The Chosen.

Or What?

Tom grabs my arm as i emerge from the bathroom i was almost taken in. My skin sticks firmly in his hand as i am still damp from my shower.

"Hey." he whispers glancing to the others before turning his back to them, blocking their view of us.

"Hmm?" i hum as his thumb delicately traces over the purple bruises that circumference my eye socket

"I- I'm.." he struggles with his apology, his eyes not able to escape the grasp of the injuries he caused me

"It's okay" I whisper, placing my my fingers softy against his wrist. His thumb falls down my face, landing on my supple bottom lip stroking it. My heart wants nothing more than to be in his embrace, but i can't help but to be disgusted with myself for my desires.

I lie in bed with Mia next to me as always, watching reruns of shitty reality television that is more than likely rotting our brains. The darkness encompasses the room, the glow of the TV highlighting our warm beds. 

"Get up." Tom says as i suddenly realize he is standing above Mia.

"Wha-?"

"Go lay with Zeke." he demands her to move. Her eyes shooting towards me as i stare back just as surprised as she is. However, she does not need any more convincing to go lie next to her red headed boy so she jumps up crawling over me.

Pulling the covers back he slides into the silky cotton sheets next to me, not saying a word.

"Be nicer to her." I order of him, tired of everyone treating Mia like she is disposable, including myself.

"Or what?" he asks me with a little grin, amused at my bossiness. I don't understand how he still doesn't expect my attitude. He always looks shocked like it's his first time hearing it, which i can guarantee you... it's not 

"Not answering that." I roll my eyes knowing that any answer i give him will drive both of us further into the madness of each others infatuation.

"Go to sleep." He mutters at me, his lip ring glimmering in the illumination of the TV. 

"Or what?" my eyes widen, challenging his authority and knowing damn well what i am doing.

His hand reaches under the covers slithering slowly down my side. He takes my wrist firmly in his grip, squeezing it. I wince at the pain, my bruises still so tender to even the slightest of touches. A smile creeps in the corner of my mouth, the suffering making me crave more of his forceful contact. 

"You drive me crazy." he whispers, nestling his lips into mine ever so softly, his hand still burning into the wounds around my little wrist.