Drawn (30 page)

“They can’t be too far. Let’s go,” Kensi says, completely ignoring me as she takes off down the street.

Jessica and I exchange exasperated glances. Shrugging, we follow after her, hoping we don’t take a wrong turn and get lost.

“Kensi, I really think we should just go back. I don’t like walking the city streets and I really don’t want to see a fight,” Jessica complains, her arms folded protectively across her chest as
she follows a step or two behind.

“Live a little Jess, you’re always so cautious,” Kensi responds, turning around and walking backwards as she speaks.

“Holy crap!” Jessica breaths, her eyes widening as she freezes on the spot. Suddenly, a rush of people come flying out of a side street like rats escaping a sinking ship.

The air fills with panic as everyone scatters and one guy runs toward us yelling, “COPS!”

We all squeal like a bunch of five year old girls, clutching at each other as people race around either side of us.

“Fucking run!” I hear, as strong hands grab a hold of my waist and catapult me forward. I have no choice but to run or else I’ll fall. Caught up in the panic, I look around for Jessica and Kensi, feeling relieved when I see they are running along with us, guided by
Damien’s two friends whose names I still don’t know.

“Up here,” one of them yells, pulling Kensi by the hand into another side street. We all follow, slowing our pace down when we realise that we’re not being followed.

“What the fuck were you doing on the street?” demands Damien.

“We were…” I start, but Kensi interrupts as she hunches over and groans before spilling the contents of her stomach on the footpath.

“Oh Kens,” Jessica complains. “Not again.”

“Get them home,” he instruc
ts his mates, who nods and, supporting Kensi, escorts them out of the side street and into the throng of the Friday night crowd.

Grabbing my hand,
Damien tugs me out into the crowd as well, heading in the opposite direction, toward where he parked his car.

Pulling his phone out, he swipes his thumb over the screen then holds it to his ear. “What the fuck happened?” he says after a moment, pausing as he listens then grunting out a response. “Well you fucked up.” He taps his thumb again, before putting his phone in his back pocket.

“Who was that?” I ask, when he just continues heading for the car park without speaking to me.

“Why is it so hard for you to stay put?” he growls as he pulls me along briskly.

“I was going after Kensi. She bolted and we weren’t going to leave her alone in the city!” I explain defensively.

“Is there a reason you took out Harry?”

“You’re the one who made me start training again. You can’t complain when I use what I know when the situation calls for it.”

He shakes his head and sets his jaw, his anger rolling off his body as his grip on me stays firm. “You’re a fucking child who can’t do what she’s told.”

“Excuse me? I’m the child? You’re the one who’s running around fighting for money instead of getting a regular job – let’s not even get into your fucking portrait business!” I bite back. “Does this happen a lot? Getting chased by the cops?” I demand, attempting to pull my hand away from his. His grip just tightens.

“I’m not discussing this with you anymore,” he states, as we reach his car and he roughly deposits me in. I open and close my fingers a few times, allowing the blood to run through them again. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was certainly restrictive.

“Fine, don’t discuss it - I don’t want you fighting anymore Damien. I don’t want you doing any of it. Get a fucking job stacking shelves or pouring beers for fucks sake. If you want to fight – enter a bloody tournament. If you want to make money from your art and design skills, make fucking custom book covers or advertising posters – I don’t care what you do with it. Just stop what you’re doing now. I can’t take all of this secrecy anymore. It’s driving me insane! I mean, I’ve been with you for over two months now, and I still don’t know what’s in your other room. I’m at your house every fucking day! What’s the big secret Damien? Why can’t you just share your life with me?”

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he steers us toward the motorway, keeping his eyes ahead and his jaw clenched.

I know I should stop talking, but I can’t, now that it’s coming out of me, I need to keep going. “Is this how our lives are always going to be? You make the rules, and I follow them or else you crack it? Are you always going to keep tabs on me? Are you ever planning on introducing me to your friends?” I ask, assaulting him with just a few of the questions that have been plaguing my mind.

He doesn’t answer me, he just keeps focused on the road as we speed down the freeway toward Penrith.

“Well?” I prompt.

“Which answer do you want first?”

“All of them.”

“Fine. Yes Henrietta, this is how it’s going to be. I am a
lways going to keep tabs on you. I need to know where you are and that you’re safe. I didn’t introduce you, because  they’re not the kind of guys I want you associating with. You don’t need to get mixed up in my shit! But what I want to know is – why? Why, when I specifically told you to wait with your friends at the club, you had to come outside? You could have told Harry to go after Kensi, and just waited for me to come back like I fucking asked. But no, in typical Henrietta style, you do the fucking opposite. Take out the very guy I left to keep an eye on you and somehow manage to be walking directly into the fight I specifically told you to stay away from! Do you understand what could have happened if I wasn’t one hundred percent focused on the guys I was fighting? If you’re around me, I can’t fucking concentrate. You’re the only person I see. I’m out there, fighting guys that are half cut from drinking all night. Sometimes it gets out of hand, and I need to be able to see it coming. I don’t need to be worrying about you. So please, the next time I tell you to stay put – fucking stay put! And no, I won’t be giving up fighting. It makes me too much fucking money!” he yells, flicking a wad of money over at me, the colourful notes raining down around me, landing on my lap and falling around the car. There is easily a thousand dollars here – maybe more. 

We sit and drive in silence for a while. “You’re a dick,” I say finally, my arms folded over my chest as I ignore the money and stare ahead.

“Great. Now your name calling. See, this is why I’ve never had a girlfriend. You’re so fucking stubborn. If you had just listened to me in the first place, we wouldn’t be having these issues.”

