Sleeping with a Bully

Solace

Nine years ago, John and Terry at age seven

"John, allow me to introduce to you my daughter, Terry."

Seven-year old Terry clutched the skirt of her mother's kimono tight and stared in front of her. A dark-haired boy her age stood in front of them, staring back at her in arrogant fashion. He was wearing a suit and possessed an air of maturity for a child. His green eyes seemed to see through her soul and she glanced down at her chiffon dress, feeling a bit timid.

When she looked at him again, he still did not quit staring at her. A faint smirk appeared on his lips when he caught her eyes, like he was laughing at her. Vexed at his snooty manner, she squared her shoulders and let go of her mother's skirt, lifting her chin at the same time. The boy's eyebrows rose.

"Terry, this is John. He's the son of our host for tonight," her mother continued to say, gently pushing her forward. "Say hello, Terry."

"Hello," she murmured.

"Hello, Terry" he replied in a cultured voice.

For a moment, the mother studied the both of them. Then a calculating look came upon her face and her eyes sparked with elation

"I'll be leaving her in your care for a while, John," she said, beaming happily. "Please look after her."

John nodded. "I will, Mrs. Evans."

Giving her daughter a warning, heated look and John's nursemaid a nod, she departed for the party, hoping the two children would get along well with each other.

But not ten minutes later, a scream was heard from the room where the two children were located. Everyone rushed over in panic. They opened the door, prepared for the worst, but when they saw them, they all froze in shock.

Terry, with a mutinous expression on her face and her hands curled into fists at her sides, was standing over John. John was lying on the floor, holding his leg, grimacing in pain.

She had kicked him.

**********

I was a w***e.

The sheets rustled as I slowly disentangled the arm wrapped around my waist. I slid my legs to the side of the bed and buried my face into the palm of my hand while the other tightly gripped the sheet covering my naked body to my chest.

I was such a f*****g w***e.

Biting back a sob, I raised my head and looked out the window. Dawn was just breaking, rendering the large bedroom grainy and grey.

Was this the price I had to pay for my one night of freedom? I thought with despair. If so, then my messed up life had officially gotten even more messed up.

A hand snaked around my waist and I was pulled back into the bed swiftly. My breathing stopped when a body landed on top of me, effectively trapping me in with his arms.

"Get off of me," I demanded icily.

A smirk formed on his lips as his eyes roamed over my face.

"And where do you think you're going, Evans?" he murmured huskily, sending shivers along my veins.

"Somewhere you aren't, Steele," I snapped.

His face disappeared into the crook of my neck and he began placing light kisses along my jaw line. I bit my lip to stop the moan threatening from my throat.

"Let go of me," I hissed, trying to push him off.

Nipping my neck, he murmured, "No."

My body began to burn as he continued to trail his lips against my sensitive skin.

I pushed him harder, distressed by how my body was betraying me. "John, let go!"

He stilled.

Then his head came up and his expression turned gentle. I stared into his eyes, his piercing green eyes with golden flecks, speckled with chestnut brown. I remembered those eyes. I remembered how much I loved those eyes.

Now all I wanted was to get away from them. And their owner.

"You finally said my name."

This time, it was me who froze.

"Five f*****g years and you finally said my name again."

Panic seized me. I began to beat my fists on his shoulders.

"Get off me," I said breathlessly. "Get off me now."

John let out a sigh and moved back. I frantically slipped out of bed and nabbed my clothes from the floor.

"We need to talk about this, Terry."

"There's nothing to talk," I said in a hard tone, pulling on my jeans.

"There is," I heard him say firmly. "f**k, Terry. Why didn't you tell me?"

I blinked back the tears. My hands shook as I buttoned down my shirt.

"Two years."

He needed to stop talking.

"You were together with that asshole for two f*****g years."

I needed to get out of this f*****g room.

"Yukiko!"

My head jerked back and tears sprung into my eyes.

"Please. Look at me."

I shook my head. If I looked at him now, everything will come rushing back to me.

Everything I tried so hard to forget about him.

Everything.

I finished putting on my clothes and darted to the door. I had a hand to the door, opening it, when his hand shot out and slammed it close.

