He opens my coat, pins its sides under his knees along with my arms. His hand releases from my throat and I cough out the bruising irritation, my chest convulsing.
“Tell me you love me.”
“Alec,” I beg. “Please.” I wriggle to kick, but he’s pinned me fast.
“Yes, like that. Beg me.” His hands pull at the bottom of my tee as if he’ll rip it.
“Alec, don’t!” I yell, but the words only find life as a whisper. “You don’t want to do this.”
He traces his finger along the lines of my lips. His skin tastes sour. “I didn’t want any of this, Zephyr. I only wanted you to love me. I wanted to be there for you. After Finn got sick. After Slice was hurt. You made me do those things.”
I gasp. The sound is thick, underwater. “What did I make you do?”
“It was nothing that would kill him, just some herbs to make him sick enough for you to need me. And Slice, well, you needed me then, too, didn’t you?”
Gregg’s skates. Finn’s health. My future. Blue turns to black in this ocean under the ocean where no light can penetrate.
Then his lips are on mine, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, pressing too hard, too fast. I twist my head to gasp for air. I heave oxygen into my lungs, panting.
“Alec, let me up. You’re scaring me. I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll apologize?”
“I apologize.”
“Hah.” A slap singes my cheek. The sting is vicious and rings across, under, through my skin. I twist my head, press it against the floor. “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you? Can’t you see I love you? You’re the one threatening to call the police. What am I supposed to do? Just walk away? I don’t walk away from love, Zephyr. I’m not a quitter. We planned a life together. We planned it. You don’t get to ditch that.”
He stands then, towers over me. I scramble to sit up, a trickle of blood seeping into my mouth.
“Who do you think you are to dump me? You’re lucky I even looked at you.”
I used to think I was lucky. Now I wish I never imagined what Alec smelled like or what his skin would feel like under my fingertips.
Time slows. His foot leaves the ground. It moves back, away from me. Gains momentum. Too quickly. His shoe thrashes into my ribs and I double over from the pain firing up the side of my rib cage.
And there is a brilliant flash of light, from the pain or something else I cannot say, because I am being pulled. Up. Up. By my hair. The pain is excruciating. Alec laughs, “I always like it when you wear your hair up.” And then, release. I hit the floor hard and I am grateful. Until another kick smashes against the back of my thigh.
My brain screams, but I can’t make a sound any louder than a moan.
“That’s it, Zephyr. Moan for me. Tell me you like it.”
Kick.
An anvil to my chest. I tuck myself into a small ball, bracing for the next jolt, fearing where it will land, how much it will hurt.
When I hear the sound of bone meeting bone I wince and tears squeeze out of my eyes. It takes a few seconds to realize the blow brought no pain. Am I numb? Is this the blessing of adrenaline? I scramble to the edge of the room, find my stick. I hoist myself to stand even though my entire body wants to give over to gravity and crumble. I try to see clearly, but the dark only sprays a heap of shadows.
I raise my stick, fix my grip.
There’s a moan.
Someone yells a muffled “Fuck!”
The unforgiving ice of air joins us.
Knuckles crack, a body falls. Two bodies on the ground together. Wrestling. Grunting. Punching.
“Zephyr, get out of here.” It is my father’s voice. Impossible, but here. Oh god. He can’t see me like this. He’ll kill Alec. And go to jail for it. I can’t ruin him too.
“Go to your car. Call for h—”
One figure rushes another. Strangles Dad’s word. I grab for the flashlight, shine the light along the two figures. One has gone limp. It is my father, his strong frame wilted.
Alec scrambles over the threshold and onto the porch. He comes for me and I drop the light. “Stay back.” I raise my field hockey stick over my shoulder. I can see he’s winded, that Dad slowed him. Blood trickles from his mouth, but I taste it on my lips. “How did you think this was going to end?”
He snickers. “You still don’t get it, Zephyr. This isn’t going to end.” And I hear the promise in his voice. The way I used to.
He leans forward, lunging for my waist as I draw my stick back, back, back, over my shoulder. My muscles ripple with familiar momentum. My hands lock into the grip. My left foot plants forward, knows its place. I lean in. I focus on Alec’s middle, the stomach. I can hit the wind out of him, make him choke on the airlessness. Then it is not my muscles that engage, but my heart, my memories—all of the want that Alec distorted rages inside of me and I ready.