Beautiful Monster (A Jason Mccann Love Story)

Chapter 4

Jason hadn’t come back that night. Instead, he came at some point in the early morning. I had somehow managed to fall asleep, probably from exhaustion, and was woken up by freezing cold water soaking my entire body.

            I noticed that Jason had already undone the ropes on my wrists, and had moved me onto the couch to sleep.

            “Why am I on the couch?” I asked him, only to be greeted by one of his infamous shrugs.

            “The ground was cold.”         

            “Oh, so now you care about my well being?” I asked him.

            “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said quietly.

            The kid’s bipolar, I’m telling you.

            I gestured to the fact that I was soaking wet, and he seemed to get it. He looked through me with blank eyes as he lifted his shoulders once again.

            “I needed you awake, and now you’re wet, so you’re going to have to put on a dry outfit. Like the one I bought you.”

            “Oh yeah, the outfit. The one I have to go kill the president in, right?”

            “No,” he said, shocked that I would ever believe such a thing. “We’re making plans and building materials. It’s a long process before we get to the actual mission.”

            Oh, my bad, I don’t know how psychopathic bipolar minds work.

            “Right,” I said slowly, scrunching my eyebrows together. “You do know, Jason, that killing the president isn’t possible? He has way too much security. You wouldn’t be able to get close enough to him?”

            “Natasha, please,” he scoffed. “Have a little faith. I don’t need to get close to him. I just need to set a bomb and run, without having some random chick try to dismantle it.”

            Random chick=me. Gotcha.

“I’m still not wearing it,” I said quietly, hoping that he wouldn’t hit me again. Because the kid had a strong fist, and my jaw was still recovering from yesterday's encounter.

            “Yes, you are,” he said back, eyes wide.

            “I’ll make you wear it,” he told me without skipping a beat.

            “I’m not wearing it,” I repeated. He shrugged and started walking towards me. My body stiffened as his leg brushed up against mine. He landed his body on top of mine on the couch, and began taking my jeans off.  

            “No! Stop!” I cried out.

            But he didn’t. His body mass on top of mine pinned me to the couch, and as much as I tried to roll out from under him, he continued to unzip my pants.

            “Stop moving, bitch!” he yelled as he slapped me across the face.

            I stopped. I had to stop, I didn’t want to be hit again. Instead, I let him slip my jeans off me, leaving me in my underwear. He then went for my sweatshirt, taking it off slowly, carefully, as if not wanting to hurt me, but then ripped my shirt off. It was a white button up blouse, the one we were supposed to wear for the field trip.