Less than Perfect, S. J. Evans [classic literature books txt] 📗

she backed herself all the way against the wall and shook her head. “I—I’m sorry, Bryan. I—” she stammered. It was too late for begging though.
He was down beside her in a moment, grabbing her chin forcefully so that she had to look at him. “It’s too late for that, beautiful.” He hissed. His eyes welled into the dark orbs they had always been before as he forced himself on her—his legs trapping her underneath him, his hands pinning her arms against the wall, and his lips forcing hers to kiss him.
She gagged in disgust and tried to turn her head away from him, but he only slapped her cheek, dizzying her enough to not fight against it for a moment. She kept struggling though, squirming from underneath him. She hated his taste in her mouth; it was just as revolting as Johnny’s. “Please,” she begged. “Please stop.”
He moaned against her lips, the pleasure gleaming in his opening eyes, and traveled down her neck, small kisses pecking against her suddenly ice-cold skin. Placing one hand over her mouth and one on her stomach, he kissed her aggressively, licking her skin.
No, not this, please not this again

, she cried in her head, every part of her twisting and turning to try to get free.
Bryan’s hand traveled up her chest and neck and to her cheek, aimed to hit again. The force of the blow threw her head against the wall painfully, cracking the skull. She whimpered, giving in a little to his menacing actions. She couldn’t fight him, he had gotten stronger and she had gotten weaker. It was a lost cause. She stopped fighting as much, squirming under his grip but nothing more.
“Like I have said before, you’re mine

, Skylar.” He whispered, the sickening satisfaction gurgling in his voice.
Skylar?

She wondered dimly, Johnny’s the only one who calls me that. How does Bryan even know about it?

He knew her full name, as twisted as it was, he knew her full name and he could have only gotten it from one source: Johnny

. But how

he got it was the question.
His hands ventured around her body, pulling at her sweater and lifting it away as she weakly fought against him again. She wasn’t about to give in, not again, not like that.
Finding herself, she managed to wiggle her hands free and pushed on Bryan’s chest. Her cries were stifled by his kisses, the taste of his mouth mixing with hers distastefully. She used to love his touch, his scent, his gentle kisses, but, that was a long

time ago. “Get off!” She shrieked, freeing her lips for one moment.
He only pushed harder, his lips crashing against hers. His hands traveled down her shirt, stopping at her stomach where he squeezed painfully and lifted her up, his body following along with hers. With one hand, he maneuvered his T-shirt off his body and tossed it.
She fought, trying to inflict some sort of inconvenience and pain on him, but failed as he kept her trapped between him and the wall. She wanted to be free, more than anything else.
He squeezed tighter and lifted her shirt up, his fingers fiddling with the ends as she winced in pain and humiliation. She tried to push him away, but, with one hand, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. With his other hand, he resituated them so that she was on the cold dirty ground and he was on top of her.
He pulled his lips away from hers, panting in exasperation, and looked at her. She was gasping for air, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at him with desperate crystal eyes. She glared at him behind those tears, falling into the pain all around her. She hated him; she felt nothing else. Everything she thought she could do to help was fading into the background and she no longer believed he would ever get the help he needed.
“What’s wrong, beautiful?” He asked her.
She looked away and whimpered. The pain in her stomach and arm was inflamed and irritated, the wounds stinging and pulsing. He ran his finger down her injured arm and she grimaced, flinching away from him.
He rolled her sweatshirt sleeve down, exposing her reddened wound. His face twisted into an expression of cold confusion. Instantly, he froze, his hand still on her arm.
“Bryan, please. You’re hurting me,” she pleaded, looking into his dark eyes.
He moved away a little, only to position himself on her legs as he rolled up her shirt. His fingers moved gently over her skin, something that seemed so foreign to what she had just witnessed. When he saw the second wound, he clapped his hand over his mouth and inspected the wound with big eyes.
She was hurt. And that was something he knew wasn’t right. Someone else had caused those wounds.
He looked at her, worries wrinkling his forehead, and crawled above her, planting his hands firmly on either side of her head. His back was arched, his knees on either side of her stomach, as he looked into her eyes and frowned. “What happened, Skye?”
She tried to move but he was all around her and his face was so close to hers she didn’t believe she wanted to try too much. “Get away from me Bryan,” she spat.
He sighed. “Please, Skye. I’m sorry about all this. I really just wanted to talk.”
“Sure looks like that’s all you wanted to do,” she scoffed, pressing her small hands against his chest. She could feel how tense his muscles were and it reminded her too much of Johnny. And that terrified her.
“Skye, stop!” He screamed at her, grabbing her hands with his. “Stop fighting me!”
She elbowed his other arm and he fell over, crashing on top of her. A scream echoed through the bathroom and she pushed him off of her with all the strength she had. She leapt to her feet and sprinted for the door, her body weakened and aching with pain.
She just about made it to the door before a hand clamped around her ankle and yanked her back to the ground. She stifled a scream and crashed against the ground, her knees scraping against the hard ground as her hands protected her head.
Bryan crawled over to her and rolled her over so that he had her pinned again, this time by her shoulders. “You’re not getting away from me that easily,” he said. Every part about him, his voice, his expression, and the tight grip he had on her shoulders, all displayed an upset man.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stopped fighting again, crying out as he kissed her again. All of his concern for her had been abandoned when she tried to escape.

