Christian Westbrook, an emotionless seventeen-year-old who is far too mature for his age, is trapped in a life with his aunt and uncle. It was never his intention, but he didn't have an option. His life has been irreparably altered, and he longs for...
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(DESPERATE)
"What the hell are you doing here?" She questions, pausing her music.
I ignore her remarks, not on purpose but because my eyes roam the curves of her body. The way her hips go out after running my eyes over her waist.
Her black shorts were loose against her thighs but too short to hide much and her white tank top allows a bit of stomach to peak out.
She has on a pair of Nike socks and a gold anklet around her ankle.
"Christian, if you don't answer me I'm going to scream," I hear.
I move my eyes back up to her hazel ones, "I wasn't joking when I said I needed help,"
"You have no grasp on reality do you?"
Her goddamn attitude, I'm not sure what it does to me, sometimes I want to put her in her place. Bend her over a desk and fuck the attitude out of her.
"Well your mom knows I'm here and I said I'd be here to study so I'll just be right here, until you realise you have no other choice,"
I move a bit of her papers out of the way, clearing a spot for me to sit. I fold my arms over my chest and gaze in her direction.
She groans and grabs her papers before sitting at her desk. For a while she ignores me, going back and forth from her desk to her wall, where she sticks a few notes then back to her seat and writes more notes.
I honestly get a bit exhausted from just drilling my eyes into the back of her head. She really was stubborn.
Her behaviour gives me more than enough time to scan her room, besides all the papers and books, her room was extremely—girly.
Her bedframe was a soft tufted velvet pink, and her bed was undeniably comfortable even with all her pillows.
I hear a soft sigh and she rubs the side of her neck which I assume is probably hurting from her looking down all the time.
"Are you just gonna keep acting like I'm mot here?" I ask.
She spins her chair around to face me, "You show up to my house unexpectedly, tell my mom you're studying with me, basically boss me to tutor you and then have the audacity to think I'm gonna help you,"
"I see how that may come off rude, but I'm," I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat as I admit it, "Desperate,"
Her eyes stay on mine for a second too long and I see the same pity that everyone used to look at me with. I'd much rather the hatred behind her eyes than pity.
"Fine, you can come over on Sunday, and Wednesday," she says.
She gets up from the chair, "And bring your own books,"
