Zack’s POV
I have the urge to stab a knife in my skin and bruise myself, punch the wall till my knuckles bleed, or drown underwater till I'm breathless— No, I'm not suicidal. I'm just… helpless.
My fingers rub the strand of her dark curly hair. When she tried to escape, she hurt herself. Screw that, I hurt her.
‘Why the heck does it matter?!’ I close my eyes and yell myself back to my senses.
I f**k ladies, bend them over till they fold like pretzels, yank them apart, and ride them with their hair like reins. So why does this f*****g matter?!
Maybe it's the feel. The pure silky touch. The gentle unwaivery curl… The scent.
I pull it in and sniff like I'm taking a shot of Coke.
Her shampoo… It's a mix of vanilla and honey… A tinge of rose?
Oh, f**k!
I throw my head backward an
