Leather Kisses

Leather Kisses. 7

I opened my mouth to speak, but swallowed back my words.

"I'm sorry, Dean," I whispered, in fear. "I don't think I can say . . ."

Avoiding his eyes, I left, slamming the door behind me, and racing to the closest bathroom. Hanging over the sink, I splashed my face with cold water, and took deep breaths.

Why did I always do this to myself? Why did I let my fear get the best of me? Why couldn't I just trust him?

Believe me, I wanted to tell him. Something about him made me feel secure. But, as usual, I was afraid . . . I was afraid of being let down, hurt, and betrayed.

After the cut on my face stopped bleeding and my breathing patterns went back to normal, I left the bathroom, and headed back to class.

My classes dragged on, the minutes slowly passing by as the words of the teachers blended into an inarticulate mush. This time, I didn't even bother trying to focus. I just sat there, staring at the blank page of notebook paper on my desk, scorning myself for always acting like a fool.

When the last bell rang, I was not among the students who were relieved to finally leave school. A crucial decision was to be made.

I couldn't face Dean . . . not after how I behaved. And unless I wanted to receive a full-blown beating, going home with Blake was out of the question.

For the first time in months, I took the bus home. The chaos of the bus in the afternoon was much worse than in the morning. But considering the consequences of the other options, I couldn't complain too much.

When I finally got home, I headed directly for my bedroom. Slipping my hand under my mattress, I pulled out my red leather journal. After opening up to a fresh page, I tapped my pen against my teeth, and tried to brain storm what to write about.

The doorbell rang just as an idea popped into my head. The digital clock on my desk told me it was far too early for Charlie to be home. Plodding down the stairs to the front door, I pondered at who it could be.

"Where were you?" Blake sneered the minute I opened the door.

I tried slamming the door closed, but Blake pressed against it, forcing it back open. Enough was enough.

"Go away, Blake," I spat, trying to push the door. "You're trespassing private property."

"Yeah, what are you going to do about it? Call the cops? Call my father?" Laughing, Blake pressed his back against the door.

He gave the door an extra shove, causing me to stagger backwards and fall onto the carpet. Blake circled around me, his eyes gleaming with victory, and his lips curled in mockery.

"Why do you keep trying? Why do you feel the need to keep fighting against me? You're not going to win," Blake said, with self-righteousness. "You know, this is only to benefit you. I'm trying to teach you how to become a loyal, respectable girlfriend. I do this only out of love."

"If you loved me like you say you do," I croaked through the tears. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"I only hurt you because you force me too. You bring it upon yourself. Now, if you were the good little girl that you were supposed to be, then I wouldn't have to result to such actions," Blake replied waltzing around the living room, oblivious to his vicious, inhumane words.

"You are a sick bastard," I growled, filled with rage. "I hope you burn in hell."

"What did you say to me?" Blake said, snapping around to face me with beady eyes. "Get up, now."