//Rafe Cameron\\
"You don't make deals with the devil, not unless you want to dance with him and maybe I did"
Lily Grant has spent her whole life slumming it with the pogues, being that she is one.
They're her day ones, her best friends. Life coul...
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—Rafe—
Livid isn't a strong enough word for the red that flashed behind my eyes and the anger that burned under my skin when I saw my truck. The paint scratched off in thick lines, up and down the side. I didn't have to wonder who did it; I knew.
I wanted to light her up, piss her off and made sure she'd see me kiss whoever the hell it was. It was my entire goal to set her off I just didn't think she'd fucking do this..
I had every fucking intention as I had my pedal to the floor the whole way to the cut, to do something to her. My knuckles ached and burned at how goddamn tight I gripped the steering wheel, my tires screeching around every corner and turn I took. Practically sweating from the anger fucking boiling inside of me. I wouldn't have hit her or some sick shit like that. Although I don't mind that she thinks I would..or I didn't..
I didn't know what I was going to do but I knew I had to do something to punish her, she wasn't going to get away with that shit. I contemplated bringing my gun with me just to scare her, I wanted to scare her. Until I was there and that's exactly what happened.. she was scared of me. I left my gun in the center console of my truck where it usually is. It was like fucking déjà vu pulling up her driveway, except this time I didn't reach for it, I just left it. The last time I was here I didn't have a second thought about bringing it and using it to scare her, fucking petrify her.
I could feel her pulse, practically hear her heart pounding in her chest and hear the way her breath shook as I held her in my grasp. Her eyes watching me, round with exactly what I wanted.. fear. She's always running that mouth, saying shit in situations where she needs to keep it fucking shut but she won't. Except for last night, I've never seen her so afraid and I didn't like it one fucking bit.
I didn't like how she watched me like she was trying to prepare herself for what I'd do next. My anger faded the minute she hurt herself trying to get away from me. I followed her into the small room of hers, feeling the foreignness of myself calming down. Very few times when I'm angry do I calm down. I either punch something until my knuckles are bloody and bruised or snort so much cocaine and get shit faced that I can't remember my own fucking name.
The direction of where the night was going changing the second I had her pinned underneath me. Hearing her ask me not to hurt her made a sort of nauseous feeling kick me in the fucking stomach. Before, I would have fed off of that and I probably would have done something else to enforce that fear in her but that wasn't there. Instead I fucking hated it. I hated the way her chest heaved up and down with panic, feeling her pulse pound against my thumb as I held her wrists together above her head. Knowing she couldn't get away and she'd end up hurting herself if she tried. I didn't want her to feel like she needed to.
