Slam my hand hard on the wall next to your head. Lean in, knees locked, body angled, off-balance with false authority (as always).
You strike, one hand pushing breath from my chest, clammy grip on my upper arm. Twist me. Throw me; back me up into door rattling in its frame. Thrust teeth in my neck.
I’m fish hooked, yours.
Trace my neck. Pull my ribs and sink me to the floor. Hold me down. Dig into my skin. Just need bruises on my wrists and forearms. Squirm; want to buck you off.
I—tremble.
I—speechless.
Curl my fingers around your thumb: reassurance where none exists.
-Arky
