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Nine

He kept me at arm's reach, with his whole wrap pressing down onto my windpipe. If he wanted to show me he was in charge, that my life hung on a thread, that he could end me by snapping my neck with a quick movement of his wrist, I knew all that, and yet I chose to face him, to keep looking into his eyes, trying to find a way to thaw his icy heart.

"Please!" I begged. Holding onto his forearm and trying to pry me out of his grasp was useless; he doubled and tripled my strength and height. Standing on the tips of my toes did nothing; he adjusted and even pressed down further.

"Please, what?"

"I can’t breathe." The glint in his eyes, the emptiness in them—he enjoyed this. This was the first peek into his darkness; the sadistic bastard had finally made an appearance.

Everything began to blur, the ringing started, and then I was back, my lungs expanding, welcoming the oxygen in. My good arm was pressed against his chest while keeping the rest of me at a safe distance. The idea of him be
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