True Colors ❧ H.S. [SLOW UPDATES]

| thirty five |

[WARNING: there is mature, triggering content such as rape in this chapter. Read at your own risk]

Up above: Dean Walker played by Nathaniel Buzolic.

I am only using Nathaniel as a faceclaim. That man is like one of my favorite people in the world and I apologize to him for using his face to portray a monster like Dean.

Sorry it took me so long to update. There were exams and then the fact that this chapter was painful to write so there wasn't any motivation really, usually comments motivate me but there's never enough for this book (which I understand).

HERE U GO! Please excuse errors!

The songs In The End and Waiting For The End by Linkin Park are both perfect for describing Adriana's feelings in this part of the story. Pls give them a listen!

RIP CHESTER💧❤️

≫≫≫

I tried so hard and got so far

But in the end it doesn't even matter

≫≫≫

           
"Ow, fuck."

  Adriana whimpered in pain when she moved her lower body too much while lowering herself to sit on the toilet. It was the following morning, and Adriana wanted nothing more than to be dead.

  Dean Walker. The man she thought she had left forever, three years ago, pregnant. Three years of peace without him, despite the addiction, all gone now that he had returned. There was no way of escaping his clutches, Adriana has tried before and was unsuccessful many times: it wasn't any different if she tried now. Last night, Dean had found his way to her apartment building with the help of Donnie, since Dean was the Black Mamba. Donnie didn't know his boss' relations with Adriana; he was just helping his boss out of fear. Adriana just couldn't fathom the fact that he had returned, and it wasn't because he found out where she was after three years. It's because he found out about Mateo.

  The sound of the toilet flushing echoed in her ears as she slowly trudged towards the sink, washing her hands and looking up at the mirror. She felt the urge to breakdown crying again, due to the state she was in. Her cheeks were mottled due to the heavy flow of tears that drenched the skin. Her eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and lifeless, from the constant crying when he took her against her will. She closed her eyes when she was reminded of last night, her wails and cries and pleas for him to stop. But he was relentless, merciless, claiming that he missed the way she felt, the way she was submissive underneath his touch.