His heat was on my back, his tall, lean frame fencing me in. My eyelids fluttered to a close when I felt his breath over my ear.

"Why were you still a virgin?" he asked in a soft, chilling tone. "And why did you give it to me?"

I curled my fingers into my palms, tight.

The pain, as it often did, calmed my breathing, if not my heart.

What was I going to say to him?

What the hell should I say?

That when I saw him all the memories of us rushed into my inebriated head, making me miss him, making me yearn for him so much?

I tried to fight against the onslaught.

He wasn't the same person in my memories. He wasn't the same boy that I used to know.

He was a cold, heartless, unfeeling bastard who broke a lot of promises. I didn't, shouldn't want to have anything to do with him anymore.

But the memories, they nagged at me, insistent and forceful, until I just sighed in defeat and let them take all over my mind.

Then I found my feet moving towards him.

My arms curled around his neck.

I saw the shocked expression on his face before my lips found his.

I felt him resist before he gave in, pulling me closer to his body.

I remembered him telling me, begging me to make him stop as he hovered over my naked body. I remembered begging him not to stop. I remembered him whispering how sorry he was when I winced in pain after he broke the barrier between my legs. And I remembered how the pain went away as the pleasure intensified.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

What have I done?

**********

John waited for her answer, his anger mounting.

When she still didn't speak, his hand closed into a tight fist and he slammed it on the door in frustration. She jumped and turned, her back pressed against the door. Her composure slipped for a split second, exposing fear, before regaining it.

"Why, Terry?" he pushed. "After all these years, why come to me last night at the party? f**k, you weren't supposed to be at that party!"

Her eyes slid to the side. John didn't know what to make of this. But he knew it would piss the f**k out of him if she didn't give him an answer soon.

"Answer me!" he roared.

"It was a mistake!" she shouted back at him, her beautiful face contorted in pain. "I made a mistake, okay?"

He laughed humorlessly. "A mistake?" he asked her incredulously. "So you f*****g me last night was a mistake? And the second time? What about the third and fourth time? So you made not only one mistake but four. Four f*****g mistakes."

She didn't speak but stared at him, her eyes fully narrowed, her brown eyes glittering dangerously.

"Who were you with at that party?"

"No one."

He shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling that you're lying to me?"

"Why do you care?" she asked contemptuously.

"I don't." He leaned forward and gritted out, "I'm merely curious why the little princess of the Evans household went slumming."

Her lips began to tremble. "Step back."

John felt like s**t when he saw how her eyes started to fill with tears.

He knew he was being harsh with her but, damn it, she was being evasive. He needed to know why she was there, who she was with and how the f**k she got there. He wasn't sure why he cared. Maybe it was because he felt responsible for her since he knew her or because she needed someone to look out for her, just like how he used to.

She didn't know how close to danger she was. She was surrounded, f*****g surrounded by the worst scum of West Public High. Or maybe she knew and didn't care.

When her firm, little chin jutted stubbornly, he finally realized he wasn't going to get the answers he needed. Clenching his jaw, he pushed himself off her and took a step back.

"If you weren't a virgin, I'd had thought you were just another rich slut out for a quick, drunken f**k," he muttered angrily.

She swallowed and turned her head away.

"Tell me. Why did you even approach me last night? Of all the guys there, why me?"

She returned her gaze to him, the grand composure back on her face. "I'm leaving," she announced low, her tone slightly sharp and he nearly laughed.

"Then go," he clipped. "That's what you always do. You run. You never bother to talk, you never bother to listen. So get the f**k out of my house, Evans. And don't you dare come back."

Her composure slipped again and several emotions, one after the other, chased across her face. They went too fast he couldn't read them all but he could have sworn he caught disappointment before she gained control and her eyes shuttered.

He didn't care. She was going to leave, anyway.

He would never see her again, never be with her again.

And that brought a fresh wave of pain inside him.

Terry whirled and grabbed the door handle. She didn't even give him a glance before she shot through the door and slammed it shut. John sat on his bed and ran his hands over his face. He stared at the door for a moment before he took the wireless phone on the night stand from its cradle and dialed a number.

"Get her home safely," he said curtly as soon as the call was answered.

Then he threw it against the wall, almost breaking it into pieces.

