Lilah

Chapter 22 Enough #2

"Hey girl," she responds and I feel my jaw clench.

Azalea stands there awkwardly. I take in the sight of her and ignore the things she does to me without knowing.

"I'm gonna go tinkle," she mumbles, walking back out the door.

"She still acts like a child-"

"Keep fucking talking," I warn her, "keep trying to talk yourself up because you only sound like a fucking idiot."

Her mouth drops open a bit.

"Because no one could come close to being better than her. So quit making a fucking fool of yourself because if you aren't her, then you don't have a chance," I glare.

She better not fucking dump me. She's just about the only thing I can talk good about.

"Oh yeah!" Azalea's voice comes from the cracked open door of the office. She walks in proud.

Good god this woman.

"He told you!" She walks toward me and throws her arms around my torso.

"Suck my balls, Jacqueline!" My eyebrows raise.

Wild.

I know for a fact she has no balls. I felt for a fact, actually.

"No means no!" She continues all while Jacqueline gives her glares.

She presses her cheek against my chest.

"Now if you'll excuse us, my Sugar and I have business to attend to," she speaks sharply.

Jacqueline rushes out, a glare on her face, closing the door behind her.

"I was so nervous about talking to her I thought I actually was going to tinkle," she breathes out in relief.

And then her cheeks go pink.

"Are you thinking about something?" I tilt her chin up to me, leaning down and kissing those lips.

"Um," she struggles.

"Something earlier today?"

"You're making my cheeks blow up Grey," she leans her forehead against my chest.

"You weren't this shy when I did it," I chide and she gasps.

The sounds she made. Fuck.

"I did have polish remover but I guess I don't now," she pulls away, her cheeks still a little pink.

