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I wondered how many times this had happened. How many times Bria, or anyone else here, had touched him in ways he didn’t want to be touched. How many times he had he gotten so drunk, where he was oblivious to whose hands were on him and whose lips were on his. If I hadn’t been here, how far would this have gone?
My adrenaline soared through the roof as I paced the dorm room cleaning because I couldn’t sit still, and I had lost my chance of leaving already. Isaac was still passed out, hanging off the end of the mattress. Maybe when, or if, he woke, we could help each other out of here.
Eventually, my nerves calmed, and I took a seat on the floor beside the mattress. My eyes grew heavy as I fought to keep them open. Even though my fingers ached to scratch Ollie’s back and swipe my hand through his hair, I was afraid to touch him. He lay on his side as he rested his hand under his head beneath the pillow. I admired his slightly parted lips, soft pink and perfectly made, and the small freckle off to the side of his mouth. What was it about him that made me do these crazy things?