Author: Cheryl McIntyre

I shake my head, my eyes wide. I can’t think. I’m panicking, trying desperately to get a breath. I claw at his fingers. Kick out at his knees. He’s like a wall—immovable.

I reach out, my hand smacking along the desk, searching for anything I can use to get him off me. I feel the cup of pencils spill. Notebooks drop to the floor. The lamp tips sideways, falling out of my reach. My palm rolls over one of the pencils and I pick it up, gripping it tightly in my hand, and swing it blindly.

Loden groans in shock and pain as it sinks into his bicep, and then he releases me. I gasp, inhaling harshly before I shove him back. He stumbles, caught off guard, but catches himself on the dresser, and focuses on removing the pencil from his arm. I snatch my purse, fondling around inside, searching for my phone as I wrench the door open.

Loden yanks me back by my hair, swinging me into the wall like a ragdoll. I hit on my side and slide to the floor. He stalks toward me, fury and rage twisting his features. His eyes are cold as they stare down at me.

All I can manage is a weak, trembling whimper as he moves closer.

I dig my nails into the carpet, pulling myself onto all fours. And then I crawl toward the open door. If I can just get out to the common room, maybe someone will hear me. Maybe I can yell for help.

God, what if nobody’s here?

Please let one of my dorm mates be home.

Please.

Loden stomps down on my hand and I finally scream. He cuts it off short with a backhand, quick and hard, to my mouth. I try to curl in on myself, trying to hide from his next blow.

“You are so pathetic,” he spits. His hand is back in my hair, jerking my head up, so I’m forced to look at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I would let him have you?” I watch his fingers close, making a fist, and I close my eyes, knowing what’s coming next. I don’t know if I’m going numb or if it’s because I was expecting it this time, but when his knuckles make contact with my jaw, it doesn’t hurt as badly as I anticipated.

Maybe he’s too drunk.

I shove myself up, taking advantage of his inebriated state. My head snaps into his chin. He staggers back, his eyes glossing, either with pain or insanity.

I hope it’s pain.

I don’t wait around to find out. I lurch forward, running through the door. My vision blurs, but I don’t stop. I just need to make it through one more door.

Loden tackles me, sending me to the floor once again, and I cry out as the wind’s knocked from my lungs. My mouth strikes against the floor and I bite my lip. The metallic bitterness of blood fills my mouth. I keep trying to crawl forward, my fingertips working to drag me, but Loden’s weight is too heavy. Suffocating.

As Loden flips me over, I see one of the bedroom doors open. One of my dorm mates gasps and hurries back inside her room.

Why isn’t she helping me?

I need help.

Please.

Help.

“You fucking worthless bitch. You’re going to pay for that.” He’s sitting on my chest, one hand wiping at the blood dripping from his mouth, the other clenching my throat. He smears his blood across my face, pressing hard into my cheek. I close my eyes out of instinct when his fingers come too close.

Is that knocking? I can’t be sure. My hearing is coming and going, replaced with a humming, growing louder the longer I go without air.

Oh, please let someone be here to help me.

“Look what you did.”

He beats my head into the floor. “LOOK what you DID,” he screams, his blood and saliva spraying in a hot mist across my face. I squirm, struggling beneath him, and try to hit him, but I can barely form a fist.

I can’t breathe.

Air. What a precious gift I always took for granted.

This is how I’m going to die.

Oh, my God. I’m going to die.

My eyes are wide, pleading, as I stare at Loden. He has a cruel smile plastered on his face and I know he’s not going to show me any mercy. Darkness begins to invade my sight as my eyes droop, feeling heavy.

And then his hands are dragging along my skin, clawing, trying to cling to me as he’s propelled backwards off me. A blur dashes over top of me, but I’m coughing, choking. My eyes fill with tears that fall quickly as I crabwalk, skittering away, not even sure which way I’m going.

I wheeze, gasping for air several times before I can finally fill my lungs.

Hands touch my face and I scream, slapping them away. My legs lash out, kicking frantically.

NO. Don’t touch me. No more.

No more.

No more.

“Annie. It’s me.”

I blink, trying to clear my eyes. Chase.

He touches me again, brushing the hair out of my face. He inhales sharply, his eyes darkening in a way I’ve never witnessed before. I draw back as he pushes himself to his feet.

He walks deliberately over to Loden, who is grunting and moaning on the floor, and lowers himself on top of his chest.

And then Chase is gone, replaced by someone so terrifying, I can’t recognize him any longer.

46

The Red

Chase

As soon as I hung up with Annie, I had grabbed my keys and headed out the door, unable to wait the fifteen minutes I committed to.

I stepped out of the elevator, grinning, excited to take Annie out for our first real date. The door next to Annie’s dorm room opened and a girl came out, looking around, her expression confused, concerned.

“Did you hear screaming?” she asked as I passed.

A cold panic streamed through my veins and not bothering to knock, I tried to turn the handle. I pounded my fist against the locked door before looking back at the girl.

“Did it come from this room?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

I pounded again and then began kicking, desperate to get inside. My heart was racing as adrenaline took over.

“Amanda has a key.”

“Who?” I panted desperately.

