His breathing slowed, but it felt forced, the muscles in his legs tense beneath my back. Thighs as taut as a fully laden clothes line.
He wouldn’t look at me as he mumbled something, half under his breath, that sounded like, “Sorry,” before he turned away to stare out the window.
“Let me go, you bastard!” I blared, feeling satisfaction as his hands shot up in scared surrender.
I tensed, testing each muscle for readiness as I prayed I could do enough damage to make him let me go.
I launched my body at him, clawed fingers first, reaching for his face. I wanted to scratch his eyes out.
If you’d like more than just a taste, there’s a reading of this chapter on YouTube: