Battle

His question sends a sharp pain through my chest. The place we’re in is messed up.

“Honestly, I was. We had a wonderful relationship in the beginning. I don’t regret any of it. Not many girls can say their first time was with someone who loved them and made it special. Do you remember?”

His lips curve up as he remembers. “I wanted it to be perfect.”

“And it was,” I admit, because it’s the absolute truth. Wyatt arranged a hotel room after prom and when we arrived, there were candles and roses throughout. More than the room, and the thought he put into the night, was how he treated me. He was gentle, kind, and concerned, even when we woke in each other’s arms. It will always be a special memory. I cup his cheek. “I care about you, but we’ve grown apart. It happens. We’ve changed. We want different things—different people.”

He holds my hand to his cheek. “I thought I did, until I spent weeks in Chicago alone.” I remove my hand as he continues. “When I wasn’t workin’, all I did was think about you, and how I could make things right. I should have called, but I was tryin’ to give you some time.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s too late. I’m sorry.”

His eyes darken as he curls his fingers around my arm. He yanks me roughly against his chest. I wince when his other hand grips my face. It’s painful, but I’m afraid to fight back. Wyatt has a sweet, kind side, but he also has a nasty temper. He’s never hit me, but he’s thrown things and punched holes in walls. I’m not entirely sure what he’s capable of.

“Don’t you miss me?” he asks, releasing his grasp on my face.

I refuse to cry, but my voice shakes. “Sometimes, but only our friendship.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.

” He jerks my arm, his fingernails close to breaking the skin. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

My legs tremble. I want to scream, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth.

“Say it!” he screams.

“You’re hurtin’ me,” I cry out.

His grip on my arm tightens. “Yeah, well you’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

“Please…Let go of my arm.” I’m pleading with a wall. My only choice is to say what he wants to hear. “I don’t love you anymore.”

“Yes you do. I know you do. You just need a reminder.” He ensnares me in both of his arms, clutching me tightly to his six-foot frame. At five-feet, two inches, and a whopping hundred and fifteen pounds, I don’t stand a chance of escape.

He crashes his lips to mine. I try to turn my head, but he grabs my face and holds it steady. Fury stares back at me as he bends his head down to kiss me again. I scream and try to fight, but I’m defenseless.

Nothing deters him, not even when I kick his shins. I attempt to knee him in the groin, but I miss. He laughs as his sloppy tongue moves all over my lips, seeking a way inside. Tears form and start to leak from my eyes.

A growl of a motorcycle booms like thunder through the parking lot. The throaty sound grows louder by the second. The bike screeches to a halt in front of us, but Wyatt doesn’t appear to care. He won’t let go of my face, but he stopped trying to kiss me.

I can see the rider from the corner of my eye. Despite the helmet, I know it’s Battle. He dismounts the bike, removes his helmet, and places it on the seat. His eyes flash with rage as he charges toward Wyatt.

“Take your fuckin’ hands off her,” Battle yells.

Wyatt lets go of me and before he can react, Battle’s fist surges forward and connects with Wyatt’s jaw. I cover my mouth. My legs feel like cement, and I can’t take in a full breath.

Wyatt stumbles backward but maintains his footing. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. He wipes it on the back of his hand. “You must be the new guy.” Wyatt laughs maliciously. Battle stares back at him with rage, but Wyatt continues to twists the knife. “I’m the boyfriend. Why don’t you get lost? She loves me.”

My entire body trembles. The turn of events have stolen my voice.

Battle turns his head to me and I see how hurt he is in his daunting blue eyes. “I tell you how I feel, and you’re out with your boyfriend?”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Wyatt taunts.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Battle tells him. The warning in his voice makes Wyatt cower like the dog he is.

Battle returns his hurt gaze to me, his expression silently asking if it’s true. I still can’t speak. Shock tied my vocal cords in a knot. I hope he sees the truth in my eyes, because it’s all I can give to reassure him. His shoulders sag. He picks up his helmet, and climbs on the motorcycle. The bike roars to life, and he revs the engine several times, holding his helmet in his lap.

Wyatt places a hand on my shoulder, and says, “You’re better off without him.”