Switch

big enough to come pretty close. We move together,

sliding as sweat makes us slick and fucking leaves him

unsteady. Something rips into me. A nail left from a picture

knocked off the wal when once I slammed a door. I can't

cry out, I can't breathe, he's done what I asked and taken

my breath again.

Austin's fingers close tighter and my fingernails dig deeper

and we both come at the same time. Only after that does

he put me down, his hands shaking, and then sink to the

ratty tied-rag rug that always manages to slip out of place

on the dirty hardwood floor. I don't quite fal, but I

colapse into a crouch.

My back stings. Hot blood drips steadily down my back,

over my ass and down my leg. I sip in the air and wait for

the world to stop rocking and my body to stop pulsing. It

seems to take a very long time.

He won't look at me.

He gave me what I wanted, but it's the last time I'll ask

Austin for anything for a long time. I move out the

next day, letting the bruises on my neck and stitches

on my back speak when I will say nothing. He gave me

what I wanted, what I needed, but the price was high.

Too high.

Someone came into the bathroom and entered the stal at

the far end. I couldn't stay there, holding back sobs and

trying not to breathe. I washed my hands and face again,

and looked in the mirror to be sure nothing was out of

place. I went back to my desk and got back to work,

wishing for a list to take up al my attention so I didn't have

to think about the past.

I was realy going to leave Paul. Move on. Move up.

But what about the rest of my life? Was I going to move

on and up from it?

Chapter 35

'Thanks for taking me.' I gathered up my purse and

sweater while my dad puled into the spot next to my car.

'I appreciate it.'

'No problem.' He drummed the steering wheel with his

fingertips and stared out the window at the hospital. 'So.

Your mom's in there, huh?'

I sat back against the leather seat of his BMW and

nodded. 'Yes. She has breast cancer, and there were

complications with the surgery.'

He flinched, his cheeks paling. My dad swalowed hard.

His fingers stiled and gripped the wheel. He didn't look at

me. 'How does she look?'

It wasn't exactly the question I thought he'd ask, and it

annoyed me. 'She looks like someone who's sick and who

almost died. How do you think she looks?'

'I meant how is she,' he said, but I didn't quite believe him.