Red

22

Neither Sam nor Bondy say anything. They both just stand there looking uncomfortable. They exchange glances every once in a while.

"Fine, don't tell me," I say with a huff. I turn away from them and start to walk away, but a hand grabs my shoulder. It was Sam.

"Come on, please don't get upset, love," he says. His eyes looked pained. I can tell he didn't want to keep whatever this was from me. And I knew he couldn't tell me because Van would probably get heated.

"I'm not upset," I say quietly, aware of how much of a fool I sounded like. I most definitely was upset; it was as obvious. "I just want to go talk to Van about it."

Bondy chuckles and I look over at him confused. "God, you kill Van, you know that, right? He's bloody mad about protecting you," he shakes his head as he speaks, amused at himself. "I don't know if he'll tell you much. He isn't going to want to stress you out, I'm sure."

I hated how he said stuff like that. I know Van doesn't care for me. I don't know what he wanted, but the way he treats me is not how anyone treats someone they care about.

"Well, I can at least try," I say, although I was fairly certain Bondy was right. Van wouldn't tell me anything. Especially not after last night.

"Yeah, go give it a shot," Bondy says. He gives me one of his classic smiles and nods his head at me.

This time, when I turn away, no one stops me. I was just about off the plane when I stop. Van can't control me. He didn't have any power over me. I can do what I want to do without running it by him. So, that's what I did.

I walk back to my bed where my bag was. I dig through it until I find a pair of black, high waisted jean shorts. The small barrier was enough to cover me as I got changed as long as I stayed down low. I take off Van's sweatshirt as well, dropping it onto the floor with with sweatpants before walking off the plane.

It felt nice being out in the heat without heavy layers on. I'd practically been sweating to death during the days. The only time it was really nice was during the nights. It still surprises me how cold it gets at night.

I look around for Van from the bottom step of the plane. It doesn't take me too long. He was glaring right at me. The same glare he always uses when he's mad at me, which seemed to be more often than not. It was a glare that made me feel nervous. It almost made me want to rub back inside the plane and put Van's sweatpants back on.

But I didn't. I can't keep letting him win. I take a deep breath and start walking toward him. He was walking toward me as well, away from Benji and Alex, who he was just talking with.

"Tell me what's going on," I say. My voice cracked in the middle of my demand and tears started to form in my eyes because I was irritated knowing I was left out of the loop. I don't know why my confidence had to completely plummet when I spoke to Van, but it did. I felt like the child he thought I was again.

Van smirks and he looks me up and down, his eyes stopping on my legs for a while before looking me in the eyes. Redness creeps up onto my cheeks and I can tell that satisfied him even more as his smirk only became bigger.

"What are you wearing, Tris?" He ignores my question, asking his own instead.

"I'm...I'm," I say. "I want to know what's-what's...going on," I say, pouting. I know how desperate I sounded. And I know that's exactly what Van wanted. He wanted me to be desperate for him. Needy for his protection.

Van takes a step closer to me, making the distance between us no greater than a foot. "What are you wearing?" He asks me again, his voice seeming to drop an octave. I avoid making eye contact with him, knowing it would only make me more anxious.

"Triiis," he drags out my name, his fingers on one hand reaching down to the side of my thigh. He was barely touching me, but it still make my knees weak and shaky. "What is this?" He asks, his hand slowly moving up my leg and tugging lightly on the end of my shorts.

"Not gonna answer me, eh?" He says. I know he had smile on his face. I try to regain the faith I had when I was on the plane, or the confidence I somehow managed to find last night, but when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out.

"I'll tell you what it is, then," Van says. "It's inappropriate. Especially right now," he gets angrier when he says that last sentence.

"I couldn't know that," I whisper. "No one will tell me what's going on."

"That's because they're doing as I told them too: not talk about what happened. They listen to me, you don't. And you wonder why I treat you differently," he says. "We're going to get those sweatpants back on you, now," he demands.

Van places his hand on the middle of my back and starts walking toward the plane. He wanted me to walk with him, but I don't. I cross my arms and frown. "I want to know what happened," I say, my voice no where near as confident as I had wished for it to sound. Van was right. I was stubborn.

"No you don't. Now, let's go," Van says. He uses more force with his hand on my back in an attempt to get me to follow him.

"Tris, I'm not asking," he says. I can tell he was done with my reluctance. His hand moves off my back and he grabs my hand, dragging me as I tried to stand my ground.

"No!" I say. A tear falls out of my eye. I sit down on the sand, pulling Van's arm to stop him from bringing me to the plane where I'd have to comply to his rules.

Van takes a deep breath in and kneels down on the ground, staring me, the crying and overdramatic girl, in the eyes.