Seven Minutes.

The door closed.
Her uncomfortable feeling was all too obvious, their history producing an elephant so large it couldn’t possible fit into the room.

He rubbed his hands against the back of her head, the familiarity of his touch bringing chills to her neck. As he brought his lips to hers, she protested. She no longer had feelings for him. She was not okay with this.

He stared.

“I never stopped loving you.”

His touch turned into a grip. The hand previously in his pocket sped up to cover her mouth. He started to unbutton the front of his pants.

She screamed as loud as she could, to no effect. Not only was his hand muffling her voice, but the closet was soundproof. The host had made sure to make a point of that.

Pushing her against the wall, he placed a chair against the door, under the knob.
There was no way for anyone to get in.

The slowest, hardest seven minutes of her life passed.
At the 15 minute mark, her friends, decided to give them their “privacy”.

After 20, he let her go.

“Tell Nobody.”

View this story's 15 comments.