But I have done much, much crazier things.
This time, my acquiescence doesn’t soften the blow of what he premeditatedly had in store. Stoney’s thick hand launches up to my face and he grips my jaw, fingers and thumb pressing so hard that my lips purse and pop open right along with my eyes. When his opposite hand comes into my peripheral vision, I get the first inkling of what he is about to do.
The room spins as my body lapses into panic mode. But he was ready for that. Of course he was. Instead of his hand gripping my jaw, he pushes to a stand, slams me against the desk, and wraps his fingers around my neck. I scream from between a clenched jaw and pressed lips, but my effort to keep my mouth shut tight is of no use; he pries his finger and thumb between my lips, yanks my mouth wide, and shoves a bitter pill to the back of my throat.
Just like that, my five months clean goes down the drain.
He lets me go just as quickly as he flung me backward. Arm outstretched, he points to the couch. “Have a seat. You’re stuck in here with me for the next half hour so you don’t try to purge it.”
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of conversation. I want to scream “What is it?!” and “Why?!” but my practiced mask goes on, and I wait.
In less than thirty minutes, I’ll know exactly what he gave me anyway.