Pounding on the wooden door my heart races, the image of each message flashes with every knock at the door. My life has become a 90s horror film apparently, and I the idiotic blonde haired maiden. "TATE!" screaming his name as I wait for the door to open. I stand in my sweat pants waiting for the door to open I notice the trail of red racing down my pant legs. The mirror shards clawed at my legs leaving me with newfound scars to cry over. Lifting up my pant leg I see the nothing but red, fuck the mirror practically shanked me. Staring once more at the damn door knowing that my screams went unheard I run back towards my home, racing past the kitchen only to see him.
I stop in my tracks, quickly spinning on my heel and charge towards him, never noticing the sharp pain shooting from my knees. With blood stained feet I jump at him and smash my fist into his jaw. "Fuck you!" I scream at him as I caress my own fist and try and manage the pain. He falls to the floor barely catching himself, sitting on the floor he yells "What the fuck!?" as he clenches his jaw, a bruise beginning to form across his chiseled jaw line. "Why! Why is your fucking jaw made of steel?! FUCK!" I scream not in anger but in pain, my fist is throbbing like a son of a bitch. "What did you do that for?!" He yells at me from the floor. "Because of you I've already received two fucking death threats you douche weed!" As he caressed his jaw line he looked me in the eye confused. "Tate, what the hell did you do?" Nothing, he remained holding his newly formed bruise. "Tell me. I'd rather not keep receiving death threats and having nightmares of a black condom man." Tate rose towards me grabbing hold of my shoulders, he moved so fast I couldn't react. "Who did you see?" His voice shaking. "Peter who did you see!?" His hands grasping firmly. "Let go of me!" Shaking him off I know now that my nightmare was real, I can feel my bruises burning a hole in my neck letting me know of their existence.
He came closer, "Peter did you see someone in here?" I shook my head yes. "Did they hurt you?" He only looked into my eyes, never actually taking the time to notice I'm covered in blood and bruises. "Look down dipshit." Not a drop of emotion left my lips as I tell him. Without saying a word he scoops me up and cradles me moving me out of the kitchen. "Let go of me!" I demand as I pound on his chest, "You're the reason why I'm covered in my own fucking blood!" He refuses to let go, if anything the blonde holds me closer. Moving us up the stairs he takes me to his old room and places me on the bed. "Take off your sweats" He remains standing looking over me, observing my newly wounded body. "Excuse me?" My voice breaks. "Stupid, I need to see your wounds" Of course my mind goes to sex, who wouldn't? "I can't take them off.." I tighten the bow on my sweats, taking my stance on non-removable pants. Not listening, he comes closer and takes aim for my sweat pants. "Stop! I'm not wearing anything underneath!" I scream. Suddenly he stops; the angel merely blushes and remains frozen in his stance. "Peter, just left up the pant leg."
Moments pass as he tends to my wounds, cleaning them, patching them up. As the blonde cleans up the last of my cuts I place my hand on his, "Why is someone telling me to stay away from you?" He doesn't say a thing, just looks up at my face. "I've done some terrible things." He leaves it at that and doesn't say a single word after. "Something pretty horrible if someone tries to kill me. You're not telling me everything." He doesn't, he just raises his hand towards the side of my face. Caresses my bottom lip with his thumb and says "Not right now. I need to make sure you're alright." Huffing was my only response; I know the blonde won't budge. "Just give me a cigarette." Smiling he stands up and takes the pack out of his back pocket. He begins to open his pack but stops, looks at me and pounces. His body lays on mine, pinning me down. "Stop!" I scream as he holds my hands down, his stare is strong and intense. "Shhhh." He whispers as he kisses me softly. His touch is incredible; every pain throughout my body evaporates. His lips trail to my bruises and his lips graze my bruise. My body becomes alive, better then any cigarette I could ever need. As his hands remain on my wrists his lips travel, his lips come back to my face and his lips once again grace my own. This time he begs for my mouth to open with his tongue, and I let him in. I let the blonde into me even though I know I'll pay for it later. I know I'll pay for it with more bruises, but if this is the treatment I gain when I become wounded. I'd gladly take more, if just to feel his lips on mine.
