Skulls, Tattoos and Cigarettes [Z.M au]

Prologue.

                           Prologue    

I was stiff.

The only air I could breathe in this enclosed space was his warm breath as it fanned over my face, as disgusting as that sounds.

My heart beat pounded with the ticking of the clock, that's how quiet it is. I don't even know where we are. My body was dripping with sweat, the adrenaline was pulsing through my veins but all that didn't matter when this beautiful lost boy was standing here, overshadowing me.

His nostrils flared when I didn't answer his question. I bet he's bothered because his threatening appearance isn't scaring me shitless like it did to the guys we almost stepped on.

His finger slowly reached up to my face, his cold fingernails tracing the side of my face as my eye lids gradually closed. They started with my hairline and slowly dragged down to my lips, where they lingered for a while before resting underneath my chin.

"You know, you're quite the stubborn type," he finally whispered with his mouth near my jaw.

"You know, you're quite the dick.", Yes I've been thinking about how beautiful he is. But that doesn't top the things I saw him do only minutes ago.

"Babe, if you think what I do is wrong, then you haven't seen the world yet. You should come out of that shell more often," he says tapping my head and I glared at him.

"You know, so you could do something besides drawing your sad life." He smirked. I had forgotten I had let him see my very personal drawings so I was a bit taken back when he said I draw my sad life. Because that's exactly what I do.

"Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends-" he scoffed. But I held my ground.

"And friends don't lie to each other like that. I know a lot about you-"

He suddenly pressed me further against the wall and his eyes became darker with every second.

"You know nothing about me! I am not who you think I am Hazel. Get over yourself."

Get over myself? Says the man who doesn't give a shit about what people have to say. He doesn't care about anyone but himself. I won't be surprised if he gave up his family for a packet of cigarettes and maybe a few tattoos.

"Then who are you?" I asked the question that was bugging me since the moment I saw him. This guy. This guy is a mysterious, self-centered dick but that's only what his appearance has to say. I know there's something more to him, as much as I hate to admit it. I know, I can find out. And I will.

He took a few steps back and let his arms slowly fall back to place. His face was expressionless and I couldn't see a hint of anger in his eyes anymore.

"I am what everyone makes me out to be."

WARNING: THIS STORY WILL BE EXPLICIT. IF SOMEONE IS NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT SMUT, ABUSE, ALCOHOL AND VIOLENCE, I SUGGEST YOU STOP RIGHT HERE.

Happy Reading!