Angelina seethed, yanking her wrist out of his grasp and shoving him away. “Y-you don’t know anything! You’re just a big-talk, smarmy git!” she spat. Shaking, she brushed past him, heart pounding. I am not broken, she told herself fiercely.
“No, you’re not,” he muttered determinedly. Barty reached out and grabbed Angelina’s arm, pulling her into him. He wrapped his arms around her torso, arms and all. He pressed his nose to her collarbone and then up her neck. “Oh,” Barty whispered into her ear, “but you are broken, aren’t you…?
“Poor little Angelina, all broken inside…. I bet they used to call you Angel, didn’t they? Tsk, tsk…. Poor little Angel….”
Angelina shivered, her breath coming faster. She struggled against his arms with all her might, but she felt oddly drained. She was a Quidditch Chaser. What’s more, she was Captain. But she was at a sore disadvantage here. Panic flooded her for a moment and she thrashed about in his arms, trying to escape.
"Let go of me, now!” she screamed. Yes, Angelina, because screaming and demanding always works in stories, she thought wryly in the back of her mind. “Don’t touch me! HELP! SOMEONE!” There was a faint, dying hope that someone might hear her cries. But it was dark, cold, and late—the odds were against her.
20 Notes/ Hide
- not-doctor-barty reblogged this from captain-angie and added:
- captain-angie reblogged this from not-doctor-barty and added: