Page 13 of Creep
“Fuck. No,” I say with defiance as I spit the words at him. He can get fucked if he thinks I’m going to do anything he wants me to do without a fight.
“What did you just say to me?” he asks me as he begins to stalk towards me again. He has this gleam in his eyes at my defiant words, like it’s what he wanted me to say. I instantly regret it, but I can’t give him the power of that knowledge, so I fake my confidence as I cross my arms over my chest and square my shoulders.
“I said no. Do I need to repeat myself or are you too stupid to understand the word?”
A barrel of a laugh leaves his chest, though it doesn’t meet his eyes. If anything, his dark brown eyes grow even darker, looking almost black. The eyes of a predator, of a monster. Eyes similar to ones I have seen far too many times in my life. Fear licks up my spine and I take small steps backwards, slowly working myself farther away from him and out of the room.
Hopefully, I can make it to a room that has a lock while he calms down because the look in his eyes is one I have truly never seen before. And I have seen evil. But this man tops the fucking cake and my ass wants nothing to do with it.Nope. No thank you.
I keep my eyes on him but his steps are quicker than they were moments ago.Fuck. I whip around as fast as I can and dash out of the room. I have no fucking clue where I’m going because we just got here, but I run up the floating stairs and make my way around the corner. I see a door that’s cracked and without hesitation, I launch myself into it and slam it behind me. I twist the lock and throw my back against the door as I try to regulate my breathing now I am somewhat safe from him—for the moment being anyway.
I look around quickly and realize I must be in a guest bedroom. The room has a full sized bed with white sheets and the curtains are white, as well as the walls. Very plain and boring, but whatever. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about the furnishings in the room right now. I have more pressing matters to think about.
I close my eyes and strain my ears, trying to listen for his footsteps coming up the stairs, but I don’t hear a fucking thing. Not one sound coming from this ginormous house. Only the sounds of my haggard breathing.Well, that’s just fucking great.
I really don’t want to know what happens if he catches me. Who the fuck am I kidding,whenhe catches me. But maybe a small, very small, dark part of me does want to find out.No. No, I don’t.I cannot think like that right now. Not when Vincent looks like he wants to murder me and do something like lick the knife afterwards while smiling down at my corpse.
My whole fucking life is one big joke, I swear. At the feeling of my backpack squished between me and the door, I praise myself for not taking it off when we got inside. As I was throwing my shit together to leave, I made sure to put my knife in with everything else. I never go anywhere without it because I never know when I’m going to need it.
A sense of relief floods over me at the notion of having it. I rush to the bathroom, slamming and locking that door behind me as well. The more doors between me and that monster, the better.
Taking a seat on the toilet, I shrug my bag off my shoulders and place it between my feet. Opening up the hidden zipper pocket on the left side of the bag, I pull out my knife. I yank my sleeve up and flick the knife open. My hands shake, the need for a release too great, but I manage to push down as hard as I can, dragging the blade across my skin like I always do—fast and repeatedly. Over and fucking over again, until my arm looks like a mutilated mess and everything goes numb with the pain. I don’t even care about my old wounds being ripped open again, on top of new ones. I love the sudden feel of nothingness ripping my flesh open brings me. Because now I don’t give a shit if he finds me or not.
Pain.
Pain.
Nothing but pain.
The blade slips from between my fingers and clatters to the floor somewhere next to me. My body sways so I shift myself to the side and flop to the floor, unable to keep my body upright on the toilet. I rest my head against the wall behind me and my eyes flutter closed. I can feel my blood running off my arm in fast trails, splattering onto the pristine white bathroom floor. I manage a smirk at the fact he’s going to have to clean this up, bitching at me all the while probably.
Hopefully it’ll stain his floors, the bastard.
While my thoughts are slowly starting to dwindle as I lose consciousness, I’m jolted awake when I hear the bedroom door smash against the wall.
Well shit. That didn’t sound good.
Unable to process much more than a single thought, I lie here waiting for him to get to me. There’s no point in fighting it when I’m like this, so I enjoy the bliss for a little while longer. But that little while longer doesn’t last for more than five more seconds, much to my disappointment, because the bathroom door is smashed to pieces in an instant.
Well, that was dramatic.He could’ve simply knocked on the door and saved himself the money of replacing the damn thing, but what do I know?
I manage to peel my eyes open and peer up at his domineering figure. I never gave myself a chance toreallylook at him before, but I do now. He resembles a wild beast; his chest huffing from his exertion. His very naked chest because apparently he lost his shirt in his struggle with the door.
My gaze rakes over his body, admiring what I see, starting at his deep, chocolate brown eyes. He has dark brown hair which is just long enough to run my fingers through and yank, a chiseled jaw with a bit of scruff which would feel rough against me, burning its way across my skin as he moves his mouth from place to place, devouring me.
The direction my thoughts have taken me throw me for a loop. The blood loss becomes something great, and prohibits me from having reasonable thoughts. At least I’m choosing to blame it on the loss of blood because any other answer is not feasible right now, even though I know I’m not losing enough blood to blame it on that.
He remains still as he regards me on my journey of blatantly checking him out. I move my eyes down his lean, but sculpted body. A body gloriously covered in fucking tattoos. I run my eyes over all of the ones I can see, but there is one in particular which catches my eye.
It's a poppy plant wrapping around his right forearm, up towards his elbow. There aren’t many details to it, just a few flowers in black and white. It piques my interest ‘cause it seems like all of his other tattoos—the ones I can see anyway—are in some way centered around that one in particular.
When I manage to tear my eyes away from it, I glance up at him to ask about it, my curiosity getting the better of me, but the words freeze on the tip of my tongue when I notice the look in his eyes. He’s looking at me with so much rage, the words fall silent upon my lips.
“What. The. Fuck. Do you think you’re doing running away from me?” he spits the words out between his perfectly white clenched teeth. His fists clamp tighter as the words leave his mouth. I refuse to answer him, choosing to remain silent. I don’t owe him any explanations about anything I decide to do.
“You’re a dense little girl, you know that right? Let me guess, your life is too fuckin shitty for you to handle, so you take that pathetic little blade to your skin to make yourself feel better, hmm.” He moves forward until he is standing over me, staring at me like I’m a tiny little bug he is going to squash under his shoe.
“I’m right, aren't I?” He smirks.
