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974 Words
The word punched through the ringing in her ears. Sara blinked, her mind lagging, struggling to keep up.
'What?' Sara thought trying hard to make her mind process what just happened.
Her lips parted, but before she could find her voice, his fingers tightened around her wrist, pressing down just enough to make her whimper.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was low, venomous, each word deliberate, like he was holding back something far worse.
Sara's breath hitched. 'No! I need to apologise! I-'
She could still hear Ashley in the distance, giggling, Jenny egging her on as they defiled another car with lipstick and ridiculous hearts. But this was different. This wasn't funny. This wasn't some reckless joke.
Sara wasn't laughing.
"Who gave you the right to touch my things?"
Her stomach twisted. Her pulse was a chaotic mess in her chest, erratic and fearful, but her drunken haze made everything feel sluggish, like she wasn't quite inside her own body.
"I—I was just—"
"You were just what?" He cut her off, voice dripping with pure disgust.
Sara tried to swallow, but her throat was sandpaper dry.
And then—
"w*****g yourself out in the hopes I'd take notice?"
Her mind blanked. "Toooooooooot" As is a nerve was flipped in her ear and it started ringing after that. Her entire body blanked.
Did—
Did she hear that right?
His lips curled, a twisted mockery of amusement flickering across his face.
"Is that how desperate you are? You think scrawling your number on my windshield will make me so weak in the knees that I'll come running after you?"
Sara's nerves shattered.
She was drunk. Yes. But not that drunk.
Not drunk enough to hallucinate the sheer filth spilling from this man's mouth.
"No—" she tried, shaking her head, desperately grasping onto something, anything, but the ground beneath her felt like it was crumbling.
"Pathetic," he spat, and then—he leaned in.
Too close.
So close that his breath brushed against her skin, suffocating her in the overwhelming mix of cologne and cruelty.
"If this is how the call girl business operates now, they must be in dire need to have hired someone like you."
Sara stopped breathing.
Her body. Her brain. Her very existence.
Gone.
She felt her lips tremble, but no words came out. Nothing.
Her pulse throbbed in her skull, dizzying and painful, her knees weak beneath the weight of his words.
His eyes flicked over her—slow, derisive. As if she were something revolting.
"Ugly. Cheap. An eyesore."
What kind of insane fever dream had she stumbled into?
"If you were the last woman alive, naked and begging on the street, I'd rather rot than touch you."
The world crashed around her. And then,
He shoved her.
Hard.
Her balance gave out instantly, her feet stumbling over themselves as she tumbled, sprawling onto the pavement like nothing more than discarded trash.
Her hands scraped against the concrete, pain stinging as tiny pebbles bit into her skin.
Her breath was a mess. A disaster. What just,
What just happened?
Her mind spun, her nerves a mangled wreck, but when she looked up he was already walking away.
Not just walking. Leaving.
Like she was nothing. And then— He pulled out a pack of tissues.
Sara watched—stunned, horrified, unable to look away—as he aggressively wiped his hands. As if she had tainted him.
And then—
The tissues.
Crushed. Tossed.
At her feet.
Her lungs froze, her blood ran cold, and all she could do was stare as the car door slammed shut.
And then—
A sharp rev of the engine.
Gone.
Just like that.
Sara sat there, knees scraped, heart in shambles, the smear of her lipstick staining her trembling fingers. The cold pavement bit into her palms, but she barely felt it—her entire body was numb, her mind spinning in slow motion.
"Sara!"
Ashley's voice rang through the night, light and carefree, the sound of someone untouched by the horrors of the last few minutes. She came stumbling closer, giggling as if the world were a dream she hadn't yet woken up from.
"Guess what?" Ashley beamed, oblivious. "Liam called! He's coming to pick me up! Jenny already left. Do you want me to drop you off?"
Sara didn't move. She didn't even look up.
Ashley frowned, finally noticing her crumpled form on the ground. "Tsk! What are you doing down there? Get up!" She huffed, bending to grab Sara's arm.
Sara barely reacted, her body sluggish, like she was moving through thick fog. Ashley sighed and dusted off her dress, pulling her along toward the park as if she were nothing more than a stubborn child who had tripped.
"Liam said he was sorry, and we patched things up again," Ashley gushed, her words slurring slightly as she let out a silly, drunken laugh. "Oh! There he is!"
She suddenly let go of Sara's arm and sprinted toward a tall figure in the distance. The man—blond hair, blue eyes, the very picture of a typical playboy—barely had time to react before Ashley threw herself at him, arms locked around his neck as she kissed him with wild abandon.
Sara just stood there.
Her breath felt trapped somewhere in her throat, like if she let it out, everything inside her would spill out too—her shame, her pain, the wreckage of her pride.
She turned stiffly, walking back toward the bench where they had left their things. Slowly, she sat down, her scraped wrists resting limply on her lap. The raw skin burned, but it was nothing compared to the ache swelling in her chest.
She wanted to cry.
But no tears came.
- Writer