Fuck this s**t.

He stood up and headed to the shower, hoping to wash away the traces of her lips from his body, hoping to forget how she felt good, how being next to her felt so right.

He didn't need this s**t.

He didn't need her s**t.

**********

"Hurry," Iris whispered, helping me climb through the window. "Your mother just woke up."

I tumbled into my room. Iris pulled me into the direction of the bathroom, her words tripping all over themselves as she talked.

"Your bath is ready, young miss. In fact, it's been ready for two hours. I was all set to go to the Steele Mansion to ask the young master where you were. I've never been this worried in my entire life when I saw you weren't here. You didn't bring your phone, you didn't bring any money!"

I stared at her with bleary eyes as she helped me remove my clothes. I had never seen her in such a tizzy before. Iris was usually cool and collected.

"I almost panicked when your brother's bodyguard came walking down the hall because I thought he was sent to look into you. Your door was locked so I told him to get the key and when he came back I had to tell him no men aside from your brother and father could enter your room so he wouldn't get inside. Then your father came calling and I had to tell him you were still fast asleep."

She pushed me down into the steaming water and collapsed to her knees beside the tub, her maid's skirts a dark pond around her. She massaged the side of her temple with one hand, sighing wearily.

"I thought he was going to send you home immediately last night," she said after a while. "Where were you?"

In his arms, I thought miserably.

Shaking my head, I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs.

"Did he... did he do something to you?" Iris touched my arm and I made myself look at her. "Miss, why weren't you able to come home until now?"

"I..." I swallowed the lump forming in the throat. "I messed up."

Her brows shot up. "What?"

"Iris, why did you let me go to him?" I covered my face with my palms. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I tried, miss," she spoke softly. "But when I got there, you were already kissing him."

"Why didn't you stop me from leaving with him, then?"

She chuckled and I glanced at her. "You almost karate-chopped my face when I tried to get you off him. It was kind of funny. You looked like you wanted to beat me up."

I groaned. "Where were those moves I taught you, Iris? You could have overpowered me if you tried."

"But..." she hesitated for a moment. "But it was John."

I pursed my lips.

"Your John."

"He's not my John," I said firmly. "Not anymore."

"He promised me he'd take care of you last night when you wouldn't let go. That he'd take you home himself. I thought you'd be completely safe with the young master."

"Yeah, but he wasn't safe with me," I mumbled.

Iris stared at me. "I don't understand," she admitted. "What did you do?"

"I seduced him," I blurted out.

The comical expression on her face almost made me smile if not for the weight of my sin.

Horribly embarrassed, I covered my face once more.

"I did," I whispered, distraught. "I was such a w***e. I puked last night on the way home and he told me he couldn't send me home looking like the living dead. I couldn't stop puking my guts out and I was making such huge racket. So he took me to his home to clean me up, instead."

Bewildered, I moved my gaze to Iris, who stared back at me with a solemn expression.

"I don't remember how I managed it. I must have been so disgusting."

"This is all my fault," Iris muttered. "I shouldn't have brought you there. I should have stopped you from drinking too much."

I shook my head. "No. It wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"But miss—"

"I made the decision myself, Iris. You merely suggested. You know I could have just rejected your idea but I didn't. It's my fault. I..." I took a deep breath before I spoke again. "I wanted to know what it was like to be ordinary that I forgot myself. I forgot who I was. I forgot where I came from, forgot I could never be just a regular teenage girl. I lost control and along the way, my dignity as well."

I paused, letting the words sink, trying to let the hot flash of pain in my chest ease. But it continued to burn. My hands curled into fists on my knees so tight, my nails dug into my palms painfully.

"She was right," I murmured. "I am wanton."

Iris had no more words for me.

As the tears rained down my face, she wrapped her arms around my wet body.

And for the last time, I let her comfort me.

**********

John stared at the door.

His gut tightened when he remembered what happened that morning but he forced himself not to think about it.

He took a deep breath.

As he let it out, he pushed the door open, plastered a grin on his face and said in a loud, jovial voice, "Rise and shine, Le—."

A knife flew his way and he managed to dodge it in a nick of time. The knife impaled the wall behind him, embedding itself deeply into the wood.

