Shattered

Chapter 16

The next morning, I woke up beside Chandler, the sun still low. "Good morning," He greeted when he saw me turn to him. "'Morning," I replied while scooting myself a bit away from him, not liking the lack of space between us. An eye roll was what I got back.

"I have to get Lucas and Nakoa from the airport soon, would you like to come along?" A gentle smile rested on his lips as he pulled me back into him, holding my chin up. I found it hard to believe that he was offering to take me with him, especially with the trouble I had been causing.

"Don't worry, the only reason I'll allow you to come along is because I know you won't be able to run off." After I hadn't responded, it was easy for Chandler to realize what was going on in my head. "Okay..." I answered warily. "I'll go get changed now." Pushing the soft warm covers away, the cool air pricked at my skin. I wanted socks, and I wanted them quick. The wooden floor beneath me wasn't kind to my bare toes.

Behind me, I could hear him leaving the bed as well, passing me to go to the bathroom. My destination was in the closet. There, I looked through the many hanging tops, searching for a sweater. A light gray one caught my eye, and I took it down from the beige hanger. Along with that, I found light jeans, a black hoodie, and socks that would surely save my feet.

Slow to dress, I wondered if he would actually let me go with him, or if he just wanted to mess with me. He seemed cruel enough. Actually, I know he's cruel enough, my time spent here can prove that. Apart of me didn't even want to leave the apartment in fear of what could happen. There's no point in lying about it, Chandler had successfully instilled fear in me, and it was strong.

"Jess, I'm going downstairs to make food, come down when you're finished, okay?" Almost startled by his voice, I realized I was already dressed and had my hands resting on one of the shelves. Turning to him, he was still in sweatpants, but his hair had been combed back.

"I'll be there in a few minutes." It was funny how every time he talked to me, it was like a command. Nothing here was optional, it certainly made me feel like a prisoner. Pushing my hair back, I went to walk around him to get to the bathroom, but Chandler grabbed my waist and pulled me into him, his other hand snaking across my back.

"You've been pretty quiet since yesterday." Choosing not to look at him, I softly gripped his forearms, almost to silently tell him I didn't like the close contact. His breath gently swayed the hairs at the top of my head as I shifted uncomfortably. "I don't like to talk much," I commented.

Met back with a scoff, the hand on my waist released and moved to my chin, lifting my face up to him. Somehow, we always ended up like this. "I believe I told you to look at me when I'm talking to you." What if I don't want to? Well, that doesn't matter, not to him at least. In an attempt to maintain my patience, I briefly shut my eyes, letting out a subtle sigh. When I opened them again, I was met with the intense gaze of Chandler's steel eyes.

"I forget." My lips molded into a frown, clearly unhappy. "I'm not used to being demanded and forced to follow rules," I responded bitterly, making sure he fully understood my distaste. "I'd be happy to make sure you don't forget again." His eyes darkened as his grip tightened, squeezing my back and my jaw. "You still lack respect, that's a problem." Rageful tears brimmed at my waterline, stinging my eyes painfully. I didn't want to cry, I really didn't.

Standing still, I kept a hard gaze. "Nothing to say now, huh?" The feeling of his fingers digging into my sensitive skin stung deeply, like a poison touch. He doesn't even care if he marks me. "No, I don't have anything to say." Breaking my harsh gaze in defeat, his tight grip disappeared, replaced by both his hands on either side of my face.

Pulling me close, he leaned in and kissed me, his lips harsh against mine. My hands squeezed his arms tightly, lacking the confidence to actually push him away. No pain could compare to the pain I felt when letting him have his way, it was worse than physical pain. When he finally left me, my lips stung, possibly swollen from the assault.