When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

The Puppeteer's Grip

Myra

He hauled me out like I weighed nothing.

His grip bruised. His pace merciless. Students stared. The teacher stammered. I caught glimpses of wide eyes, mouths parted in shock, no one daring to intervene.

"Marcus—Marcus, what are you doing?!" I hissed, trying to wrench my wrist free.

He didn't even glance back. Didn't break stride.

Through the hallway. Past the lockers. Down the side stairwell where no one would follow. The click of my shoes echoed against the floor tiles.

"Stop it!" I tried again, breathless. "You're hurting me—" 

We reached he exit, he shoved me in his car. He was driving fast and angry. "Please-" he ignored me like I wasn't even there. I was trembling like a leaf. All I could think was his punishment the day I tried to run. When he locked me up in his outhouse.

We halted in his driveway. He got out of the car and jerked me out, dragging me up the stairs he shoved inside his room and I fell on the floor.

Silence.

Except for his breathing. His tie was loose. His sleeves rolled. His jaw tight.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Heavy. Controlled. Dangerous.

"Marcus—" My voice cracked.

He didn't speak.

Just stared at me. Jaw clenched. Chest rising and falling under his black shirt. The look in his eyes—it wasn't cold. It wasn't even furious. It was calm. That terrified me more than rage. He opened his flask and drank from it. He kept it down on the table with a thud.

I got up from the floor, slowly. However, I felt I will fall again, my legs were shaking too much to stand. 

He looked at me and walked towards me, made me shift backwards. With every step he took closer to me he made me take a step closer to wall. I gasped as my back touched the wall

"Marcus—"

His hands slowly reached my face. My eyes were already tearful. My voice was cracking. His hands moved into my hair, he was playing with them

"Marcus please, you are drunk, don't do this?" I tried to plead him

"ahhh" I screamed as he fisted my hair

"You think I'm fucking stupid?" His voice cracked like a whip. "You think because I came to you and said sorry, because I tried to talk to you like a goddamn person, that you could suddenly forget who I am?"

My breath caught.

"I didn't—"

"You did," he growled, stepping forward. "You walked around school today like you were free. Like there weren't rules anymore."

"There are no rules," I whispered, but it came out wrong—too shaky, too soft.

His eyes darkened. "No rules?"

He pinned me harder into the wall. His hold my hair strenthen more, it felt he will break them, my head throbbed with pain. His other hand was gripping my waist hard enough to bruise.

"You don't get to pretend," he hissed. "You don't get to play innocent when you were fucking taunting me with that laugh, that skirt, that boy."

"I wasn't—"

"Shut up." His voice cut through me like a blade. "You don't speak when I'm this angry, Myra. You know that."