His Possession

Four

Angel's p.o.v. I need to get a pistol. The only time I know where it is, is when Andrew is near. It never leaves his side, and he locks it away in one of the drawers that I can't open. He has been nice to me recently, but he gets mad when I don't talk back to him. He hates it when I don't talk to him and he can't stand the things that I say when I finally do. That man is never pleased.

I've officially stopped crying over the whole getting married thing. In fact I'm quite used to the whole thing now. It's strange, really, the way your mind can put up defenses against things. I was thinking today that if the world ended. I probably wouldn't mind. That's kind of depressing.

The door to the library opens and closes so I slightly turn my head from my book to see who it is. I see Andrew taking careful steps towards me, as he watches my face. It's almost like he cares that I'm upset, but I know better. I doubt he can feel anything other than anger and spite.

"Angie," he greets me softly calling me by my nickname. I hate that this heartless man dares look at me in my eyes and calls me the name only people I love call me. I glare at him.

He takes a seat beside me on the couch and studies me with a cold gaze. "How are you feeling?"

I take in a deep breath before turning to him. I don't need to see if I can get his pistol with out him fighting me. I don't have my whole entire escape planned out yet, I have to make sure my parents are safe before I can do anything, but I need to see if it's possible to get his guard down. I've never approached Andrew before…. I've never initiated that in my life… but I think that may be the only way to make him vulnerable. When you're a woman in my position you have to use the only weapon you have, right?

"I'm fine," I answer after a long pause. I bite my lower lip, suddenly nervous. He catches my gesture and raises an eyebrow. "How are you?" It was stupid… but I realize I've never actually asked him how he was doing or how his day was. I'm a terrible wife. That thought makes me smirk. "How was meeting my dad?

"It was okay," he answers, watching me closely with a suspicious look. "He suggested that I get you something.

I almost laugh. that is the last thing I want. I just want out of this damn place. "anything you want?" this is awkward, we've never actually had a civilized conversation before "anything?" I repeat disbelievingly.

"Cellphone?" I ask, sitting up on my knees, excited that I may actually be able to call my family insanely because my dad is the one who sold me here in the first place. It's all that man's fault. He scowls at me and my happiness deflates. He stands up and walks over to the fire place, obviously uncomfortable. Being nice must be hard for him. "No, not that one," he snaps hatefully, resorting to his old self again. "Why would I give you a handphone?" "Oh," I say, resisting the urge to snap back at him. He is so hard to not want to kill. Again I get that infuriating lifted eyebrow. I don't know how he manages to make me feel like a small child every time he does that. "What do you want then?" he snaps and I look at him through narrowed eyes. All we do is fight.

"Are you actually going to get something for me or are you just teasing me?" I ask. I could totally see him getting my hopes up just to crush them. I can't help myself; when ever I end up talking to him I always have the urge to be hateful. "You'll never know if you don't answer my damn question." I look away from him and take a very deep breath. He is unbearable.

He doesn't answer me, so I turn and watch his back as he moodily stares into the fire. I don't understand him at all, I think, as I fiddle with the hem of my shirt nervously. If he trusts me then he'll not be so suspicious or strict. I stand up and take slow steps towards his body, guessing now is a better time than any to test my seduction skills. Which I don't have any… so this should be interesting.

"Drew?" I say nervously, reaching out a hand to touch his back. I nearing yell when he spins around and grabs my wrists. "What are you doing?" I ask referring to his crazy reflexes and the painful grip that he has on me. "What are you doing?" he asks his eyes darkening.

"I just wanted to touch you," I answer. What is his problem? His eyes narrow slightly like he doesn't believe me. Isn't this what he wanted, for me to be willing and for me to want him? "Can't I touch you?"

He watches me closely as he let's go of my hand. He obviously doesn't trust me. "What are you playing at?" he asks me.

I bring a hand up to his face, which remains hard like stone, as I caress his cheek. I hesitate a moment before leaning up on my toes and kissing him on the lips. I stay there for a few moments before I pull back, with my eyes closed. "I just wanted to touch you," I repeat against his lips.

When I open my eyes I'm met with his silver gaze. There's a longing there that makes me want to look away. "I'm glad you're talking to me again," he admits in a low voice.

I smile a fake smile and go up to kiss him again. This was easier than I thought. I let him deepen the kiss, he always has to be in control some how, and when he falls down on one of the chairs, I sit on his lap and straddle his waist. This is kind of empowering to be on top. I run my fingers through his hair and it's now that I feel how soft it actually is.

He pulls back from me with his hands on my thighs as a strange look lingers in his eyes. "I am glad that you're feeling better," 

I turn my head away, suddenly sad again. "It's okay," I say softly accepting his peace offering and start to slowly reach for his pistol. I kiss him and he kisses back but suddenly stops.

"What are you doing?" He asks sending a suspicious eye to his pocket.

I look at him with wide eyes. "I just wanted to see it," I say in my most innocent voice.

His eyes narrow and his body tenses. I think he might push me off of him but he surprises me by removing his pistol from his pocket and offering it to me in his open palm. "Don't do anything stupid," he warns, but I don't acknowledge him. I'm too busy staring at the thing in his hands

I stay straddling his legs, and I my lips in excitement, before picking it up with shaky fingers. I flick a glance at him… I could kill him right now…I could, but I won't… I take the pistol with nervous fingers and I let a smile come to my face before sighing happily.

"Give it back," Andrew says, not caring. He's watching my every movement very closely and his hands lie loosely on my thighs. I now he'll snatch it back from me if I do something wrong. "You're done."

I look at him and nod my head. My hand hesitates a moment before setting it in his.

"Thank you," I tell him sweetly. I kiss him again just to let him know that I mean it

I still don't like the way he looks at me. I want to get up but when I try to move his hands clamp down on my hips so I hold perfectly still from the shock of it.

I look into his eyes for a few moments before dipping down and kissing him softly on the lips. When I pull back he has his eyebrows raised

"Sometimes it astounds me how timid you are," he says sarcastically. I almost snap back at him but the slight smile on his face tells me he's joking. He doesn't do that often. "Oh, I offended you," he says in response to the frown on my face. I look away. "Now you're blushing."

"I'm not blushing." That's a lie; I can feel my face become hotter as I say it. But I hate it when people point it out.

"Of course not… but suddenly you can't look me in the face," he teases, tilting his head to try to catch my eye. I refuse to look at him. This is why I hate talking to him. "I love it when you get all shy on me." He 

That makes me glare. "I'm not shy."

His fingers trace my jaw so I'm practically forced to look at him. His eyes become predatory and dark. "Prove it." This becomes scary as I am on his laps and he might actually think of doing something to me. He might especially since I became his wife. I look in his dark eyes, and without the littlest conviction I French kiss him. That didn't seem like what he wanted but I'm never going to let him touch me. I'm not the suicidal type but I'd rather be dead.

I rest my forehead on his shoulder, with my arms wrapped around his body. I hope I made progress tonight, but for some reason, I think this may have backfired on me.