Seven Days

Fourteen

I quickly sat up, harshly pulling my hands away from Dante's grip. This caused him to now face me, sitting upright while his legs were covered under the sheets.

I couldn't have heard that right.

I mean, by now I was aware this man was merciless, ruthless, and bloody arrogant, but I never thought he would be the type to want to murder his best friend.

That's cruel and evil. And now he has the guts to even say he killed him?

And then he probably tattooed his name on his back just to show that he was capable of killing someone who was meant to be close to him.

He's still the fucking cultist.

I am so fucking stupid.

"Khristina..." He reached out for my arm which I slapped away, wincing at myself from the harsh words that might escape his mouth after I did that.

I scoffed, getting out of bed and feeling the cold air hit my legs but I couldn't care more about that. It's as if something finally snapped; this man is a dangerous person, a murderer, a stalker, possibly a cultist and now a kidnapper.

Well, I came here by will, but it makes him sound worse.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch." I turned but it was so quick my brain couldn't even register it.

Dante grabbed my wrist, stopping me from going any further as his eyes turned into the cold ones he used to block everyone. His features had hardened and it was obvious that he was angry but betrayed almost, maybe a little disappointed.

But I don't know why.

And I don't plan on knowing.

"Take the bed." He had a no-nonsense tone, his Italian accent thicker through his voice.

"I want to sleep on the couch." He rolled his tongue in his mouth, his grip on my wrist tightening and pulled me closer to him. His fingers found a way to wrap around my hair, tugging harshly so I was to look up to his eyes.

"Do you remember what I said when I'm saying something to you, Khristina?" The memories of him harshly tugging my hair up to him, only this time it was more forceable and dominant, a lot less playful than he was that night.

I nodded while wincing from the pain in my scalp.

If he keeps it up, he might make me go bald by the end of the month.

"Ripetilo." He commanded, looking into my eyes as if he was searching for an answer.

(repeat it)

"You said I should never ignore you." I couldn't muster the courage to speak louder than I already was.

I'm tired of his mood swings, I'm tired of the way he treats me and probably other women as little ragdolls and I definitely hate the way he treats my hair.