Page 16 of Tormented
Don’t do it . . . .
What choice do I have? I head for the stairs, hoisting Abbey a little higher so she’s not weighing so heavily on one of the stitched gashes on my forearm. I reach the head of the stairs just as the damn bitch decides to come out of her sleep, limbs and all.
“What the hell?” she cries, tumbling to the floor as I fail to keep a grip on her flailing arms and legs.
“You passed out.”
“So you thought you’d just pick me up and do what?” Angry tears crest her cheeks.
“Put you in my bed, if you must know.”
“Oh my God,” she moans. “You fucking pig!”
“Not like that.” I run a palm over my face, exasperated. “I meant to keep you out of the way.”
“Because I was an embarrassment?” She nods bitterly. “I get it. Silly Abbey can’t keep her shit together.” The tears fall harder.
Dear Lord, make it stop . . . .
“Don’t cry,” I say. “I can’t handle bitches when they cry.”
Her face is a pure storm as she stands and straightens her skintight clothes. “So sorry to inconvenience you.”
What is her deal? What the actual fuck is her problem? Her words, her behavior, and the look in her eyes: they all contradict. I’m confused as fuck with her, more than I usually am when it comes to females.
I let my gaze drop to her round butt as she turns away to wipe her eyes, and the curiosity wins.
“Why do you fuckin’ dress like that?” I blurt. “You don’t want to be touched, and yet you walk around the fuckin’ place like a candy in a wrapper, beggin’ to be licked.”
Her eyes go wide, and her eyebrows peak. “Pardon?”
“The leather pants, the cropped shirt showing your flat-as-hell stomach, for fuck’s sake. Why?”
“I . . . .” She looks down at her clothes. “It makes me fit in.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, turning away. “Everyone else jump off a cliff, would you do it too?”
Show her what happens when she wants to fit in . . . . Show her what that kind of clothing invites . . . .
Seriously, dude. Fuck off.
“I’m just going to . . . .” She points down the stairs. “I need to go watch the bar.”
I stay rigid as she edges around me and makes her way down the first few steps.
“You need to change,” I manage to growl before she’s out of earshot.
“Why?” She stops, staring back up at me.
Such perfect lips . . . .
You don’t say.
“Because if you stay wearin’ that shit tonight, I can personally guarantee you’ll get in a whole heap of trouble that involves a lot more touchin’, in a lot more places.”
She blushes, and then spins to dash down the last of the stairs before I have a chance to say anything more.
This one is going to be so much fun to break . . . .