Jackson raises his left arm, bending it and pressing his forearm tight against my neck.
The moment our bodies touch – he only had his hand fisted in my uniform before – it happens again.
My eyes fly open as the pulse pounds through the air, almost audible this time. Jackson’s eyes go wide as he stares down at his arm. Desperate, I snap my hands up, pulling at his arm – but, f**k, they do it again – my hands start to heat immediately when they come into contact with him –
“What the f**k!” Jackson shouts, but he doesn’t run this time, he leans in closer, cutting off my air with the pressure of his arm against my windpipe. “What the f**k is happening!? What – what are you!?”
I cry out in pain and fear as Jackson realizes again what he must have dismissed as his imagination before –
Tha
