Page 84 of All the Beautiful Things
“Oh no. Not with that look on your face,” Josiah said. He grabbed my hand and waved his other one in the air, shouting at his sister. “Ang. Get your ass over here.”
She’d been talking with her other friends. Texting. Laughing. The sounds of the city rushed back into my ears until the noise threatened to overwhelm me.
Because all I could see was that night.
That warm breath. The sting of mulch and dirt and the burn of a slap and a kick.
Hands at my waist and hips. The waistband of my jeans…
“What’s gotten into you? You okay?” Angie’s voice sounded like it came from a tunnel and I didn’t know who she was talking to. No, I was most definitely was not okay.
“Don’t know,” Josiah said. “She just freaked as soon as the boys pulled up.”
“Maybe because she has a sixth sense for assholes.”
“No.” I shook my head. No sixth sense. I was a magnet for them.
I swallowed as the back door opened. Time froze as a booted foot, followed by jeans and then a hand wearing a heavy, metal ring curled around the door.
“Manny—” I whispered, voice ragged. Skin suddenly too tight. Too cold, despite the layers that covered it. I caught his gaze right as he stepped out of the car.
I stumbled and moved behind Josiah.
God. I was losing it. I hadn’t seen him in weeks. I couldn’t remember how long it’d been but it might as well have been yesterday for all the pain I suddenly felt pulsing in every wound he left.
When our gazes met, it took him a moment. He blinked, and then his eyes widened with malicious intent. He didn’t even care I was with his friends. He knew exactly who I was. What he’d done to me. The look on his face said he’d be happy to do it again.
“You know Manny?” Josiah asked.
Angie’s face took over my vision, but I twisted my neck to see behind her. Never again would he take me by surprise.
“Why are you freakin’? They’re assholes but…”
I pressed my finger to the small scar on my cheekbone. A tiny scar that would fade eventually but it was the sole remnant of that night.
“You are fucking kidding me,” Angie growled. She grabbed my arm. I barely caught her grabbing Josiah with her other hand. She yanked us both back toward the building.
“Yo. What the fuck?” Josiah cried out but she flipped him around to face me and pointed a finger in my face.
“Did he do that to you?”
“The hell? Ang. Come on. Manny’s a dick, but he ain’t…”
I swallowed. My throat was dry. And I shivered.
Of course Josiah wouldn’t believe me. That was my point before when Hudson lost his shit.
Who would believe me?
“Shut up, Josiah.”
Angie’s fingers snapped in front of my face and I blinked. “What?”
“Was Manny the guy who hurt you that night?” Her eyes were narrowed, black as the dark memory threatening to pull me under. Where she was usually all softness and smiles and practically spit rainbows, now there was the girl who’d lived hard and tough, all harsh lines and fury fuming from her ears. I hadn’t told her, just brushed away her concern with my bruises. Most of the ones on my face had been minimal. It’d been my side that had taken a week longer to heal. None of it had been horrible. Scrapes. Mostly shame. Because I knew this could happen… that people who knew me still wouldn’t believe me if I risked the truth or going to the police.
“No fucking way,” Josiah growled.
As he did, black boots caught my peripheral along with a rotten breath stench that made me shudder. “Well hello there, babe. I knew we’d see each other again sometime. Must be my lucky night.”
