The drummer’s arms wrapped around her. He gently pulled her closer as her face grazed his leather jacket. He was sympathetic. He was trying to be nice. And, he was honest, unlike Kevyn. He stroked the back of her head, cupping it in his hand. She looked up to tell him she was okay now. Up close, she saw he was much older. Fine lines spread from the outer edges of his eyes and he hadn’t shaved. He tilted his head, paused, then pressed his lips against hers. She shifted back, but was trapped. Her arms hung at her side. His hands slid down her back. Too low. She swiveled and leaned away, but his arms drew her in tighter, boxed in, trapped. Like being pinned under the covers again. When he leaned in, she turned her head aside. She smelled beer as he pushed his lips onto hers.
Her hands flew up between them, against his chest, and shoved him away. She heard screaming. She was screaming. Her throat burned, but she couldn’t stop. He moved a few steps away, a look of confusion on his face.
“What the hell? I thought—”
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