Diaries: Seasons

14: What Do You Mean?

I'm just high-fiving myself at picking such a sexy Jasper. Reece King can take me lol. And shoutout to LilTrixy and @JonathanHinton9 being super faithful to this book. And to my silent readers who don't vote, comment, etc. but still enjoy it, grow some and gimme some love! You never know, I'll probably return the favor.

Tristian

"Go get me something to drink, Tristian." Jasper called out.

Again? Does this man ever quit?

"Leave me alone and go do it your damn self!" I hissed.
"Don't you know that you're just making everything worse for yourself? I don't want to have to do this, baby..." He trailed off expectantly, like I was supposed to back down.
"Then don't. No one's making you do this to me." I ranted. "You keep talking about making me happy. How about letting me go? That would would make me happier than a motherfucker." I chided.

Before I could get my next breath in, I was grabbed by the throat and shoved into the nearest wall. Gasping for the air that wasn't getting to my lungs, I grabbed ahold of his hands, hoping to ease the choking sensation, but to no avail.

"What part of I'm never letting you go don't you understand?" He asked, insanity marring his beauty. "I make you happy, remember? At least that's what you were saying last--"
"Shut up!" I snarled.

He caressed my face and hair with the free hand he had, still not letting my throat go, despite me probably turning purple from air loss. Right before I could slip into unconsciousness, he loosens his grip until I'm on the floor, panting for air. Walking back to the kitchen, he grabs a cup and comes back to me with it, expecting me to do something with it.

"I'm thirsty, Tristian."
"Well," I puffed out, "you better go do something about that."

He slapped the newfound air out of my lungs, the blood out of my nose, the taste out of my mouth, and the feeling out of my face. Stunned, I touch my hand to my face, feeling the stinging heat of the after effects, and wipe the warm blood running down my nose. The force of his slap shocked the hell out of me because he's such a skinny thing. Well, lean is the better word. He has muscles but they don't bulge out every time he moves or anything. I'm not even sure how he got me here, but all I know is that he couldn't have done it himself.

Then I didn't expect him to actually hit me. I've been here for one day and I've seen and felt all types of crazy radiating off of him but he never came down to hitting me. 'What about the sex?', one might ask. Well, technically, it wasn't painful and he kind of made me want it but that's a different story for a different day. But if I were to get out of here and testify against him, of course it was rape. I may have let that go for a short time but if there's a chance that I'm going to be free, you better believe I'm going to gathering up evidence to throw in the judge's and jury's faces. I'd be damned if he doesn't get locked up.

"Tristian, baby girl, get me something to drink." He commands, shoving the cup in my face, bringing me out of my mental tirade.

Snatching the cup from him, I trudge over to the kitchen, trying hard to ignore the blatant pain in my face, for his damn drink. Swinging the refrigerator door open, I take out the gallon of water and pour it into the cup sloppily, leaving a mess everywhere. Putting everything away and cleaning up my mess, I--

"Tristian, what the fuck are you doing in there? Where's my motherfucking drink?"

Willing myself to not drop the cup into his lap, no matter how much of an ass he was being, I hand him the water so he can finally leave me alone for a while. Too bad the odds weren't in my favor because...