The Pull

Chapter 2

"You can't just fucking leave, Puck," he growled into my hair. He spun me around, keeping me in place, flushed to his chest.

"We were talking. We need to talk." He stopped himself and looked at my hair.

"I hate that colour on your hair, baby. Your beautiful snowy curls. You shouldn't mess with perfection you know?"

How the hell could I have been in love with this man?! Was my psycho-radar so completely off??

"Like us", he continued. I tried to twist a bit to make him loose his grip, but it just made him grin at me.

"You and I are perfect, Puns. I have never felt this way about anyone before, I can't just let you go because of a mistake. I deserve another chance, baby." His fingers dug into my arms in a way that would without a doubt leave me bruised. He was hurting me, and we were alone in here.

"Ok, Mark. I'll listen to you", I tried.

"You will, right?" The relief in his eyes would have been sort of heart-warming had he not been super-scary. He released me and instead put both his hands around my head.

No. He is going to kiss me. I can't do this, I cannot –

He sensed me tensing up and I could see hurt in his eyes. Then frustration.

"Puck, for fuck sake. I'm not gonna hurt you!" His grip on my neck said otherwise.

"If you could just let that shit go and we can move on, baby. You know I'm the one for you. No one will ever love you like I do, baby."

The things he said was so terrifying I felt like I was going to throw up. He kept calling me baby, like it was a thing. He'd never called me that before. It was like I was in some Netflix horror series and I was going to end up buried in his backyard. He leaned in, breathing in my ear, holding me close. A hand snaking into my hair, nothing about the grip sensual. He would undoubtedly pull my hair from my scalp if I tried to run.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I fucked up. But you and me, we are right and you know that too. Can we just leave this shithole and go home? You and me."

I never got the chance to answer. Grabbing Marks left arm, someone spun him around, making him let me go for the second time tonight.

Emma?

No, not Emma. Hot, tall stranger. Deckard.

"I'm seriously considering breaking your fucking arm." Holding Mark in a grip making it impossible for him to move, Deckard shifted his eyes to me.

"Are you ok?" His dark voice was surprisingly soft, and I realized he spoke with a British accent. Of course he did. I also noticed his eyes. Dark, but still with this touch of amber in them, making them shift in colour depending on the light.

"I'm ok." I could hear the trembling in my own voice. Not convincing at all. Deckard glanced at the angry red marks on my arms and the uncontrollable shaking of my hands, and something dangerous glimmered in his eyes.

"That doesn't look the least ok to me. I'd like to call the police for you."

Mark said nothing, visibly in such pain by Deckard's grip that his focus had to be elsewhere. Remembering getting the police involved had gotten me nowhere last time, I shook my head.

"No. No police. They can't help anyway, they'll just let him go." I realized that made it sound like I'd been letting this sort of shit happen to me more than once and I erratically thought he'd think less of me for it. Like abuse could ever be blamed on the victim. I knew better than this, damned it. Still, I said: