Re: Venetian penthouse: Sam & Cris
Bullshit. He'd started it in the bathroom, that annoyed look and the twitch in his fucking jaw. Anger, and that fucking game like he was crawling into bed quiet to hug her; he was never quiet. She asked, but he screamed without saying a word, yeah? He yelled that shit was wrong, and he did it with his body language, and she was young and cotton-slow, but she wasn't a fucking idiot. Yeah, ok, he wanted to do this now. Fine, and she wasn't going to cower. Cowering wasn't her. Cowering was bullshit. And maybe that was bullshit, because she cowered plenty when she was scared. But she wasn't scared of him, and that was the difference. No way. No way was he getting the upperhand, because she had a feeling she'd never get it back, not with this guy.
She didn't care that he hissed, and there was something basely satisfying about the sound of her palm impacting his skin. "IT WILL BE A REPEAT. I'm a fucking mess. I'm a fucking mess, and that's what makes it a fucking repeat. You already see me as an addict first, as a prostitute first. I already stopped being a person to you. That took four fucking months. NO! Less, yeah? Because you thought that a month ago, so don't tell me shit doesn't repeat, because it ALREADY DID. You said it yourself. You said it in your bedroom, yeah? You can't wipe that away. It happened. It happened. It fucking happened." And she didn't sound angry in that moment. In that moment, it was just hurt and fucking regret, yeah? For something lost that she knew she would never be able to get back. Because she was young, but she wasn't an idiot.
She didn't care about Abuelita or the guards. She didn't fucking care if security dragged her out of the room screaming. None of it mattered just then, and she was red-faced and caught in the moment, shudders and tremors, and the twitching that indicated the beginnings of a seizure. But just that, nothing more, and he said she was in Neil's bed-
"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. You brought me here. You both fucking brought me here. I didn't crawl here on my own. I fucking woke up here. You can't hold that shit against me. You can't fucking hold that shit against me."
He grabbed her wrist, and she hadn't even noticed when he got off the bed, yeah? Too angry, too indignant, too many things, and she tried to yank her wrist from his grip. She pulled hard, she yanked. He pulled her close on the mattress, onto his lap, and she still fought to get away. Shakes and tremors and twitch, and she flailed against the hands that held her. "No. NO. You think I don't want you here? You think I would rather have him here? FUCK YOU. It doesn't matter what I say, yeah? It doesn't matter what I do. You just want some fucking label, ownership papers, some bullshit. Because if you look at what I DO, then you'd know just how full of shit you fucking are." And now she was sobbing, wet like the scrubs and sopping wet on his skin. "Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me."