Page 79 of Hate Like Ours

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“Why are you really here? Is something wrong?” I ask in a timid voice. I know I shouldn’t feel sorry for him because of how he treats me, but something about him tonight is just filled with vulnerability. I mean, if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have spent the night.

He would have made sure that he left before I even woke up so I wouldn’t know he was here. Now that I think about it, I wonder how many times, if at all, he’s been here and I just never knew. Most of the time I know because he uses it to taunt me, to let me know he can get to me anytime he wants to.

“Don’t act like you know me because you don’t!” he grunts. “And don’t try to worm your way into knowing my business!”

I can never seem to figure him out, but I desperately want to. Maybe if I do, I’ll be able to predict his moves. He’s like this being that always seems so out of reach to me. I want nothing more than to peel away his layers and see what’s there at the core of him.

“Why were you at the game last night?” he growls.

“Because I wanted to go. Everyone was there, so I didn’t see why I couldn’t go either. I wanted to see the oh-so-great Knox play,” I drawl in a sarcastic tone. All the weird and fuzzy feelings I felt earlier, are now gone.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’re my possession and you don’t do shit without my permission?” he questions in a hard tone.

“Well, forgive me, asshole, but how am I supposed to contact you when I’m too low in the hierarchy to even have your number? Besides, you don’t own me! I can go wherever the hell I damn well please!” I snap at him.

“Keep telling yourself that, slut! Now what I really want to know is why you were hanging out with that tool?” He growls his question at me.

“None of your business,” I snap.

You know, I think this is the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever experienced. We’re having a full-on fucking conversation and he hasn’t stopped fucking me yet.

“Don’t make me hurt you! Answer the fucking question!”

“Geez! He’s my fucking friend, dickhead!”

“You aren’t allowed to have any friends!” he mutters through clenched teeth.

“Oh that’s fucking rich! You don’t get to decide that. You already took away the one friend I had. Isn’t that fucking enough for you?” I scream at him.

“No it fucking isn’t! I want you to hurt. God! I want you to fucking hurt so bad!” he yells at me. “You shouldn’t fucking exist, yet here you are!”

His words send an arrow straight to my heart as pain sears me from the inside out. I use all the strength I have to push him off of me. I manage to get him off because he wasn’t expecting the move. The anger in me makes me lunge for him and I scratch and claw at him, putting all my effort into it.

We’re tangled up in the sheets as I try to get away from him after I’m done trying to claw at him. He’s too strong so I only manage to get a few scratches in. He grabs my hands and pins me down onto the bed with him looming over me again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I scream at him as the pain courses through my body. “Why do you keep wishing me dead or wishing that I didn’t exist? If you want it so bad then fucking do it already and get it over with! Otherwise, just leave me the fuck alone!”

I do the one thing I swore I’d never do in front of him which is cry. Right after the last word leaves my mouth, I break down into sobs. I can feel his stare on me but I don’t care. I can’t control the tears.

“I—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Just fucking leave, please! You already got what you came here for. You fucked me literally and in the head. If that was what you came to do then you succeeded. I don’t have anything else in me to give you right now, so please just fucking leave! Murder me if you want to and just fucking get it over with. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living like this, trying to survive you. I’m barely managing to fucking do it,” I cry through the gut-wrenching sobs.

In an instant, he’s off me. He backs away from me like I just burned him or maybe it’s in disgust. Who the hell knows? I can’t bring myself to care. He quickly gets dressed and slips out my door. I curl up in a ball and sob until my eyes are sore from crying.

I need my pills to take the pain away and make me feel good. I get up and walk into my bathroom and grab two Percocet from the drawer and then walk back into my room. I grab the bottle of water from my nightstand and gulp it down along with the pills.

I move to the side of my bed and sit on the floor, still half-naked. I can’t seem to care right now. I can feel his cum leaking out of my pussy but again, I don’t care. All I care about is the buzz I’m starting to feel.

I pull out my notebook that I usually draw in and begin drawing. I continue even when I start to feel blissed out of my mind and high. The only thing I’m aware of is my hand moving along the page and nothing else.

The sun has been up for an hour by the time I’m done. I’m exhausted and all I want to do is crawl into bed again and never wake up.

I look down at the page in front of me and all I see is him. It’s a drawing of him from when he was hovering over me earlier. He’s pretty, but in my drawing, right behind his beautiful face, is the outline of a monster.

Because that’s what he is—the monster in my story, and my drawing represents that clearly. It shows how the pretty face can hide the ugliness. Too tired to do anything else, I push all my stuff under my bed again and then crawl into it, where I let the darkness pull me in.


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