Love's Paradox

Chapter 35: Serendipitous Storm

When my eyes fly open, they're accosted with icy blue ones. A deep, primal need for survival awakens inside me and douses me in adrenaline. I claw at Ian's face as his body crushes me to the door. There's nothing but an empty shell behind that apathetic stare, which propels my mind to the grimmest of outcomes. Especially when my struggles provoke his need to possess.

Sirens continue to shriek in the background, an ironic soundtrack to my retching gurgles. The outer edges of my vision fade into an ominous black, stars blooming. But my focus remains on the sensation of Ian's hands tightening around my throat, the blood welling from the scratches I gouge into his face. My lungs cramp, and it dawns on me that he really will kill me if I don't stop him somehow.

Teeth clenched, I will my terror to morph into a hunger to live. I've finally built a life worth living and refuse to let Ian demolish it. I seize his shoulders for balance and kick him in the shin with the tip of my boot. He cries out and releases me, then hops around, hands cradling his shin. My shirt rides up as I slide down the door and heave in massive gulps of air. Each exquisite inhale burns so wonderfully. I flinch when my fingers gently trace my marred throat.

For those few precious seconds, I forget about the man looming over me until his socked feet nudge my leg. I stare up at Ian's sneering, damaged face and try to speak, but my bruised throat won't allow it.

"You little bitch." Ian's hands tangle in my hair, and he drags me down the hall.

My fingers dig into his hands, trying to force him to detach, but he refuses to relent. Instead, he hauls me toward the bedroom we used to share. Screaming pain slices into my scalp, and I scramble to my feet, punching, scratching, and kicking at him. But he treats me as if I'm nothing more than a disobedient dog.

Bastard.

The wind outside shrieks louder than my pleas for help, my throat burning with each failed cry. Ian tosses me onto the bed and straddles me. Raising my knees, I attempt to buck him off, but he only laughs with maniacal amusement, those damnable eyes raking over me. My shirt rips in the struggle until it's merely shredded pieces of fabric.

My jaw clenches, aches; tears blur my vision. He can't do this. I refuse to be pinned down and displayed for his every sadistic whim. My thrashing limbs, bucking torso, and pure determination only motivate his disquieting need to violate me. The contradiction leaves me without any viable options. Either I still myself and hope he'll stop, or I fight until my last breath and suffer his wrath.

Fuck this shit. I'm going with option two.

A burst of energy barrels through me, giving me just enough momentum to throw him off my body. Ian lands sideways on the bed, disbelief a swift mouth-opener before his nostrils flare, a guttural roar ripping up his throat. My brain battles to catch up to my brief liberation, then his fist soars toward my face. I scramble back, and he clocks me in the shoulder instead. The blow shoots intense pain into my collarbone, radiating deep into my chest, and an agonized cry catches in my swollen throat.

I back up on my elbows until there is nowhere else to go. Ian clutches my ankles and begins to drag me back to him. Taut lips accent his hardened face, exuding an alarming serenity. The terror electrifying my veins vanishes at his expression, a strange sensation shrouding me in the one sentiment that will determine whether I live or die tonight: hatred. A hatred so pure, so dark and violent, that it thunders in my ears, forging a single-minded focus. I will survive.

"Stop struggling!" he shouts.

I go limp and silent. The storm raging outside juxtaposed with the interior's sudden hush creates a hair-raising atmosphere with just a touch of skullduggery.