I try to crawl, to move, to fight back, but my body doesn’t listen. My arms are weak, legs heavier than stone. My thoughts swim, sluggish and unsteady.
He’s going to hurt me, and no one knows I’m still here.
I try to crawl. I don’t know where I’m going, just away. Away from the doorway and away from him. My elbow slips in the mess on the floor, and I hit the ground again, cheek pressed hard against the carpet, breath caught in my chest.
A hand closes around my ankle and yanks me back so hard I hear the pop of something in my hip. A scream punches from my lungs, but it’s short, strangled, half-buried in the dizzy swirl of pain.
“You always were f*****g dramatic,” Sam says. “You always had to make it a goddamn show.”
He kicks me in the stomach, hard. The air is stolen from my lungs in a
