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Charlie
“What did you hear?” Stefan demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, wondering how the hell he’d gotten into my apartment. This was not the home-coming I was expecting.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The confrontation with my brother. What did you overhear?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” I said, more terrified of his laughter than if he’d yelled at me. It was sinister, foreboding.
“Tell me what you overheard and you just might make it out of here alive.”
“If you think I believe that then you’re a bigger fool than you look,” I said, my mouth spouting thoughts my brain begged me to keep silent about.
I whimpered, seeing stars from the force of the slap as I tasted my own blood.
Another scene from my favorite movie, Pretty Woman, came to me.
Why do guys always know how to hit a woman right across the cheek? Wham! And it feels like your eye is gonna explode. What do they do? Do they pull you aside in high school and show you how to do this?
This was the second time I’d been slapped by a man, and that’s exactly what it felt like. Maybe Julia Roberts’ character was right; there was some kind of training the evil men got. If only they came with a sign to warn you.
“Now let’s try this again. What did you hear?” Stefan demanded, his thumb and forefinger digging into my chin; the very spot his brother had kissed so lovingly only hours before.