“The RA.” She pointed two doors down and I saw the name plate.

Praying she was in, I banged on her door. Every second that passed was torture. Nobody was answering Annie’s door, which wasn’t normal. I knew something was wrong. I felt it. And I was helpless, frantic, and terrified all at once.

The RA acted quickly, opening Annie’s dorm room door for me, knowing I wasn’t fucking around.

And then I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. I think I told her to call the cops as I stared at Loden, sitting atop of Annie, his hands locked around her throat.

Strangling her.

I don’t remember making the choice to tackle him. I just know I wanted him off her and as soon as he was, I hit him, making sure he stayed down. Then I went to Annie. The terror in her eyes, the startled scream from her throat—raw and agonized—the way she scuttled back, swinging unseeingly at me…I’ll never forget that moment. My heart shattered seeing her like that. On the floor, blind with panic. I choked on her name, trying to make her see me.

And then I saw all the damage Loden caused. Inside and out.

Now all I know is I want to kill him.

I have tunnel vision. That’s the only way I can describe it. I can’t see his face anymore. The only image in front of me is the memory of his hands on her. Something flips, and I get a flash of her face. Of the terror and panic in her eyes.

The faint smack of skin hitting skin resonates in my ears, but it sounds far away. My hand stings and it fuels my anger.

I’ve never felt like this in my life. Never. Nothing else has ever made me this way—this angry. I don’t think anger even comes close to describing what’s happening inside of me right now.

I’ve heard the saying: “Seeing red.” I never understood it until two minutes ago. My sight actually changed. It was a purely physical reaction I had no control over. Everything darkened. And then everything was red.

So red.

There’s a ringing in my ears, accompanied by a whooshing—my blood pressure or adrenaline drowning everything else out. My face is hot. My hand is starting to hurt less. I register all of this.

But I still can’t see his face, even as my fist makes contact over and over.

And over.

I want to kill him.

I’m going to kill him.

I can’t stop.

I don’t want to stop.

As my hand slams into his flesh, it doesn’t feel like I’m striking hard enough. I strain the muscles through my arm, trying to put more pressure behind each hit. I need to hurt him. He needs to feel pain. Pure. Fucking. Agonizing. Pain.

Something touches my arm. I shake it off, needing to continue my assault. Pressure on my back gives me pause for half a second. I cock my head to the side, nostrils flaring as I try to catch my breath.

I meet Annie’s wide eyes. Take note of the tears streaming unendingly down her face. Her bruised face. I turn my attention back to the limp pile of bloodied flesh and broken bones beneath me.

He bruised her face. He made her cry.

He hurt her.

He fucking hurt her.

I raise my hand, popping my arm back. It shakes. My whole body is vibrating. I can’t stop it. It’s the merciless rage roiling through my veins.

“Chase, please,” Annie chokes. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”

My eyes flick down to his chest. His arms lay limply across the floor where my knees are positioned on each side of his torso. Annie’s right, it doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

Something catches in my throat, but all I can think is…Good.

“You care after what he did to you?” I ask, my voice coming out unwillingly ferocious.

She moves to my side and I look up at her. My chest is heaving and sweat trickles down my temples. I let my eyes find her face again. Take in the red and purple skin there. My gaze lowers to her throat. Scarlet fingerprints line her neck. I clench my fist and narrow my eyes. My jaw is set so tightly it feels like I could break teeth.

Annie shakes her head, her blood-splattered blonde hair clinging to her neck. “I’m not worried about him,” she says, her tone slow, careful. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m not the one he…” I trail off, not able to speak the words. More images fire through my mind’s eye—Annie’s body pressed to the floor, pinned beneath his weight, his hand clutching her throat. Her lips were blue. God, her lips were fucking blue and he wasn’t stopping. Her fingers curled into small, loose fists, as she weakly tried to fight him off. And the sound…

I flinch as Annie’s hand rests on my shoulder. “This isn’t you,” she whispers. It comes out sounding like a plea. Like she’s begging me to be different. To be somebody else.

But this is me. I know, because I’m doing it.

This isn’t the first time I’ve hit someone for Annie.

I protect what’s mine.

“Chase.” My name quivers through her lips and I drop my arm. I push up to my feet and the small gathering of students, crowded outside the open door, finally catches my attention. They’re all staring at me with mixed expressions. Fear, confusion, repulsion. I know what they see when they look at me. The hair and tattoos. The freak that used his bare hands to tear apart the golden boy.

A girl has her hand over her mouth, her eyes focused on the gruesome mess at my feet. Another closes her eyes to block the sight. And another can’t stop shaking her head.

They begin to part, moving to the side as campus security pushes through. I step back and hold up my raw, blood-covered hands as prompted.

“Chase?” Annie repeats my name and I offer her a tight smile.

“I’m good.”

My hands are jerked behind me, cuffs placed securely on my wrists, and then I’m shoved through the doorway. I’m guided down the hallway, past gaping students.

I hang my head so I don’t have to look at them—I just don’t have the energy to address their silent questions. Not because I’m ashamed of what I did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I feel no disgrace for beating the life out of that sadistic piece of shit.