//CLARA//
I stared up at him, my breath hitching. I felt a single tear escape and track slowly down my bruised cheek.
Bartholomew's gaze dropped to it. A sick, fascinated light flickered in his eyes.
His hand knotted in my hair, pulling tighter until I felt strands snap at the root. His other hand remained iron-clad on my jaw, forcing my head back, exposing the pale column of my throat.
I tried to jerk away, but the pain kept me frozen. Every movement only made him pull harder.
Then, he leaned down. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting the sting of another blow, but what came was infinitely worse.
I felt his breath first, sour and stale.
Then the wet, sandpaper slide of his tongue against my skin.
He licked the tear right off my cheek. The slow motion made my stomach heave with revulsion so thick I nearly gagged. I wanted to scream, to bite him, to tear his throat out, but the lightheadedness from the slap was winning.
