Episode6
1044 Words
“Feisty,” he said with a low laugh, like my resistance amused him. “I like it better when I have to break girls like you.”
He stepped closer, eyes darkening. “Now be a good slut and put that mouth of yours to better use.”
The next second, he grabbed my top and tore it open revealing my bra.
The sound of fabric ripping felt louder than it should have been.
Everything happened too fast after that—too messy, too close. I stumbled back, trying to cover myself with what was left of my clothes, but he didn’t give me space to think.
His hand caught my hair from behind and yanked hard. Pain shot through my scalp as he slammed me forward onto the table. Glasses and bottles hit the floor, shattering in loud bursts.
Before I could turn, his weight pressed down on me from behind. He tried to force my jeans off, his grip rough, desperate, disgusting.
Something inside me snapped.
Not fear.
Instinct.
The kind of survival that doesn’t ask permission.
Prison taught me that.
My hand reached blindly, found a bottle, and I swung it back with everything I had.
It crashed against his head.
He staggered immediately, stumbling backwards with a sharp curse, one hand flying to the blood already spilling down his face.
“You stupid girl,” he spat, voice shaking with rage. “I’m going to ruin your pretty face when I’m done with you.”
He lunged again.
This time, he hit me.
A punch landed squarely on my face, snapping my head to the side. Before I could even breathe properly, his foot came up and struck my ribs.
Pain exploded through my body.
I fell.
The floor met me hard, broken glass digging into my forearms as I landed. Warm blood immediately spread across my skin.
For a second, I froze.
Not from pain.
From memory.
My mind dragged me back without warning.
Meredith.
The floor of that prison room.
The pressure of bodies holding me down.
Rusty blades dragging across my skin like I was nothing more than something to mark.
A scream I never fully released.
The memory hit like fire.
And something inside me changed.
The fear stopped.
The shaking stopped.
Everything went quiet except him.
I pulled out a shard of glass from my arm.
He didn’t even realise what was coming next.
I drove it into his thigh.
He screamed, collapsing slightly.
I didn’t stop.
I pulled it out again and stabbed it into his stomach.
Another scream.
He tried to hit me again, but I moved before he could connect. My body reacted faster than thought, like it already knew the outcome.
I grabbed the coffee table beside me and lifted it with both hands.
Then I brought it down on his back.
He hit the floor hard, groaning, struggling to breathe.
The room felt smaller now.
He wasn’t in control anymore.
I was.
“You think you can just do whatever you want?” I said, my voice shaking but steadying as I spoke. “You think being a man gives you permission to force people?”
He spat something incoherent, half pain, half anger.
“F*ck you,” he groaned. “You psychopath—wait till I get my hands on you again.”
I lifted the table again and slammed it down.
Wood splintered loudly.
This time, he didn’t get up immediately.
His confidence was gone.
His voice changed.
“Please,” he said suddenly. “Please. I won’t touch you again. Just stop.”
I stared at him.
The same man who laughed seconds ago was now shaking on the floor.
“You didn’t stop when I told you to,” I said quietly. “Why should I?”
His breathing broke. “I won’t do it again. I swear.”
Something cold settled in my chest.
I had heard that kind of promise before.
From men like him.
From systems like this.
From situations that never really ended—they just moved on to someone else.
“You will,” I said softly. “Men like you always do.”
I stepped closer, then crouched slightly.
He flinched immediately, raising his arms to cover his face.
“I’m not going to hit you again,” I said.
He froze.
But I wasn’t finished.
“For now,” I added.
Then I grabbed his clothes.
His pants first.
Then his briefs.
I pulled them off him completely.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, panicking now.
I looked at him calmly.
“I’m helping you get rid of your bloody clothes,” I said with a small, cold smile.
I stood up, walked toward the door, then stopped.
Turned back.
He was curled slightly on the floor now, trying to cover himself with one arm, fear replacing everything else.
“Please don’t hurt me,” he begged again.
For a moment, I just looked at him.
Then I stepped back toward him.
Slowly.
He flinched harder this time.
I bent down near his face.
Close enough that he could see my expression clearly.
Then I ripped his shirt off him completely.
I used it to cover myself quickly, tying it around my upper body to replace what he had destroyed.
I picked up his pants and briefs from the floor.
And then I turned away.
I left him there.
Blood, glass, silence.
The club outside felt like another world entirely when I stepped out of the room.
My appearance changed everything immediately.
Staff turned. Conversations stopped. Someone gasped.
Britney’s voice broke through the noise somewhere behind me, but I didn’t stop walking.
I made it down the corridor, straight toward Cooper’s office.
People followed.
Of course they did.
“Rue!” someone called.
But I didn’t turn back.
Before I reached the door, I stopped.
Britney and a few others stood behind me now, staring like they weren’t sure what they were seeing was real.
My voice came out steady, even though my body was shaking.
“Call an ambulance,” I said. “Last room in the hall. He might bleed out.”
Then I turned back to Cooper’s office and pushed the door open.
- Writer
