Tessa’s POV:
The next day, another man came in. Not kind. Not tired. Just angry.
He stomped in like the floor owed him something, slamming the tray of food down so hard the water sloshed out of the cup and dripped onto the cement. He smelled of sweat and smoke and stale beer, nothing like the one before, the one who at least looked at me like I was human.
This one grinned. Ugly. Wide. He has too many teeth, if I do say so myself.
“Still alive?” he said, voice rough with amusement. “Tough little b! tch, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I kept my back straight and my chin high, even though my arms ached and my lips were cracked from dehydration. Even though every breath scraped against my lungs like splinters.
He didn’t like the silence.
He kicked my ankle. Hard.
I flinched but refused
