Page 75 of Violent Hearts

Chapter 36

Jared

She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I watch the blooming red stripes on her ass as she walks away. She’s seductively swinging her hips because she knows that I'm watching her.

My little Button. What am I to do with her?

I sit up on the bed, just about to make a move to leave the room so I can clean up myself, when my eyes land on her messy work station. There are sheets of paper, an empty mug, and pens lying about, the light on her laptop still blinking. Everything looks as if she just jumped up and left everything as it was before suddenly darting out of the room. She's been at the event with me most of the day, but I remember her spending the morning inside her room when I was busy making phone calls.

I roam over to her desk, absentmindedly stacking a few papers and touching the mouse in the process. The motion brings her laptop from sleeping mode back to life, and an open Word document appears on the screen.

I know I shouldn't be snooping. It's exactly the kind of thing I've always accused her of doing. But I've always wondered what she could be working on. I've seen her writing a lot, almost daily, and she's always super engaged in it. The day when she almost burned down my kitchen wasn't the only time her attention was soaked up by the screen. She doesn't know it, but I've been watching her type way from afar many times, when she was still working in the living room. Lately, she's been retreating to her room to write more often, which fed my growing curiosity.

I lean down, scrolling up to the beginning of the current page she was working on.

And a moment later, I see my entire world collapsing in front of me.

The trust that has begun to grow inside me. The strong connection I thought I felt between us.

And with all of that, my political career that was just beginning.

My eyes are glued to the screen as I read.

It doesn't look like an article, but it sure as hell sounds like one.

An article about me.

An article about "A dark soul, struggling to shine on a new stage".

First of all, what kind of terrible title is that?

Secondly, what the hell is she planning to do with this?

I read on, my heart hammering in painful fury as I follow the details she’s penned about recent events between us. The text is almost verbatim at times, reflecting on conversations we've had and on the thoughts she assumes may be going through my head while I close my hand around her throat and watch her choke as she climaxes on my cock.

I wouldn't mind her writing these things down, I seriously wouldn't. It's not the fact that she wrote about all of this, but the way she did it. She puts herself in the background, the writer disappearing almost completely while she focuses on me, shaping the entire text like an expository article that is meant to destroy my public image.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice cuts into my wildly running thoughts and I almost explode with rage when I turn to see her standing there, her eyes wide and an accusing look on her face as she's wrapping herself in an oversized towel.

I'm standing there like an idiot, and couldn't feel more exposed, physically or emotionally. She flinches away from me when I dart toward her, ripping the towel off of her body and wrapping it around my waist instead. It's the only thing I can think of to make her feel at least somewhat as lost and exposed as I'm feeling right now.

"What the fuck is that?" I yell at her, pointing to her laptop.

Her face grimaces with pain and she raises her hands as if to protect herself from an imminent attack.

"Please, Jared, calm d-"

"I'm not going to fucking calm down!"

I charge against her, ignoring the girlish shriek she lets out when I grab her by the shoulders and push her against the wall.

"Please, no-!"

"Are you fucking writing about me?" I exclaim. "Who are you working for? Who ordered you to write this?"

"No one!" she bellows at me. "It's not what you think! I was never going to-"

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