You Shouldn't Have Touched Me
1203 Words
Kendra's POV
Fischer smirked, biting down on his lower lip like I’d just flirted with him instead of stating a fact.
“Well, Doc,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “looks like we need to put on a little show for Loki.”
I followed his gaze to the bar. Loki was watching us, hunched over a glass of brown liquor, eyes dark and burning. My stomach dropped. The way he stared at me, I knew I couldn’t just walk out of here unscathed.
“If I leave you now,” Scott added, stepping closer, “he’ll take that as an invitation to finish what he started. He is going to slit your throat for causing him embarrassment.”
My breath caught. I was boxed in between a monster I knew and one I didn’t understand.
“Just a little performance,” he said, his hand lifting toward me. “To keep you alive. Shall we make it convincing?”
His fingers brushed the neckline of my dress, Alissa’s ridiculous, revealing outfit I should never have worn. It was backless, plunging in front, held together more by illusion than fabric.
“Don’t,” I whispered, too afraid to move, too stunned to resist.
But he dragged his finger slowly along the edge anyway, then gave a sharp tug. The fabric snapped slightly, the left side sagging down and exposing my strapless bra.
I gasped. “What the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Just stood there, calm as ever, watching me like he owned the air I was trying to breathe.
Then he smirked, his breathing heavier now, the warmth of it brushing against my cheek like a warning. His devouring eyes dropped to my chest, and I felt the weight of his stare like a touch I hadn’t consented to.
“You know what I’m doing,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted to do this since the day we met.”
His voice sank into me, curled under my skin. I froze, caught in some sick limbo between rage and disbelief.
But then, something worse happened.
A low heat stirred between my thighs, a traitorous bloom of desire I didn’t ask for. My body responded to his voice, his nearness, the thrill of danger that coiled like a snake inside me. I clenched my teeth, screamed at myself in silence.
No.
No, I would not be that girl.
I was a professional. A psychologist. A damn good one. And this was the man I’d warned the system about. He wasn’t just dangerous, he was a predator.
My hand moved on instinct, flying to my chest. I slipped it under the neckline of my dress, fingers fumbling beneath the strapless bra until they closed around cold steel.
My mother’s switchblade.
It trembled in my grip, so did I, but the feel of it grounded me. For the first time since this nightmare began, I didn’t feel powerless.
“Let me go, Mr. Fischer,” I said, trying to make my voice steady. It cracked anyway.
He only grinned.
His hand slid down my spine in one long, mocking stroke. I shuddered as his fingers grazed each vertebra like he was cataloging me.
He leaned closer, his lips near my ear, his breath warm and intentional.
“Are you okay, Doc?” he whispered.
That voice. That damn voice. It wasn’t concern, it was mockery, a tease dressed as care. And something inside me snapped.
Now, I told myself. Do it now.
“I told you to let me go!” I screamed.
I lunged, blade in hand, aiming for the side of his neck with everything I had—fear, rage, shame—all of it converging in that one motion.
But he was faster.
He caught my wrist mid-swing. The blade slipped in his grasp, slicing across his palm. A red line opened on his skin.
“Kendra!” he barked, voice thunderous now.
He seized my wrist with both hands and twisted hard.
Pain shot up my arm like lightning. I cried out, my knees buckling. My body followed the torque, instinctively trying to protect the fragile bones grinding in his grip.
The blade clattered to the floor.
He held me there, bent over, locked in his hold.
Then he laughed, a quiet, breathy sound filled with something crueler than anger.
“Clever girl,” he said. “Carrying a knife. Too bad you don’t know how to use it.”
Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them away. I was not going to cry in front of him. My body trembled with the fading rush of adrenaline, leaving pain and humiliation in its place. But I didn’t drop my glare.
I wasn’t going to break.
Scott picked up the dagger from where it had slipped out of my trembling hand. I watched him, heart hammering in my chest. For a moment, his face was unreadable, but then something shifted. The cruel amusement that had been there before faded away, replaced by a strange, almost stunned expression. His skin grew pale, and he looked at me with something that felt like disbelief.
“Where did you get this dagger?” His voice was low and serious, the playful tone completely gone.
I tightened my grip on the edge of my dress, trying to hold myself together. “It belongs to me. My mother gave it to me before she died.”
He stared at me as if I had just told him a secret he was not supposed to know. “Victoria is your mother?”
My heart skipped. “What? How do you know her name?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay strong.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness swept over me. The room seemed to spin and blur, as if I was standing on a boat tossed by rough waves. My vision wavered and darkened around the edges. I blinked rapidly, hoping to clear my sight, but it was no use. I felt my knees weaken and my whole body begin to shake uncontrollably.
“Kendra?” Scott’s voice came from somewhere close, full of concern. He stepped toward me, steadying me as I swayed. His arms caught me before I could fall to the floor.
I tried to speak, to tell him what was wrong, but the words would not come out. Instead, the memory hit me like a cold slap. The drink. I had taken only a small sip, even though every instinct screamed at me not to.
Now I know why. That drink was laced. I opened my mouth, desperate to tell Scott, to scream, to fight back, but my body betrayed me. No sound came. My limbs felt heavy and useless. My mind fogged over like thick smoke.
Scott held me tightly, keeping me from collapsing.
Just before darkness swallowed me completely, one last question burned inside my mind. Why had Alissa, my sister, allowed this to happen? And why did Scott Fischer know my mother Victoria’s name so well? What connection did they share that I had never been told?
Those thoughts were the last I had before everything faded into black.
- Writer
