Chapter 4 - The View from the Floorboards
Clara couldn't breathe.
Her lungs fluttered, desperately trying to pull oxygen past the shock of the impact.
She propped herself up on her elbows.
The broken stem of the wine glass dug into the heel of her palm.
She didn't feel the cut.
She only felt the heat radiating from the massive man towering over her.
From the floor, he looked like a grey mountain blocking out the ceiling lights.
She smelled his cologne. Heavy musk and stale cigar smoke.
Her fingers trembled against the wet wood.
The white fabric of her shirt clung to her ribs, stained a deep, violent purple.
She scrambled backward, her rubber soles squeaking against the wet floor.
She pulled her knees to her chest, curling into the smallest shape possible.
Her dark eyes were wide, frantic, darting from the broken glass to the man's polished shoes.
She opened her mouth to speak.
She tried to push an apology past the lump in her throat.
No sound came out.
May you like
Only a small, pathetic gasp.
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