𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐦

[11] ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ

He shoves me back onto the bed, my smile slightly fading,

He grabs both my legs, pulling me towards him. A wicked laugh slips from his lips and I shake my head hoping that would be enough to stop him.

"You are mine and only mine, I want you to remember that, Bella."

I force my eyes open, ripping the covers off me and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. 

"Fuck," I hiss, pressing my palms into my closed eyes, trying to collect myself.

Every night it was the same dream; there's no escaping it.

The warmth on the side of the bed is no longer existing and the bathroom door's slightly ajar. Damien walks into the room, his hair wet and I scrunch my face in confusion. 

The clock on the wall reads 6.37 and I mentally curse at how I woke him up, even though his face doesn't show it. 

He stops in front of the drawer, pulling out a black shirt, "I'll let you off with the screaming today. After this, I'm putting a gag ball in your mouth,"

"You look like shit." I ignore his somewhat off-putting threat.

I can't help but think the slightly dark circles under his eyes are all my fault. 

His eyes narrow at me filled with warning and my stomach clenches in response. Damien's mixed signals these past few days have been excruciatingly painful to my head. 

I can't tell when he's in a good or bad mood, both of them just as rare as the other. His face is neutral most of the time and it bugs me that I can't read him. 

He moves over to is bedside table and opens the drawer, revealing all sorts of colognes. I pull out a random one and it reads sandalwood. 

"This one?"

He grabs it out of my hand, sniffs it and then puts it back, shaking his head. I copy him and scrunch my nose at his lack of taste in scents.

I reach for my ring on the side table and I slip it on but take it off again when something catches my eye. 

Damien.

His name, carved in the inside of my ring. Perfectly etched out in cursive handwriting. 

"Does yours have the same thing?" 

The silence engulfs us once again, leaving my question hanging in the air. 

"Damien?"

He snaps his head in my direction.

"What." His tone is clipped.

My shoulders sink and I try to keep myself together, "Your ring. Does it have my name on it?"

"You don't mean shit to me so why the fuck would I?"

"If I 'don't mean shit to you' then why the hell did you kill Vincent?" There's a beat of silence "For fun?"

The corner of his lips slightly position into a smirk and his eyes linger on mine for a dangerous amount of time as if he's daring me to ask so he can show me how little I mean to him.

Damn.

A simple 'no' would've had the same effect. I put on a small plastered smile, grab my phone off the charger and I walk out of the room to take a second outside. 

I don't know why I let his words affect me so much. It's like the same thing happens over and over again where he hurts me and I forgive him and then the cycle repeats.