"Oh, fuck, Scarecrow." He gasps, and I feel nails digging into the skin on my hips. "Say my name."
I blink, trying to clear the image of him into something more like normal. It's hard, though, because he keeps moving closer and then further, closer and then further, the blurry image of him bobbing in and out of my eyeline.
The thunder is louder than ever, and I'm not too proud to admit that I'm scared.
Something is wrong.
The combination of drinking so much on an empty stomach and then the adrenaline of hearing that story... it must have sent me into a full-on anxiety attack. That's why everything is fuzzy.
"Say my fuckingname, New Girl."
I blink; surely, that instruction is for me. Why does he want me to say his name? I can hardly even breathe.
"Kroweeee..."
My entire body trembles with the force of the thunder rattling the cornstalks around us. Why is no one else bothered by it?
I hear him panting and decide maybe he is worried, that he just doesn't look like it.
He presses his head to mine suddenly, and his skin is warm against mine. It's a small comfort, but it doesn't last. He pulls away almost immediately after, and then he moves away from me entirely. I watch him recede, watch him step to the side, his chest heaving like mine as he catches his breath.
I take him in, shirtless, and wonder where his clothes are and if he'd offer me his jacket. It's suddenly freezing, colder even than it was five minutes ago when I first woke up.
I notice the letterman jacket is on the ground... and so are his jeans.
I blink, my vision focusing on his bare legs, hairy and pale. I track them up to his waist and a shock flits through me at the sight of him, buck naked; his dick is at half-mast, somewhere between erect and limp, and it shines in the moonlight, wet with something red and shiny.
"No fuckingwaythat whore was a virgin."
"You stole her V card?"
"Fuck! If I'd have known, I'd have fought you for first."
Everything hurts.
It hurts so fucking bad I can't breathe.
The tears come faster now.
"Please..."
Someone looms over me, and it only takes a moment for Jackson's face to come into view. It's a handsome face, but something about it is sinister as he stares down at me. I don't think he's going to help.
"It's okay." Someone soothes, and I feel a hand in my hair, brushing it off of my sweat-slick face.
I forgot there were hands holding me down until Jackson lowers himself to his knees before me, and alarm bells shoot off inside my head.
"Help!"
The sound is stronger now, but it gets swallowed up by the thunder.
Except, the thunder isn't thunder at all. It's... laughter.
"I know, Scarecrow. It hurts, huh?"
I whimper in agreement, because words take too much energy to form.
"Let me help loosen you up."
