“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he spits out the word like it’s vile and his eyes narrow, the colour becoming deeper and darker, “all those muscles didn’t help much.”

He raises a hand and touches your cheek, the thick stain of blood, not yet dried feels strange against your skin. You find yourself unable to move, your breath catches painfully in your throat, your heart races as he speaks again.

“That will be the last time he puts his hand on you, schatz.” He smirks down at you, gleefully.