What's home, if not the first place you run away from? What's love, if not that unexplainable, blazing feeling which comes after a period of hate?
Reputable for her catchy appearance, her over-niceness, her obsession with cartoon animations and her...
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Unknown Brain ft. Bri Tolani - Why Do I?
~
I RUN DOWN THE STAIRS WITH TEARS in my eyes and pieces of paper in my hands.
I immediately dash towards the kitchen when I land in the living room, throwing the pieces of paper harshly into the trash.
My hand hits the bin in the process and I wince.
Urgh, God. Everything concerning him is pain, including his stupid fucking kitchen bin.
I wipe my eyes quickly with both my hands and try to regain mental composure. But it's extremely difficult; my brain's a mess. I've been doing so much thinking these days, I'm actually scared I'll develop some sort of Alzheimer's in the future if care is not taken.
And I've had enough of his brutality, it's up to my neck and freaking suffocating me. He's been getting many strikes, while I've been sitting, dormant at zero, but I'm tired of being passive and forgiving. I guess one could say whatever the fuck happened back there in his dresser as he grinned at my degradation like a sadist was the last straw that broke the camel's hard back.
I've had it and I'm not going to take it like I have been, I'm going to have a bit of payback. And I already feel my skull itch as different ideas pop up in my cerebellum.
Someone clears their throat softly beside me, snapping me out of my Yzma moment and making me blink twice to come back to my right senses.
I look up to see Jason looking down at me with a ridiculously sexy frown on his lips.
Judging from how taut my neck stretches to meet his eyes, he's taller than Mr. Ash. I'm guessing six-foot-four.
"Why are you crying?" He asks softly, that seemingly ever-present grin of his nowhere to be found on his face.
"Nothing." I frown, recalling the childish stunt he pulled few minutes ago. "I'm okay."
He doesn't believe me. He looks into the bin and his eyes light up in understanding. "Ay, he tore it."
"Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock. Isn't this what you wanted to happen?"
He lifts his hands to each of my cheeks and I flinch in startlement, relaxing into his foreign touch only when he begins wiping away the faint trails of tears from them. His touches are like a lover's caress.
A ghost of that grin shines forth like a torchlight with dysfunctional batteries. "That means I'm forgiven, no?"
"You didn't apologize." I state, pulling my face from his hold with a finality that seemed to be severely lacking in me upstairs with Mr. Ash.
He drops his hands and looks at me with an indecipherable expression. "I'm sorry, Alaina."
Jesus. That was...easier than I expected. Way easier, since I expected him to be to be just as much of an ass as Mr. Asshole. And he said my name again.
