psychotic; jmb

chapter three

"rule number one; . . ." he starts after a few minutes.

his fingertips grasp the paper with anticipation. he doesn't want me to hate it. he doesn't want me to leave.

"you must have sex with me, whenever i want," he looks up at me and stares a bit.

i say something because i know he wants me to, "okay."

it wasn't a perky 'okay', but it wasn't sad either. nor was it bored. i don't want him to feel bad about this.

"number two; no playing with yourself, unless i tell you otherwise," his eyes were shaky now. they traveled around my face looking for the slightest bit of annoyance, or hurt.

i nod gently.

"number three; call me daddy while we're having sex," he took confidence in this rule. there was no eye shaking or nervous stares.

joey continues without letting me answer, "and finally; for every time you pleasure me, i will pleasure you."

"sounds good," i smile at him.

he shoves the paper in his drawer and grabs another one. i get up and look at my reflection in the full-body length mirror hanging on his door. the black edged rim of it cuts off right where my ankles are. it's hung right at my height length.

i turn to my sides and watch my curves. in the background, joey is watching me be saddened by the looks of my body. he doesn't look much happy either.

"you're perfect," he mumbles and goes back to scribbling.

my heart. i think it just fluttered like a freaking butterfly. no guy has ever called me that. i've always been called "hot" or "pretty".

hot basically means they like you for your body. which is, in my opinion, completely and most utterly the douchiest thing you could do to a girl. and pretty is just a placeholder for the rude and terrible things you already notice and think about said girl.

perfect, though. i have goosebumps running up and down my arms. my ear-to-ear smile isn't leaving my face for a long time. and my fingers just can't seem to stop twirling little pieces of my hair.

"here's the allowance you'll get," he hands me the paper he'd been scribbling on before.

he bumped into me slightly and walked out of the room.

my eyes traveled across the messy words inked onto the paper. the paper made a squeaky noise as my fingertips rubbed across it in a nervous manner.

joey's phone buzzed against the black desk in the corner of this room. i walked over and peered over the edge of the chair to see who was calling. curiosity gets the best of us sometimes.

"kenz 💛"'s contact showed on the screen for three more rings before it disappeared and a missed call notification replaced it.

kenz? who the fuck is kenz? i bet he has other whores laying around the city with their legs open. kenz is probably one of them.

my heart shatters into a million pieces. many of those pieces sunk all the way to my feet. a tear swept down my cheek.

this is so overdramatized. i am being overdramatic. i just met him tonight. it's not like i'm in love with him. if i were, i'd i have to fall out of love with him as soon as possible. after all he's just my sugar daddy.

he is adorable though, and super sweet. maybe i do love him. no. not happening. i do not love this boy.

the screen lights up again and a text message pops up. it reads:

"you haven't seen the last of me."

from: "zach c". i wonder who that is.

all of a sudden, a growing pain from my head causes me to fall to the ground. looking down on me is a boy dressed in all black holding a baseball bat.

he charged the baseball bat at me.

then boom,

darkness.

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this chapter is short and i'm sorry