'Cause it makes me that much stronger

Makes me work a little bit harder

It makes me that much wiser

So thanks for making me a fighter

Made me learn a little bit faster

Made my skin a little bit thicker

Makes me that much smarter

So thanks for making me a fighter

"Fighter" -Christina Aguilera

Tomas

Of course it's him. As if this night can't get any worse. Obviously the Mother is playing some sort of sadistic game with her life, because there stands Tomas, the literal last person in Prythian she wants to see. Ever.

"Nesta. Baby," he slurs. The reek of stale cigarettes and cheap tequila makes her want to vomit. "I miss you so much."

Nesta doesn't have time for this. Not that her talk wth Cassian can't wait a few extra minutes, but she doesn't have the want or will to waste her breath talking to her lowlife ex.

The bathroom door slides closed with a deafening snick, leaving the only way out to run past him. Down the corridor, around a corner, and back into the crush of bodies on the dance floor. There must be another bathroom somewhere in here, she thinks, for the hallway to be so deserted in such a busy club.

She swallows, trying to shut out the memory of what he'd said the last time he'd seen her, the vile promises that he'd sworn he would do if he ever found the two of them alone in a dark alleyway. Nesta fights the urge to cower, to tremble before him. She attempts to duck around him, but as drunk as he is, his reflexes are still lightning quick as he moves an arm to block her path. Still she stands tall, stepping back like a lioness about to stalk prey, as though he hasn't phased her.

Bile builds at the back of her throat as he looms closer. He runs a clammy hand over the bare skin of Nesta's arm and she wonders how many showers it will take for her to stop feeling dirty after this.

"I'm here with someone," she says, pulling away from his touch. "And he's going to be looking for me." Her voice is firm, commanding almost, even if inside she's quaking in his presence.

"He's not here now." Tomas winks and the motion is utterly too calculated, as if he did watch their exchange on the dance floor, as if he, in all his drunken stupor, saw through their charade and knows that Cassian isn't expecting her any time soon.

"Excuse me," she says, words biting through the air, and moves to push past him.

But again he's too quick, and Nesta realizes, belatedly, that the drunken act is just that, an act. Before she has time to draw breath she finds herself pinned to the wall. Tomas presses one arm across her chest and Nesta can barely breathe.

Her mind is drawn back instantly to the last time she'd been this close to him. The night they broke up. There's a scar over his left eyebrow that she didn't notice before. It's fairly fresh, and Nesta would place good money on it matching the engagement ring, her engagement ring, from where she'd accidentally backhanded him at the start of their fight. It wasn't long after that she chucked it at his face before fleeing to Feyre's townhouse.

She needs to get away. Needs to get away. Needs to get away. But how?

"What about the girl you're here with?" she asks. She knows its a desperate attempt to distract him, to keep him talking while she searches for a way out of this mess. If she can make it back to her sisters, the male presence alone at their table may deter Tomas. Who knows, maybe Rhys will have a chance to prove his dedication to her sister by coming to her aid.

"Amarantha?" he snorts, and then spits the resulting mess onto the ground. As if the sneer on his face and the disgusted tone of his voice didn't clue Nesta to how he really felt about the woman he'd been sucking face with not more than fifteen minutes prior, he adds. "That whore. She's probably slept with half of Prythian by now."

Her body is frozen, but her brain is scrambling, scrambling, scrambling, for some way out of this. For one fleeting second she almost hopes that Cassian comes after her, that he sees Tomas and flies into a rage, beats him to a pulp. It would be no less than what he deserves.

Tomas launches into what sounds like a well rehearsed rant about their doomed relationship, but she tunes his words out, knowing he's just spewing hatred at her, trying to tear her down. Instead she takes a calculated inventory of her chances of escaping this nonviolently.

"A year and a half," she finds him spitting, breath putrid, when she does snap back to reality. "I wasted a year and a half of my life, because you wanted some sort of commitment before you'd sleep with someone, and even after we got engaged, you still wouldn't give it up. Said you were waiting for marriage to give up your virginity."

"As if you weren't screwing other girls behind my…" Nesta spits back, but Tomas presses himself against her, harder, effectively cutting off her air supply.

"Why don't you just admit it, you want this? You always have." The words are bitter and mocking and send shivers down Nesta's spine at the cruelty of them.

"I've never wanted you," she gasps as the pressure on her chest eases a bit. "You're not worthy to even look at me."

Some part of her had known no future lay with him. Knew about his hateful father, and that he did nothing to prevent the man from beating his mother. She'd barely let Tomas kiss her when they were together, and that day when she had ended it, he'd…

The sound of her tearing top…

Only this time it's not in her nightmares and cold air brushes across her exposed chest. She looks down in a panic. He's torn her shirt, one hand desperately attempting to make it's way into her bra and the other already undoing the buckle to his belt.

He expects her to be a meek mouse, to take whatever he's about to do to her. Because she never spoke up, never questioned the rumors she'd heard about his family until it was too late, and last time she'd been utterly unprepared for the rage.

Something in her snaps.

And this time, this time, she's more than prepared. A year of self defense training at her local gym kicks in and it's Tomas' turn to be caught completely by surprise.

Nesta's clawing and scratching at his face. Nails dig into his skin and she feels the pop as they break through, making him bleed. He shifts his free hand up into her hair and yanks on it, hoping that she'd let go. It doesn't work. One of her legs breaks free and loops around the back of Tomas'. She gives a tremendous shove, and it knocks him off balance.

But it's not enough to completely knock him off his feet. He stumbles backward, and one of his hand grabs onto her shoulder. Its hard enough to leave bruises on her pale skin and drags her along with him. She's ready for it though, and lets his momentum carry her forward. Forward, driving a knee straight into his groin while the heel of her hand smashes up into his nose. There's a sickening crack and Nesta knows she's broken it.

"You bitch," he hisses, but Nesta draws her fist back, and lands one more punch directly to his battered nose.

A thud resounds through the hallway as Tomas' body hits the floor. He groans pathetically, but makes no move to get up. She gives him another kick to the stomach and refusing to turn her back to him, scrambles away from him to the nearest wall.

Nesta braces herself on her knees breathing heavily and takes stock of herself and her surroundings. Her shirt is torn irreparably, it hangs open to her naval, and there's a gash that runs from the bottom of her bra to the middle of her stomach, from where he must have scratched her. There's a pain on her neck. She runs a gentle finger over it and realizes he must have bit her in the struggle. The wound is shallow just enough to draw blood, but Nesta knows that it won't leave a scar.

Her breath comes in pants as she gazes down at Tomas' prone body. He's not going to be getting up for a long, long, while.

She's free. She's free. She's free.

She hears a noise from the end of the hall, and her head snaps up to meet a very familiar pair of hazel eyes.