Somehow, every creak of the floorboards under your feet, every breath, every thud you make against the floor, seems a thousand times louder. Perhaps it’s your guilty conscience, making you hear things. You aren’t so sure. What you do know is that your adrenaline is pumping hard enough to make your hands shake. You really can’t believe you’re about to do this with him of all people.

You’ve always been a good girl, never one to rebel or talk back. You stayed out of trouble, you were polite—you were his complete and utter opposite. He was mean, harsh, cruel—rules meant nothing to him. As soon as he laid eyes on you, learned the full extent of your naivety, he started to itch with the urge to corrupt you. You were a sweet girl now, but you wouldn’t be for much longer.

He’d become friends with you, and slowly started to work his way into your head. A puff of a cigarette here, a tiny sip of alcohol there—tonight is the biggest step he’s taken so far. Convincing you to sneak out. He didn’t think you were actually going to do it, but as he looks out of his car window to your living room window and sees you halfway out of it, he chuckles to himself.

You look scared half to death, and you immediately make a run for the car. He drives off straight away, trying not to tease you for the fact that he can hear your heart beating against your ribcage. “Well? How does it feel?” He says with a smirk, resting one hand on your thigh as his other turns the wheel. “Feel bad yet?”