"Don't play."

~~~

?Azalea?

"Stop moving!" I groan when, for a fourth time, he moves away from me.

"It fuckin' smells like shit," he grumbles as I use the remover to get the polish off his nails.

And he's got an advantage because he's in a wheely chair.

"Would you rather leave it on? I can leave right now," I pull away only to be pulled back by my waist.

"That's what I thought," I humph and he squeezes my hipbone causing me to thrash.

I continue on getting the purple off his nails and I feel his eyes trained on me.

"The longer you look at my face, the uglier I get," I warn.

"Shut up."

"You hush," I grumble back.

I'm thinking logically here. The longer he looks at my face, the more time he has to see all my flaws and then to think 'wow, she's not pretty at all, what I am doing, I deserve better.'

"Hyper."

"Crackhead."

"Loud-mouth."

"Baboon."

"Flighty." My mouth drops open a bit at that.

"Buttnugget."

"Simpleton." My jaw drops again. He leans forward and kisses me like that'll make up for his words.

He bites down on my bottom lip when I don't kiss him back. I pull away.

"Bear needs to probably take a poop when you get back home," I remind him. Before we left his place, I may have slipped him some greasy bacon.

I can only hope he hasn't sharted already.

"When I get back home?" he questions grumbly.

"Yes..?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"And why the fuck aren't you coming home with me?" his face sets unhappily and I tilt my head, a small smile on my lips.

"You know why," I sigh. Then I lurch forward, pulling his head under my chin.

"Are you gonna miss me Sugar?" I hum teasingly and his arms find their way around my torso, pulling the rest of me closer to him.

He doesn't respond, only holding me close. I take it as a 'yes wonderful woman I'll miss you more than anything in the world because you are the greatest funny person ever.'

The little smile stays on my face until I realizing he's not letting go anytime soon.

"What's wrong?" I ask softly, he pulls his head away from me and looks up at me.

"I don't know," he mumbles and I know he's lying. He sucks at lying. And he's fiddling with the scrunchie on his wrist so he must know that I know that he's lying.

For a federal dude or whatever, he's not good at lying.

"You can tell me," I assure him. I mean, I tell him everything. Like, probably too much. He knows when I'm tinkling and when I'm pooping.

Yikes.

His reaction never differs. It's always either 'hurry up' or 'I'm not pausing the movie, hurry the *insert f-word* up.'

He doesn't judge. I mean, it is only a dookie so it's whatever.

But of all the things he hears me say, and of all the things he sees me do, never once have I looked over at him and found a judgemental look on his face. And that's crazy because I don't think I'm very normal.

And as many times as I play the song Cherry Pie by Warrant when we're driving somewhere, it surprises me how he doesn't even care. If I had a theme song, it'd be that one.

And I scream my lungs out when I play that song. I look over at him, he doesn't care.

If Grey had a theme song, it'd be silence. Or Paint It, Black by the Rolling Stones. I even played that song for him once. He didn't have a reaction. It still makes me wonder if he even listens to music. Or his dancing is not moving. Or smiling.

Does he breathe?

What if he listens to classical music? I'm gonna have to test that theory.

"I don't like it when you're not with me," he finally says.

"Aww, I knew it. You do miss me," I hug him tight, "you're so cute. I miss you too."

He doesn't deny it so I giggle evilly.

"Fuckin' cute," he mumbles just a little bit unhappily.

"Would you rather me say adorable? Because you are adorab-" he cuts me off, kissing me harshly.

"Fuck off," he mumbles against my lips.

"Are you sure?" I tease, he pulls me onto his lap.

"You're really about to see up my skirt the way I'm sitting," I warn, looking down at my slightly spread legs and my black skirt.

"I'm about to? Does that mean you're gonna show me?" I watch as the corner of his mouth rises.

"Oh yes," I nod, "and once I've taken my skirt off, I'll be sure to dance on the table."

"Now you're just puttin' thoughts in my head," he trails his hand down to my waist.

That backfired a bit.

"If I'm gonna be a stripper, I'm gonna need you to pay me," I say.

He leans back fully against the back of his chair.

"You wouldn't enjoy stripping for me?"

"That doesn't mean I won't enjoy it," I wiggle my eyebrows, "after it I'd probably need money for food. I'd put my heart into it."

"You've thought about doing it before?" he tilts his head in question.

Oh yes. I've thought about him doing it too.

Stop.

"I think about a lot of things," I shrug.

Food.

Shoes.

Grey.

Carebears.

Cap'n Crunch.

Silly String.

Ceiling fans.

Grey.

"What things?" he grips onto my hips.

"I feel like you're tricking me into saying 'sex.' But sex," I wince. I stand from his lap.

"I just adore our lovely conversations," I bend, kissing his forehead. I stay down and he kisses mine.

"You have to go?"

"It's getting late," I nod, "and when it's dark, there's a better of a chance to hit an animal I can't see and I don't feel like crying tonight."

"Natural selection," he grumbles and I gasp.

"That's horrible," I place my hands on my hips.

He gives me hornish eyes.

"Stop it," I warn.

"Stop what?" he acts clueless.

"You know what," I raise my eyebrow.

"You stop," he shamelessly continues looking at me. I take my hands off of my hips.

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You're doing it again," he says and my mouth drops open.

"I'm standing!"

"Quit," his lip curls into a smirk.

I place my booty cheeks on the floor and narrow my eyes at him.

"Goddammit, you keep doing it."

"No, I don't! Do what? I'm sitting! You're crazy," I stand again and his eyes never leave me.

"Fuckin' keep on," he nods. I'm gonna throat-punch him.

"Keep on what? Grey, I'm going to kick you in the face," I warn.

"Do it," he nods, "that won't make you stop though."

"Stop what?!"

"Stop."

"I'm leaving! Have a wonderful night you crackhead," I scold, opening his door and walking out.

~~~

I sink down in my bath slowly, letting the pain of the lashes on my back stiffen my body.

Because I wasn't home yesterday.

I honestly have no clue how I'm going to keep Grey from touching me. Nowadays, he's always touching me, wanting my amazing hugs, or lifting my shirt, feeling my stomach to try and convince me I'm hungry.

I pray that sometime soon dad will get tired of all the alcohol and he'll quit drinking.

Drinking all of the same stuff has to get tiring and old sometime, right?

I soak for a little while just relaxing and trying not to move in any way that would cause my back to hurt.

I wash and carefully step out, draining the tub.

I slip on a big baggy shirt and a pair of cotton shorts.

From twelve to four in the morning, dad plays the tv too loud for me to go to sleep. My only pair of earbuds I left at Grey's place. And my pillows only block out so much.

After I can hardly hold my eyes open for any longer, I eventually drift off into a light sleep.

At exactly three-nineteen in the afternoon, I wake up. My back is sore and the pain has set in even further. It's always worse the second day.

My stomach growls loudly, sounding like a whale's cousin.

I slowly rise out of bed and walk over to my mirror. I carefully take my shirt off and only turn my head to see the damage done to my back.

