Sweet RED | #BWWM | RomePi™

SWEET - 2

RED

"I'm not even gonna lie. If I could get away with killing you right here and right now, that's exactly what I would do." That was the only thing roaming freely through my mind. I hate this mf'er with a passion.

That red-haired bastard is the biggest jerk I have ever met in my life. He always acts like a FREAKING drill sergeant. If I have to listen to him tell me to drop one more time, I swear to the stars in the midnight starry sky... I Nieve "Sweet Red" Castille will be forced to take this man's life.

I know I get a little krunk up at times, but I know this son-of-a-B is trying me. This man has lost his ever-loving mind. When I say he is out of control, I'm not playing.

All my sweets... all my snacks... GONE!

My visits to get that good ole Taco Bell for a few Crunchwrap Supreme are out. This sucker even had the nerve to tell me I can't have it my way no more. I had to say goodbye to the Baconator... the freaking Baconator.

Why me Lord? Please take me now. No... I don't really mean that, but it's hard to let go of all my favorite foods.

He even went as far as to say that I would save my money by not wasting it on fast food. I got money. I don't have to save anything. I can buy whatever I want. But "Mr. Shannon" even went as far as trying to use reverse psychology on me.

"If you don't think you can handle it, just let me know and we'll make some modifications that aren't as strenuous until we can ween you off the junk food," I swear I thought I was gonna have to put them beads in his life.

Every time I turn around, there he is. Always grinning like he knows something I don't. The only reason I haven't punched him into the middle of next week is that I stepped on the scale this morning and there it was just like he said it would be.

I LOST ANOTHER FIVE POUNDS!

That slick-talking stiff prick was right all along.

Okay so, I have to admit it. Yes... he did help me get well on the way to reaching my goal. Yes... he is one tough S.O.B. so he doesn't let me get away with a damn thing.

Dang, it. Shoot.

Now I have to put five dollars in that stupid swearing jar.

That's another reason I want so desperately to reach out and touch him just one time. If I could just give him a little taste of these hands, I know it would make me feel so much better. Not only am I living life without the yummy stuff I love to eat, but I also have virtually no pocket change because of that jar.

Since the second week, we began his program, Mr. Shannon insisted I have a potty mouth. He even refused to train me for a few days because he said I lacked self-control and my nonstop cursing was an outward manifestation of the havoc going unchecked in my life.

I can remember balling up my fist as he addressed me with such a smug look on his face.

In my soul, I had a feeling he wanted me to lunge at him. It was as if he felt I had a need to knock him to his knees, but I refused to spend another day in jail for assault.

By the way... it's not what you think. Even though I often fantasize about hitting people, I only lash out if someone touches me first.

So, in my past, I had been forced to rock this guy's world, but it wasn't exactly what he expected.

Okay... see, this is what happened. Some dumb A-- tried to holla at me. I told him I wasn't interested and he called me a fat bitch.

FRACK! Another five dollars.