“I’m not the one who went looking for your fight, the other two did.”

“I’m not talking about the goddamned fight. I’m talking about us. You’re too young. You weren’t ready. But you fucking pushed.”

“Don’t talk like you’re stuck with me
Damien. It’s not like we’re married and have kids. You can get out of this anytime you like.”

“Is that what you want? You want out of this?”

“I don’t know what the fuck I want anymore. Someone else is always there, making my decisions for me. I left home because I couldn’t stand the rules. I couldn’t stand the fear that losing my brother produced in my parents. For years they smothered me Damien! And now you’re doing the same fucking thing!”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, down shifting as he takes the Northern Road exit.

“Of course I don’t understand. Our relationship is all about fucking, I know very little about you.”

“Do not call it fucking Henrietta. It has never been about fucking and you know it,” he bites back.

“Fuck you.” It’s not very eloquent, but it’s all I have right now. I’ve been drinking, and I guess I’m being irrational, but I’m just getting so sick and tired of all the secrecy and all the protection. “Just take me back to my place.”

Tightening my arms across my chest, I stare out the window, not saying a word as we drive the darkened streets. We pull into the parking lot of his apartment building, and I get out straight away, slamming my side before I start to walk off.

“Get back here,” he demands.

“If you won’t take me home, I’ll fucking walk there myself.”

“Henrietta, you’re being ridiculous,” he says from behind me as he catches up.

“Am I? The more I think about this, the more sense this makes. I need to go home – to my home. I need some time away from you.”

“Why? I’ve done nothing but care for you.”

“It’s too much! Tonight was supposed to be fun. I’m eighteen for fucks sake. I’m supposed to be going out with my friends. But you keep restricting everything I do. You’re so fucking selfish. It’s all about you – all the fucking time!”

“No Henrietta. It’s always about you. Always,” he entreats, as I insert my hands into my hair, tears escaping my eyes as I shake my head in frustration.

“God, I hate feeling like this! I just wanted to be free. I hate you for making me need you!” I cry, sobbin
g uncontrollably as he steps forward, wrapping me in his arms, holding me against his chest.

I just sob. I curl myself into his body and I sob.

“I need you too,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head, his strong body cocooning me in its warmth.

“God, I’m all over the place right now,” I say eventually, standing back from him and wiping at my eyes, hoping that I don’t have mascara streaming down my cheeks. “I just… I feel strange. Maybe it’s just hormones, I haven’t had my period since…” I pause, touching my fingertips to my thumb as I try and count. When realisation dawns on me, my eyes meet his. “You said we’d be fine,” I whisper.

“And we will be,” he replies immediately, his voice stone-cold calm.

I thump my fits against his chest. “When I told you I wasn’t using birth control, you said not to worry. You made me think you couldn’t get me pregnant. I fucking believed you. I fucking trusted you!” I thump my fists over and over again on his chest as I scream murderous things at him.

He just stands there, stoically taking my onslaught, unwavering in his stance.

“Was this to trap me? Is that what you’re trying to do? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Still he stands there, his jaw clenching as he watches me rant.

“I’m eighteen. I can’t…I can’t… not yet… oh my god,” I lean forward, placing my hands on my knees as my heart pumps so fast that I’m struggling to get enough oxygen into my blood.

“You need to calm down,” he says, reaching for me.

Flinching away, I hold my hand up, warning him off me. “Don’t…touch me
,” I pant. “I can’t have a baby. I’m not having a baby.”

“We’ll be fine Etta. Relax, just come home with me. We’ll do a test in the morning. We can do this Etta.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I’m not doing this. I’m not going with you. I want to go home – to my home. I just… I need some space. I need to think.”

“Henrietta,” he warns, his tone becoming demanding.

“Just stay away from me.”

“No,” he growls, reaching out and grabbing my arm. With a firm grip he start
s dragging me back toward his apartment building.

“Let go, you fucker! You bastard! You Liar! I hat
e you right now!” I yell, slapping at his arm, trying to pull in the opposite direction. But he’s too strong for me.

As soon as we’re in the foyer of the building, I reach out and grab a hold of the door, using it to anchor myself and make it harder for him.

“I’m not letting you go,” he growls, turning on me, pushing me up against the glass door I’m holding on to, breathing down into my face.

He takes a moment to look at me, his expression dark and stormy, his intent clear. He crashes his mouth against mine, forcing his tongue over my lips, his hands sliding around my waist, practically crushing me against him.

I try to fight it, I try to stay angry at him, but the power he holds over me begins to envelope me, causing me to respond. The moment the first gasp escapes my mouth, I feel his cock, hot and hard against my thigh.

His kiss deepens as he pulls me closer, curving my body into his. Sliding his hand down, he grips my buttocks, pulling me roughly against him. His hand moves underneath my dress and into t
he waistband of my lace panties. With a swift tug, he breaks the seam, dropping them on the floor where we stand.

Reaching down, he grips my thigh and lifts me onto his waist, continuing to kiss me the entire time. I wrap my legs and arms around him as he takes to the stairs, stopping periodically to press me against the wall
and ravish my neck, my breasts. To grind against me.

By the time we make it to his apartment, I’m almost ready to explode. He sits me on the bed, pulling my dress over my head before urging me to lie back.

Discarding his clothing, he climbs of top of me, his glorious muscles rippling as he takes his weight and enters me.

“We belong together Etta. You’re my everything. You’re my life. You’re the very reason I breathe,” he whispers between kisses and thrusts.

With my senses overwhelmed, I can do nothing but respond to my carnal need for him. It’s as if my body craves him so much that it shuts off my rational mind the moment he touches me, and I can’t fight him.