Strawberry Sweet

.Intruders.

🍓 Chapter Sixteen: Intruders🍓

🍓 Strawberry Sweet🍓

"D-don't stop, oh god damn... Ouu, Drake!" I gasp.

"S-stop, Nichole! You make it sound like we're fucking." Drake demands. His hands trail up my back with pressure. He stops for a brief moment and I hear a lid open.

"What are you doing?" I ask him dubiously.

"Lotion" he simply replies. I can still hear him breathing rapidly, like he's trying to calm himself.

"Hurry up! It was just getting good" I whine at him placing my chin on my forearms.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Drake asks and pulls my shirt up in the back even more to apply the...

"Shit that's cold!" I gasp as he rubs in the cold lotion onto my back.
He rubs into my back with more pressure, massaging the arch of my back. I notice when his hands slow down that I feel breath on the back of my neck.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"I'm fighting the urge to rip off your clothes right now" he says nonchalantly letting his finger tips trail down my back to stop at the waist band of my shorts.

"What's wrong with you? You never acted like this before" I ask annoyed.

"Because, I don't care what your brother thinks anymore, I'm done playing nice" he whispers bending over me and side swiping my white hair to kiss at the nape of my neck.

He straddles my butt and puts his hands on my hips as he leaves -no doubt- bruises on my neck. I grip at the carpet.

{Earlier That Day}

  I set my bag on the couch in the living room. Today was... rough. It has been two days sense Drake had insulted me, then touched my thigh, then commented on my pie. Yeah, needless to say that diner was a fiasco in its own light, but ever sense then he wouldn't leave me alone.

He keeps pushing me against walls and toying with me. Then he apathetically acts like I'm not his type or something.

This boy... is so... damn... confusing. And I'm hungry.

Walking into the kitchen I grab out the ingredients to make good ol' chicken soup. Perfect for a cold day.

The activity in my brain peaks when I hear the front door open. 

"Hello?" I call out. I walk to the door listening to the quiet creeks of the wooden panneled floor under me. 

As I round the corner from the kitchen to the mud room my eyes come to rest upon an open front door. No one in sight. Just open. 

I let out a breath and walk over to the door to close it shut. 

Must have been the wind. 

I go to walk back into the kitchen to tend to my boiling soup. However, when I turn away from the door I stop dead in my tracks, mearly feet from me stands a man in a black hoodie and dark jeans. The worst part? Its dark and stormy, and the lights are off, so I cant see the face of the man. 

Wait, no. Thats not the worst part. The worst part would be the long silver blade in his hand. Chills run up my spine. 

As the adrenaline begins to course through my veins and my senses highten I glance at the kitchen entree way, which just so happens to be clear of the intruders path. 

Quickly I move my legs and dash into the Kitchen and scramble to find a knife, Metal pan, Toothpick, anything to help me. As I rummage through the kitchen drawers I hear the slow paced footsteps of the intruder behind me. 

Step.

            Step.

                         Step.

stop.

The antagonizing sound of his boots coming to a rest against the hard wood floor sets me on edge. Now when you watch a horror movie, youd be screaming at the screen for them to run away like so:

"RUN BITCH! WHY YOU JUST STANDIN AROUND?! HE FINNA KILL YOU, HOE!" 

Me? I just kept rummaging to find a wepon. I find a tiny kitchen knife and shove it under the sleeve of my sweater. 

The man forcefully grabs my arm and turns me to face him. I try and look at his face, but its so dark that not a fracture of his face is revealed from under his hoodie. 

Oh how I wish Ryan were here right now. I slide the kitchen knife inconspicuously out if my sweater sleeve and grip onto the handle of it.

While the man continues to stare at me I hype myself up to attack him. 

Quickly, in a blurr I lift my arm and with all if my force I go to stab him to make my escape. Contrary to my plans my arm is stopped short. I look over to see that the man has grabed my arm to stop me.

With his other hand he brings his blade next to my face and with the dull end drags it along my cheek. A liquid that smells of iron is left as a residue. My eyes widen. Blood? 

Tears begin to stream down my face. "P-please... I-" I croak out.

The lump in my throat tightens. Somebody help. Thats all I could think. Somebody help, please.

He brings his face closer to mine and pecks my lips with his own, then lets out a chuckle. "Guess who".

As my brain registers his voice and the gears start to turn I curse myself for being so scared. "DRAKE, YOU ASS HOLE!" I scream and push on his chest. He grabs me and deminishes the distance between us. 

He laughs "Awe, come on blue eyes, you should have seen your face. Are you crying?" He asks.

I begin to sob and colapse into his hard, warm, chest. "Y-Youre such a prick, Drake." I cry out.

"Hey, I was just playing around. Look," He holds up the blade. "Its not even a real knife" He bangs it on the counter to show me that it doesnt produce the same sound metal would. 

"Th-there was blood!" I yell wiping the tears from my face. "Its on my cheek!"

"fake" he tells me. "I bought it at the costume store" He assures me. I look at the bood now smeared on my fingers to see that its a bright red color, it really is fake.

"I hate you" I say in a menacing tone and glare at him. I push him away with force and begin to make my way to my room, compleatly forgeting about the soup I had left out on the stove top.

"Wait!" He calls out and follows me up the stairs. "Nick, wait. How can I make it up to you?" he asks. 

A grin plays across my lips. "A massage."