Lethal

“Forget it, Vic. There’s nothing more we need to discuss.” Jules groaned, turning away from Victor.
Victor grabbed his arm quickly, the movement so quick it irritated Jules. “Where’s your girlfriend?” He asked Jules, looking him straight in the eye. There was all of the sudden something dark in his deep eyes, something dangerous

. “She’s not with Rachel.”
Jules looked at him, really looked at him, narrowing his brows. “She’s not my girlfriend, Vic.” He said sternly. But behind his strong delivery there was something saddening about it. Something communicating that he didn’t want that to be the case. He wanted there to be something more between them. He wanted the kisses to mean more on both ends. “But, what do you mean, Vic? They’re swimming aren’t they?” His tone was weary, remembering the way she hadn’t seemed herself.
“No. No they’re not.” There wasn’t a bit of emotion in Victor’s voice. He looked at his friend with a blank expression, sliding his gaze back over to Rachel a moment later.
Jules whirled around, his brows furrowing in distress. He searched for Skye, but just as Victor had said, she was nowhere around. “Where did she go?” He croaked. Suddenly he looked very unnerved, as if he knew there was something wrong going on.
“Don’t know, man. But I think your best guess is to ask Rachel.” Victor said dryly, sauntering forward.
Jules hurried through the hot sand, the tiny grains moving over his sandaled feet. “Rachel,” he said. He watched as she set the tanning lotion down and twirled around, fluttering her eyes tranquilly. She certainly didn’t seem to think anything was wrong. She seemed to be enjoying the weather and calm beach.
“Mm?” She murmured, looking up at him, squinting. As she blinked a few more times she smiled, noticing Victor coming from beside him.
“Where did Skye go?” Jules asked urgently. He looked nervous. His hands trembled a bit and his eyes gave away a worried hint in them.
“She went to get a drink,” she said. “We had a little squabble and it seemed she wanted some clear air, to refresh her thoughts maybe.” She stood up, brushing the sand off of her tan legs.
“Where’s the drinking fountain?” He asked, with more urgency keen in his voice.
“Over by the restrooms,” she flicked her index finger in the direction of the building. “Why do you ask? She’s fine, I’m sure she’s just clearing her mind.”
He frowned, squinting and spinning himself in the direction of the restrooms. “Something’s just not right here,” he mumbled, quiet enough so that Rachel and Victor wouldn’t hear him. Clearing his throat, he started walking towards the building, a dark and unnerved feeling tugging him forward. He didn’t stop moving, his pace quickened, he was clearly on a mission. He needed to know if she was okay or not. To see it for himself.
He knew that she could have just wanted some space, she was famous for that. But there was something more inside of him that was telling him—no,