COLT
I don’t make it three f*****g steps before a hand clamps down on my wrist.
Hard.
Fingers digging in like a goddamn vice, like he thinks he has a right to hold me back.
"Where the f**k do you think you’re going?"
Fucking arrogant bastard.
I don’t stop. I don’t turn around. I rip my arm free, shoving his hand away like it burns. The air around us is thick, buzzing with something electric, something violent, but I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t give him the satisfaction. I just keep walking because who the hell does he think he is?
The night air is sharp against my skin, cold enough to hurt, but it barely registers. The only thing I feel is the rage clawing at my ribcage, the heat crawling up my throat like it wants to tear its way out of me. My pulse is hammering in my skull,
