But then I remember. I remember who I am. I remember what I’ve been through. My spine straightens and I look him directly in the eye. I’ll be damned before I let a kid with a man-bun manhandle me into submission.
Everything happens quickly, way too fast for him to react. I bend my knees a bit and spread my feet out to get a good, solid base. Instead of trying to pull my arm out of his grasp, which is basically impossible, I angle myself a bit closer to him. Then I swing the elbow of the arm he’s holding so it hits his forearm, drawing that hand near my shoulder. It’s a fast action, and the movement uses his grip against him. Since his wrist physically can’t bend that way, I break out of his grasp, relishing the feeling of freedom, and shove him away from me. It takes him by surprise, so I guess his grip on Kaitlyn slackens, and she pushes out of his grasp.
“Don’t do that again!” she barks at him, her voice shaky, then opens the passenger-side door and gets in, slamming it closed. She’s still going with him?
He’s about to say something when Kaitlyn starts honking from inside the car, trying to get his attention, to force him to get in and drive her home.
“Your time will come,” he says ominously, and then gets into the car.
I stand there as they drive off, trying to ignore the bad taste his words leave in my mouth.
My wrist is sore as I rub it, watching the car recede into the distance, knowing there’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow. A bruise that’s going to match Kaitlyn’s.