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*Present day*
It seemed like every spring dug into my spine as Patrick settled heavier across my hips. He had quickly stripped away my hoodie and jeans, leaving me in just the plain gray boxer-briefs I'd thrown on that morning.
I wasn't even trying to fight back anymore; my arms just lay limp at my sides, fingers curled against the faded comforter, because deep down I knew struggling would only make them laugh louder.
Patrick's grin was wide and slick as he hovered above me, his teeth unnaturally white in the dim orange light seeping through the half-closed blinds. He lifted a hand and wiped the tears from my cheek with his thumb, and though the move seemed almost gentle, it was underlined by the sight of his bitten nails and the cheap vodka stench on his breath.
