hostile//fillie

chapter fourteen.

a/n: only one update today, hope y'all don't mind!

btw, I'm living for those comments, you guys are seriously so funny.

hope ya likeeeeee💗

  **finn's pov**

Our eyes angrily stare into each other's, after we'd told one another about our shared hatred, tensions running unbelievably high through out the humidity of the summery abyss, as she grasped onto the area of her bleeding wrist, our chests heavily heaving up and down.

I didn't mean to physically hurt her.

It was an accident.

     But, she grabbed me first, and I was just trying to get my arm away, so it's not my fault that her expensive jewelry wrapped around her wrist broke skin.

Her feet then start to stomp up the concrete stairs, as I swiftly turn my back towards her to walk away, the oval shape of my fingernails harshly digging into the skin of my palm, the intense argument feeling as if it only went on for two seconds.

The front door opens and slams shut loudly from behind me, due to Millie's actions, as I inch towards the spot I'd previously been standing in, staring down at the bush with an ounce of regret, but on the same contrary, none at all.

She had the actual audacity to claim that her life isn't perfect?

That girl who is undeservingly stunning, and has the cutest British accent, has everything she could possibly ever need, and then some.

But, regardless of her attractive attributes, she's a fucking disgrace.

  "What a fucking bitch." I exasperate in repulsion, intending for her to possibly overhear, very heat in the moment, the rate of my heart beat thumping against the front of my chest due to the wave of adrenaline from our physical altercation, as I pick up the hedge trimmers that laid in the perfectly gathered mulch with trembling fingers.

Should I at least go inside, and ask if she's okay?

    I then pause my actions of laboring, to wipe my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand, physically shaking my head at the thought crossing my mind.

Oh my god, what am I even saying to myself right now?

Why should I remotely give the impression that I care about her well being, when I shouldn't give less of a shit?

The blistering sun beams down onto my even more flustered face due to the passionate exchange, more sweat droplets pouring down against the skin of my neck, as I angrily start cutting off the uneven sections of the plant with the tool, recalling her comments.

And of course, out of all things, she decided to call me a trash digger.

    What does that aspect of my life have to do with any of this?

  She's the one who started our indifferences, by basically calling me a bad dog owner, accusing me of possibly stealing her things, and she literally claimed that she's heard about me.

She's a judgmental bitch, and I want nothing but the worst for her.

   After a few more minutes of half assed trimming, the machine turns off due to the swift motion of my hand turning a nob, unable to purely focus on the labor, as I loudly sigh in exhaustion, carelessly tossing it onto the ground once more in oddly a lot of frustration.