I Do. (August Alsina)

I Do, 17

Sarah Marshall.

"The fact that you didn't even call me for a whole week fucking straight is some straight bullshit. Who you fucking?" Peter asked.

"I'm not having sex with anyone and if I can recall phones work both ways, Peter. And on top of that, you were suppose to be back to Atlanta two weeks ago. So therefore, who are you having sex with?" I asked, poking me fingers into his chest.

"Bitch, I'm not fucking nobody unlike you. I've been getting phone calls, text messages, and email about you and August. So he fucking you now?" He began to walk up on me.

I put my arm up, putting space between up. "You need to back up, Peter. Me and August aren't doing anything, but being friends and I will not tolerate being called a b-word by you or any man for that matter. Exit yourself out of my apartment please and don't bother on coming back. I do not want to be in a relationship with you at all."

"The bitch ass apartment I'm paying for? Fuck outta here bitch." He said, pushing me against the wall.

I began to get mad. "Stop putting your hands on me."

"Or what? Fuck you gon' do?" He grabbed me by my face and stared me in my eyes. "You my bitch. If I wanna put my hands on you I will."

I try to yank myself out of his grip, but it only caused him to tighten his hand. I felt like all my power and energy was soon leaving my body. What August and I had built was getting torn down. I was becoming that scared, vulnerable girl again.

"Let me go, please." I whimpered.

"You bout to cry now? Shut the fuck up, bitch. You think ima let you leave me? Hell nah. You mine forever. And ima start regulating what you can and can't do. One, you can't see August or Chris bitch ass."

No. Sarah, you are a strong, independent black woman. You need to stand your ground and get rid of him.

"That's my friend and my brother. I'm going to see them whenever." I stated, pushing him off me.

He laughed, still walking back to me. "Does August know you and Chris fucked? Does he know about yo bullshittin ass past? Wait, the real question is do you know that he's engaged?"

I felt my heart stop beating. "He's not engaged. He would've told me. We're friends."

"Not close enough friends. His fiancée Jessica will be delighted to hear about you and her soon-to-be husband's fling. Look it up. Jessica Walter, 23, from Chicago, Illinois."

"Get out." I said.

He laughed, "Are you about to cry, sweetheart?"

"I said get out."

"I pay the rent and bills, plus who's name is on the lease? Does it say Peter Jones or Sarah Marshall?"

I began to feel defeated. "Please leave."

"WHO'S NAME IS ON THE FUCKING LEASE?" He yelled, grabbing my neck.

I flitch, covering my face. "Yours." I cried.

"When I ask a fucking question, yo dumb ass better answer me. Do you fucking understand?" He raised his fist at me as if he was going to hit me.

I scream, tears rolling quickly down my face. "Yes, I understand. I'm sorry, please don't hit me."

"Good." He kissed my tear stained cheek. "I'll be back later." He grabbed his things and walked out of the apartment.