Up in Smoke

  “Think of me like your secondary babysitter,” he hisses, placing his thin cold hands on my ankles. He pries my legs apart, and I flip over, trying to crawl off the end. “Fiesty. I like ‘em feisty.”

  I scream as loud as I can until my own ears hurt from the sound.

  “Smoke’s not here, darling. It’s just you and me.” I feel his knee on the mattress. “There, there now. It looks like you’ve had a rough day, let me make it better.”

  His grip around my ankle tightens. He uses his knees to keep my legs spread painfully apart. My sobs are silent because my voice is gone.

  “Let me see that pretty, pink pussy,” he moans, tugging at the