"What the hell, Leon?" John bellowed as he turned on the lights.

Leon was sitting on his bed, an arm outstretched in front of him. He was half-naked, exposing the intricate design of black roses inked on his chest and shoulder, the white sheets pooling around his waist. His messy, black hair was even messier than usual and his eyes were closed. Then they opened, revealing silvery-gray eyes. Seeing John, he slowly withdrew his arm and lay back on his bed, drawing the covers over his head.

Pissed, John walked across the room and pulled the covers off his best friend.

And instantly wished he hadn't.

Not because Leon hurled another knife at him, which he managed to dodge again, but because he was not half-naked like he thought he was. No.

He was fully naked.

"Get out of my room, John," Leon said, his voice groggy and irritated.

John rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned around. "Why do you always sleep naked?" he asked.

"So you'd think twice about barging into my room?"

"That's a lousy reason."

"f**k off."

John twisted his neck to glance behind him. Leon had resumed his position in bed, his back towards him, his hair peeking from under the covers. John exhaled low. Ever since the death of his mother, Leon had been like this. Lifeless and broken.

Either that or he was angry.

John didn't like it when he was angry. He was unpredictable.

Violent.

But he didn't like it more when he was lifeless.

Leon wouldn't eat, wouldn't go out of his room. He couldn't even sleep because his nightmares wouldn't let him. And no matter what John did, no matter how hard he tried to make everything alright for his best friend, Leon would only push him away.

But, unfortunately for Leon, he would never budge.

John took a deep breath and steeled himself against his best friend's temper.

Then he jumped into the bed.

Startled, Leon jumped into a sitting position and muttered a curse. John lay on his side, resting his head in the palm of his hand, elbow to the bed, and watched his best friend turn angry eyes to him.

"I thought we could hang out today," John told him.

"You thought wrong," Leon replied in a hard voice.

"We can watch movies."

"No."

"Play video games."

"No."

"Have a party?"

"I said no," Leon growled.

John chuckled. "Come on, man. It's not healthy to stay cooped in your room all day."

"I don't care," Leon answered, shrugging indifference.

"You already look like a ghost. Why don't we go to the beach instead?"

"Go by yourself."

"You probably didn't even leave your room last night," John mused. "So let's go out and—"

He trailed off when he noticed Leon's whole body tense.

His grin vanished.

Something was off.

John glanced down to see Leon clenching the sheets tight and trying to put his left hand discreetly under them. He slowly sat up and took a closer look of his face. A sense of foreboding came into him as soon as he saw Leon's expression, shuttered and cold.

"You didn't leave your room last night, right?" John asked quietly. "You said you were at home."

"Get out," Leon mumbled, looking anywhere but him.

A mixture of dread and anger sliced into him.

No.

John reached down and grabbed Leon's wrists.

No f*****g way.

His blood ran cold when he saw the bruises on Leon's left knuckles, the split skin. His right hand, on a closer inspection, was sore and red too but not as bad as the other one. John felt his heart stop.

Not again.

"You moron," he whispered. "You f*****g moron."

Leon yanked his hands back. "Get out," he repeated.

"You went to the Den again?" John put a hand on Leon's shoulder to make him look at him but Leon shrugged it off. "Are you... are you really out of your goddamn mind?" he shouted angrily.

Leon continued not to say anything.

"Where else are you hurt?" John asked, trying to turn him around. He didn't notice any bruises on his body when he took the sheets off him but it didn't stop John from worrying. "Where else, Leon?"

A flash of anger appeared in Leon's expression. "I said get out!" he yelled.

"Where else are you f*****g hurt!"

The sharpness in John's tone must have jarred something in Leon because he was able to shake himself out of his anger. Leon's brows snapped together and he stared at John for a full minute.

"Nowhere." Leon's lips slowly tipped up into a smug smile and a shiver ran down John's spine. "Nowhere but my hands. I guess I'm getting good, huh?"

Stunned, John could only stare at his best friend, who had lain down on his bed again.

"Just get out, John."

John kept on staring at him.

When he could finally say a word, he whispered brokenly, "Don't do this, Leon. Please let me help you. Please."

Leon acted as though he hadn't spoken.

And, like always, his pleas reached deaf ears.