Long stretches of belt marks are spread sporadically across the surface of my back.

I put on the largest sweatshirt I have and certainly no bra. The worst thing I could do is put a bra on. I throw on a pair of black ripped jeans feeling out of the ordinary today.

And it's pretty rainy so why not?

I put on my furred moccasins because they're comfortable and I don't give a fudge. I pick up my phone a see messages from Grey.

One telling me good morning. Actually good f-ing morning.

Another one stating my butt better answer him. In other words.

Two more stating unhappy thoughts of me ignoring him. With more choice words, of course.

One telling me he got a case a couple of towns over. That one was five hours ago. In it, he said two choice words.

Another saying that he's back from the town. With one choice word.

And one last one asking if I had eaten yet and stating that I'm going to have a long 'talking to' when I see him again. In a lot of choice words.

I let a little smile onto my face. Before I get the chance to text back, I hear a loud crash downstairs. My smile falls and I look toward my door.

Better now than later.

I open my bedroom door and start down the stairs cautiously. Nearing the bottom of the steps, I look around the living room for him. When I don't see him, I figure he's in the kitchen.

I step down the last step and a loud noise resounds from under my foot when I step on an empty beer can, never seeing it.

I close my eyes, visibly wincing and my heart begins pounding as I hear his footsteps nearing.

I could go back up the stairs but I wouldn't get very far. But maybe he's sober?

What am I saying? He's not sober, it's already nearing four in the afternoon.

My breath holts when he suddenly appears from the corner beside me, his eyes bloodshot from the amount of sleep he probably hasn't been getting.

"Where the hell are you going?" he slurs and I'm terrified to answer, worrisome that my answer won't be the right one no matter what I say.

"I-I was going to the bookstore," I fib nervously, keeping my eyes away from his.

"No you're not," he sneers, "you're going to see that boy, aren't you?"

"N-No-" he cuts me off.

"Is he treatin' you like you deserve?" he pulls me off the steps by my hood.

"Like a murderer should be treated? Are you cleaning for him and cookin' whatever he wants? He should be smacking you around, you deserve that," he adds and I bite back tears.

"I should let you go out on these wet roads," his voice turns even more sinister, "maybe then you'll wreck just like you caused your brother to. That way you can get what you caused and you won't give people here any more issues."

I let a single tear fall, too scared to move and wipe it away.

"Why're you crying? You're a pussy of a killer," he growls.

"I didn't kill him," I say so softly I didn't think he heard me at first. And then it registers that I actually said that aloud to him.

I just couldn't take it.

"What the fuck did you just say?" he grabs the front of my sweatshirt and he pulls me up to him. The alcohol on his breath digs into my senses and I hold back a cough.

"Nothing," I whisper, my eyes slightly widened as he forces me to look up at him.

"You said you didn't kill him," if possible he grows twice as irate, "yes you did."

Before I can even blink he does the one thing I thought he'd never do. He jabs his fist right into the side of my face, the class ring he always wears on his middle finger digging into my cheekbone.

I'm sent backward, my head spinning, and my cheek pounding searingly.

My vision goes hazy and I feel something drip down my cheek. I blink rapidly in an attempt to get the haze out of my eyes.

Busy focusing on trying to keep myself from blacking out, I don't see his knee until it's right in front of my face.

He knees me in the mouth and blood soon coats my lips, teeth, and tongue. I don't even know what all is coming down my face. Blood mixed with tears.

Through my still hazy eyes, I look up at him.

His eyes switch from malicious to only slightly concerned. The concerned being the tiny bit of sober left in him.

I thank God when he walks past me and up the stairs, done.

I stay on the floor for a while, letting my tears mix with the blood on my face. Eventually, the haziness fades away and my head is only left pounding.

My cheek stings wickedly but adrenaline still courses through me keeping the pain of my mouth and cheek to a minimum.

But eventually, adrenaline will wear off.

On the floor, my gray sweatshirt covered in my own blood, the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, and the pain of the welts on my back, I come to a decision.

Enough is enough.

? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?

I don't really write about 'gore' stuff, like all bloody things and getting punched because I have no idea if it's good or not but I hope it is!

Next chapter coming soon! (Sorry about the little cliffhanger)

Oh, and by the way, school sucks.

*Not edited*

Word count: 4609

-Ashlyn Montgomery