The Bad Boy Wants Her [ COMPLETED ✓] | 18+

[ 18 ] not mine

STORY WRITTEN IN 2016 under revision

WARNING: THIS PORTION CONTAINS TOPICS SURROUNDING AROUND SUICIDE, CUTTING, DEPRESSION, AND ABUSE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

THIS PORTION IS NOT MEANT TO ROMANTICIZE SUICIDE, CUTTING, DEPRESSION OR ABUSE. IF YOU ARE SOMEONE THAT GETS EASILY OFFENDED OR TRIGGERED, DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT.

Skylar

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. He had the box open, staring at it with much disgrace. He needs to leave. He can't just walk into my dorm room then start roaming through my stuff. This was like breaking and entering. And from the looks of it, I was sure an interrogation was coming soon.

We both speak at the same time. "Why are you here?" "Why do you have these?"

His eyes bore into mine, flaming, as if he was beyond furious as to what was in the box.

I shake my head. He shouldn't even be here. Why doesn't he go worry about Tracy?

"It's none of your business. Why are you here?" I repeat, holding my towel close to my body.

His lip trembles slightly and he curses under his breath. "That's not the fucking focus right now. Why do you have these? Are you using them, Skylar?" His eyes roam down the length of my body. "Let me see your wrists." He takes a step forward but I move back.

"Stop." My voice comes out in a weak cry now. "You need to leave." He needs to go. He doesn't care. He was beginning to become the root of the problem.

His face twisted. "Leave? I'm not going anywhere after finding these. Let me see your wrist." He demands.

I shake my head, my head pounding as my eyes dart to the box. I haven't used them. I promised my dad I would stop. "I—I...I can't...please leave." My voice was coming out lower than I expected. I didn't feel good.

We don't want her to get fat like she was before, my mother's words taunt me in my head. Her thighs are like both of mine, plus yours, Tracy's word stab me, tearing the flesh and exposing me. I blink back a cluster of tears, trying to hold them in. But it's too overwhelming.

A murmur comes from my lips as the first few bucket full tears fall from my eyes. "Trist—I—I'm sorry..."

My eyes are blurry as I blink and swipe my skin, trying to stop the breakdown before it can occur but it's already in full action. I can't control my emotions. My sobs sounds like the cries of a whale. I sniff, my nose feeling clogged and tremble as I feel strong arms secure my body.

I don't know what I am doing. In the moment, I don't see Tristen. I see my dad. I see his comforting arms. The only person who cared about me. The only person who knew what I was going through and even through his disappointment, he never spoke down upon me.

I hold him tight, burring my face in his loose T-shirt. My tears coat his shirt but he doesn't seem to mind. My sobs are violent, my little fist grabbing at the cotton of his shirt while my mind drives me insane.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." My sentence of gibberish is cut off by Tristen cooing me, silencing me as he held me in his arms, soothingly rocking me. I held him tighter, my finger digging into his back. I sobbed onto him, my self-control flying out the window in less than seconds.

We stayed there for a while, until my sobs dialed down. And once they did, he pulled away. Not completely, but enough for him to look me in my eyes. My chest felt so tight, my heart beating so fast while my palms were damp with sweat.