Hold on to Him
Chapter Twenty
The Jackson’s arrived within minutes after I was dressed.
Brandon, as usual, had trouble keeping his hands to himself. What was different about this time, though, was I had to act like I liked it.
In actuality, I hated the feeling of his fingers against the bare skin between the top of my pants and the bottom of my shirt, but I had to act like I wanted him to be touching me.
I hated the feeling of his lips against my ear as he would whisper to me, but I had to giggle at what he said and murmur something back to him to keep him happy.
I hated it when he laughed at something that I would do, like bump into someone or trip over my own feet, because I knew he was mocking me, but I had to laugh along too, at my own humiliation, to act like we were best friends.
I hated his smile, because it made him look so happy and peaceful, and perfect. I hated knowing that I was the reason he was smiling, and that he was an actor, that he wasn’t perfect. This was the boy who pushed me only a few nights ago, and told me he liked me better when I just sat there and looked pretty. He wasn’t what his smile portrayed him to be.
And I wasn’t what my laughter portrayed me to be.
We weren’t at all what first met the eye.
Dinner came, and as I expected, I was placed next to Brandon. His hands seemed to be glued to my legs tonight, but he was discrete to the point where only I was the one who was aware it was happening. Everybody else was laughing and enjoying their time, but I was suffering in the chair next to that of my boyfriend’s, feeling like I didn’t belong in my own skin.
When dinner ended, I was the first to leave the table. I instantly had my hands in the sink, scrubbing the leftover meat off of my plate. I felt Brandon’s breath on my neck as his arms wrapped around mine. “Let me help you,” he offered, and I didn’t move.
“Oh, children!” my mother exclaimed, and Brandon and I spun to face her. “No! Don’t worry about the dishes, please. Go off and do kid stuff. Leave the cleaning to the grownups.”
I looked awkwardly at Brandon, who smiled at me, and without saying a word, I put the plate down and prepared to leave the kitchen.
I felt Brandon’s hand clasp my wrist and pull me back towards him as he murmured, “Have I ever seen your bedroom?”
I shook my head. “N… no.”
“You should show me.”
So, warily, I lead him up the stairs and around the corner, into my bedroom. His eyes wandered for a moment before he took my hands in his and said, “Alright, now let’s put it to work.”
“Or, not,” I offered, shrugging away from him.
“Hey,” he snapped, his eyes growing hard, “don’t walk away from me.”
But I went to pass him anyways, and instantly his hands were on my hips as he lifted my body and threw me onto the bed. “You listen to me when you’re being spoken to,” he growled.
He pressed his lips hard against mine and began removing his clothes, but I panted, “Wait, wait, please, just, give me five minutes to get ready. Let me look nice for you,” I begged.
I could tell he was reluctant, but he obeyed, and left the room.
I threw on some old shoes as quickly as I could, then silently crawled out the window and onto the roof, and slid down the tree into the snow bank.
Prove to me you want another chapter tonight.
Oh by the way I'm dying alone with 20 cats because I'm so f.cking annoying.
*I don't notify, please don't ask.*