddenly appears in front of us, completely unfamiliar. He’s also dressed in black and he approaches us slowly, a disturbing smile on his face.
“Is this her?” he asks Elliot.
“Yeah. What do you think?”
His gaze scans me from the tip of my head down to my soaked Nikes. “I’m not one to hit a woman, but she looks like a royal bitch who deserves a smack or two.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Elliot practically growls with a laugh. “You hold her and I’ll get the first hit?”
“Deal,” the other boy says with a nod.
That’s my cue to act.
I struggle against Elliot’s grip, slipping right out of his hands, but the other boy quickly grabs me around the waist, whirling me around and lifting at the same time, my feet dangling in the air. He drops me to the ground, following after me, pinning me in the center of the graveled path. The little rocks dig into my scalp and my body, making me wince and the boy thrusts his face in mine, the rain dripping off his skin and onto my cheeks.
“Keep going. I like it when they struggle,” he leers, as if he’s done this sort of thing before.
“Get the fuck off her. She’s mine first,” Elliot yells, yanking at the other guy and pulling him off of me. I start to cry when Elliot straddles my hips, looming over me with a fist cocked back. I thought they wanted to rape me, not beat me up.
Anger fills me, drying up my tears and I try to buck him off but it’s no use. He’s got the upper hand and he knows it.
“Little bitch,” he whispers, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “I’m going to fuck you up.”
He sounds pleased, like he’s getting off on this, which only infuriates me further. I put up a huge struggle, lifting my hips with all my might and sending him sideways, tumbling off of me. I kick out at him with one foot, nailing him in the stomach, so he falls back with a loud grunt, his face twisting in fury as he lunges for me once again.
Just as fast, he’s gone. The other boy yells.
“Watch out! What the fu—”
A fist connects with the boy’s mouth, and he crumples to the ground. I watch it all unfold in shock, the rain falling steadily upon us in fat drops, lightning flashing frantically above us.
Illuminating Whit, clad in his white button down and navy trousers, turning at the last second toward Elliot right before he hits him in the face.
“Whit!” I scream his name, just as his head rears back from the force of Elliot’s fist making contact with his pretty face. I leap to my feet, heading straight for Elliot, ready to pull him off Whit.
Whit shoves Elliot off of him and they roll onto the ground, their legs and arms entangled as they each struggle to get the upper hand. I stand over them, feeling completely helpless, not sure what to do next. I pull my phone out, and start to dial 9-1-1 when Whit yells at me.
“Put that fucking phone away now!”
I slide out of the call, glaring at him. Worried for him. The other boy is staggering to his feet, his face already swollen thanks to Whit’s fist, and I scream when Elliot swings for him yet again.
Whit’s prepared this time. He stops the swing of Elliot’s arm, thrusting his fist into Elliot’s stomach with all his might. They keep hitting each other, the sickening thud of hands connecting with flesh sounding again and again as they try to destroy each other. Until Whit is the one left standing over Elliot, who’s lying on the ground clutching his stomach, his body curled inward as he tries to protect himself.
“Fucking cocksucker,” Whit says, breathing hard, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “You were going to beat the shit out of her.”
“Bitch fucking deserves it—” Elliot starts but Whit kicks him in the stomach, making him groan.
“Asshole. You’re finished. Through.” Whit spits on him, right in his face. “Rot in hell, Elliot. You’re done here.”
“Come on, man. She’s just some little bitch you wanna fuck. What does it matter what happens to her?” Elliot whines.
“More like she’s a little bitch you want to fuck.” Whit kicks him again, the rain picking up speed and becoming so loud I can barely hear him. I hit a button on my phone and somehow, I accidentally turn the music back on. The song “Streets” by Doja Cat starts playing on low from my Airpods still in my pocket, but I can hear Whit yelling at Elliot. “You have twenty-four hours. I never want to see your face again.”
Whit turns on the other guy, who’s watching all of this with a scared look on his face. “Never want to see your fucking face again either. Get the fuck out of here. Both of you!”
Elliot stands, rubbing his hand against his jaw with a wince. “You’re making a mistake.”
“My only mistake is that I trusted you in the first place,” Whit says with a faint sneer. “Fuck off, asshole. I’ll take my chances.”
I watch, breathless as they stare each other down. Scared they’ll start fighting all over again. Hurriedly I put my AirPods back in my ears so I won’t lose them, watching the boys stare each other down.
But eventually, Elliot slowly walks away, the other guy following him, until they disappear into the darkness. Once they’re gone, I turn to study Whit carefully, noting the way he cradles his front, his arm curved around his ribs.
He’s hurt.
The prodigal son. The posh prince, still standing after he fought not just one, but two boys off of me.
I suppose I should be grateful. I probably should thank him.
His back is to me as he watches Elliot and his buddy run away, the pounding rain drenching his clothes, making his white shirt completely see-through. The fabric clings to his torso, emphasizing the lean muscle just beneath and I stare, unable to look away. I lift my gaze to his profile, sucking in a breath when I see the bruise forming on his cheek. The scrape on his jaw.