Squeak

Unhinged

Jezebel

I'd never felt so cold in my entire life than I did at that moment, standing in my bra and panties, at knifepoint, in Erik King's bedroom. Many factors contributed to the coldness. The frigid air that billowed from the air vent I stood directly below. The thermostat in the hallway read 68, but as blasphemous as it sounded, Jesus himself couldn't convince me the temperature was anything higher than 48. Erik's calculative gaze pierced through my three layers of skin, muscle, and tissue—right down to the bone. I wanted desperately to cover my protruding nipples with my hand. I tried, but Erik threatened me. The coldness caused them to be erect and prominent against the cotton fabric of my bra, leaving nothing to the imagination. The silence was deafening within the four walls of the black gothic bedroom that had to be designed with Erik's black heart in mind. I hated that Erik's silence had a chokehold on me. It was my first time being so exposed to the opposite sex, and a part of me was seeking his validation. I wanted to know if Erik thought the same thing the girls in P.E. thought every time I dressed out.

Does he find my slightly pudgy stomach grotesque? Are the stretch marks that run the course of my lower waist and hips unpleasant to look at? Did my cellulite look like the disgusting cottage cheese they serve in the cafeteria?

Usually, I didn't pay the girls any mind. Their cutthroat words were nothing new; they'd been saying it for years. But for some reason, the thought of Erik agreeing with their statements nauseated me.

I'll never forgive him for this.

Five minutes elapsed when Erik made his first move. He pushed himself off his dresser and slowly began circling me with the knife still in his hand. My head followed his every move.

"Face forward," he demanded in a stern tone.

"E-Erik...you don't have to do this," I whispered, shivering like a furless polar bear in the tundra.

"What is it that I'm doing, Squeak?"

He made it back into my field of vision, but I knew better than to relax.

"You're humiliating me."

"Where did you get that crazy idea? I'm not humiliating you. I'm teaching you a lesson."

"Why do I need a lesson? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Can you answer a question for me, Squeak?"

"Yes," I replied breathlessly once the steel of his blade introduced itself to my skin.

"Do you believe everything my mother told you?"

"You were eavesdropping?" I asked in disbelief.

"I can't help it if I have good hearing. Now, answer the question," Erik demanded, tracing the plane of my collarbones with the tip of his knife. "Do you believe that I'll never love you and that you're my plaything? Do you believe you'll be stuck in a vicious cycle of affirmation and degradation? And please, don't insult my intelligence. Tell me the truth."

"I-I don't know. I'm still trying to figure out your motivation for pursuing me so...intently. I'm waiting for the punchline when you reveal it's all a big prank."

I jumped when Erik sliced the straps of my bra. My hands flew up to cover my exposed breasts.

"Drop your hands, Squeak," Erik growled in my ear.

"N-no." I was shaking like a leaf in a category one hurricane by that point. The shaking intensified when Erik tapped the blade against my hands.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Erik sang.

"You're special, Erik," I mumbled. His eyes raised in genuine shock.

"What makes you say that?" Erik challenged.