“I’m not afraid of you,” I state, moving to my tiptoes. His hand keeps getting tighter, and my knees threaten to buckle. “That’s your first mistake.” He gives me a cruel smirk that makes him look like the beautiful bastard he is. My hands grip his wrist that holds me in place. “The … second?” He’s almost cutting my air off. “Playing me...”
Confessions of a Bibliophile 