stairs.
I'm aware of the fact that people are staring at us, watching Cole drag me
through the house like a damn rag doll. I'm thoroughly humiliated and I want to
flinch away from him but when we reach the stairs, I have to rush up them or
risk being physically dragged behind him.
Cole opens the first door on
the left and I catch sight of a couple having sex before he slams the door shut
and pulls me to the next door. This one must be empty because he all but shoves
me inside, causing me to stumble.
When I right myself and turn
to face him, I have mere seconds to brace for the fist that's coming at me before pain explodes across the corner of my mouth. I
manage to catch my footing, refusing to stumble from the blow. My tongue nips
out and I slowly taste the blood from my split lip. It's sick, but I can't help
but savor it because blood and pain has become my constant companion for years.
My eyes lift and I look at
Cole steadily, not moving. I've been through this type of violence too many
times to count. I am not going to wince, I'm not going to cry, and I damn well
am not going to cower before him.
Cole's eyes widen slightly as
he takes in my defiant stance before his gaze drops to the cut, where I'd
licked the blood off my lip. There is no doubt in my mind that he's noted my
reaction to the pain.
For a long minute he does
nothing, he just stands there as still as a statue. Suddenly he strides towards
me and I tense until he pulls me up against him, his lips crushing my own. Pain
flares where his lip presses hard against the cut but as his tongue slips into
my mouth, I can't help but respond. His arms are tight around my waist and I
lift my hands to move behind his neck. There's something...erotic about
the pain mixed with pleasure.
I'm so twisted inside.
As we kiss, I lose myself to
the sensations as I press closely against him. I can feel his body is hard at
the curve of my hips and I know he's as turned on as I am. Damn...this is wrong
on so many levels. I am making-out with a guy who has just punched me. I should
be furious right now...not practically climbing up his body.
I don't understand what I am
doing.
I find enough will power to
drop my hands from his hair where I'd knotted them tightly and pull away. Much
to my surprise, he lets me go and I back away as I try to pull myself together.
My hand reaches up and I wipe the blood that has smeared along the side of my
mouth before I reluctantly look at him.
He's staring at me, breathing
hard. His gaze drop to my split lip and he winces. “Shit,” he says hoarsely as
he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes full of self-disgust. “I didn't mean
to, Blayre . I was just so fucking pissed to see that
guy with his hands on you. And you let him!” he accuses, a flicker of hurt
flashing in his eyes.
I purse my lips together and
fight back the apology that wants to form. I'll be damned if I apologize now,
not after he hit me. It had been wrong to bait him but now wasn't the time to
discuss it. Cole makes a move to step toward me and I put a hand up in warning.
“Don't,” I say sharply.
He freezes where he stands
and slowly nods, not saying anything.
My lip is still bleeding and
I lick it as I try to pull my thoughts together. What's bothering me the most
about this situation is that I am not more upset about it. I know I should be but...I'm not. The fact that he'd just hit me doesn't make
me want to break up with him. I should be yelling at him, telling him I never
want to see him again, but that isn't what's running through my mind. Sadly,
violence has been a part of my life for years so this isn't anything new. The
only thing I can think of is that I am so incredibly messed up inside. Do I
even really know who I am anymore?
“ Blayre ...”
“What?” I finally ask
quietly.
He meets my gaze and his eyes
hold a hint of remorse in them. “I'm fucked up. I'm a messed up bastard. I
won't tell you to run, but if you knew what was good for you...you
I'm aware of the fact that people are staring at us, watching Cole drag me
through the house like a damn rag doll. I'm thoroughly humiliated and I want to
flinch away from him but when we reach the stairs, I have to rush up them or
risk being physically dragged behind him.
Cole opens the first door on
the left and I catch sight of a couple having sex before he slams the door shut
and pulls me to the next door. This one must be empty because he all but shoves
me inside, causing me to stumble.
When I right myself and turn
to face him, I have mere seconds to brace for the fist that's coming at me before pain explodes across the corner of my mouth. I
manage to catch my footing, refusing to stumble from the blow. My tongue nips
out and I slowly taste the blood from my split lip. It's sick, but I can't help
but savor it because blood and pain has become my constant companion for years.
My eyes lift and I look at
Cole steadily, not moving. I've been through this type of violence too many
times to count. I am not going to wince, I'm not going to cry, and I damn well
am not going to cower before him.
Cole's eyes widen slightly as
he takes in my defiant stance before his gaze drops to the cut, where I'd
licked the blood off my lip. There is no doubt in my mind that he's noted my
reaction to the pain.
For a long minute he does
nothing, he just stands there as still as a statue. Suddenly he strides towards
me and I tense until he pulls me up against him, his lips crushing my own. Pain
flares where his lip presses hard against the cut but as his tongue slips into
my mouth, I can't help but respond. His arms are tight around my waist and I
lift my hands to move behind his neck. There's something...erotic about
the pain mixed with pleasure.
I'm so twisted inside.
As we kiss, I lose myself to
the sensations as I press closely against him. I can feel his body is hard at
the curve of my hips and I know he's as turned on as I am. Damn...this is wrong
on so many levels. I am making-out with a guy who has just punched me. I should
be furious right now...not practically climbing up his body.
I don't understand what I am
doing.
I find enough will power to
drop my hands from his hair where I'd knotted them tightly and pull away. Much
to my surprise, he lets me go and I back away as I try to pull myself together.
My hand reaches up and I wipe the blood that has smeared along the side of my
mouth before I reluctantly look at him.
He's staring at me, breathing
hard. His gaze drop to my split lip and he winces. “Shit,” he says hoarsely as
he runs a hand through his hair, his eyes full of self-disgust. “I didn't mean
to, Blayre . I was just so fucking pissed to see that
guy with his hands on you. And you let him!” he accuses, a flicker of hurt
flashing in his eyes.
I purse my lips together and
fight back the apology that wants to form. I'll be damned if I apologize now,
not after he hit me. It had been wrong to bait him but now wasn't the time to
discuss it. Cole makes a move to step toward me and I put a hand up in warning.
“Don't,” I say sharply.
He freezes where he stands
and slowly nods, not saying anything.
My lip is still bleeding and
I lick it as I try to pull my thoughts together. What's bothering me the most
about this situation is that I am not more upset about it. I know I should be but...I'm not. The fact that he'd just hit me doesn't make
me want to break up with him. I should be yelling at him, telling him I never
want to see him again, but that isn't what's running through my mind. Sadly,
violence has been a part of my life for years so this isn't anything new. The
only thing I can think of is that I am so incredibly messed up inside. Do I
even really know who I am anymore?
“ Blayre ...”
“What?” I finally ask
quietly.
He meets my gaze and his eyes
hold a hint of remorse in them. “I'm fucked up. I'm a messed up bastard. I
won't tell you to run, but if you knew what was good for you...you
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