Date = 20 November
Place = San Francisco (Jackson’s house)(The Pier)
Not where I expected to blow out my last breath.
POV - Damion
“Uff!”
I hit the ground hard — no ceremony, no concern for my comfort. The floor kisses my shoulder blades, and I grunt as the air blasts out of my lungs like I’ve offended gravity.
Hands fondle, grope, and paw over my body — grabbing, patting, frisking — less like a search, more like a group project no one explained to me beforehand.
Fabric tears. My shirt strips away. Then my pants. Ripped away with all the finesse of hyenas discovering a wounded antelope.
I’m left in my Calvin Klein boxers — the ones I deliberately chose this morning, for reasons that now feel prophetic.
“Boxers,” Ilkay sniffs from my right, clearly impressed despite himself. “Excel
