I'm Only Human (Justin Bieber Fanfic)

Ch. 35 - Better

“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve been looking forward to this party, I’m not gonna stay sober and take care of your drunk asses.”

“You have to follow the rule,” I reminded him. “It’s the bro code.”

“Fuck the bro code. Why don’t you stay sober for once?”

“Me? Me stay sober for once? Bitch, what about you?!” I yelled.

“Guys…” Jama warned, trying to break off the argument.

But Twist just took another drag from his blunt and looked at me. “What about me?”

“You’re either drunk or high, or drunk and high. How about none? You’re going to end up killing yourself, Twist!”

“Fuck outta here.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I gritted my teeth, just about done with his bullshit.

“I could say the same for you, buddy,” he shot me a glare, raising his middle finger up at me.

“Guys,” Jama repeated.

“—Get out,” I stared right into Twist’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows and merely shrugged at me. “Did you fucking hear what I just said to you? Are your ears working okay? Is my mouth working? Get your ass out of your ears and listen to me.”

“We both know you don’t mean it,” he cockily smirked again, blowing out more smoke into the room.

“Does it look like I’m playing mind games with you?” I snarled. “Huh? Get your lazy ass off my couch and go run around the neighborhood waiting ’til the bitches hop on your dick, you sick bastard.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, you depressed son of a bitch,” he spat, not moving a single inch. My heart sank and I swallowed hard.

So what if I really am depressed? Why would he use that to insult me? That’s nothing to be joking about so openly. What if it’s a touchy subject?

“Don’t make me manually kick you out, man,” I lowered my voice so he knew I was serious. “I want you out. I do. It’s not one of those jokes this time man, I sincerely want you out of here. If I have to look at your face for five more seconds, I think I’ll have to throw up so get the fuck out of my suite.”

“I said no, you anorexic twat,” he hissed.

I lost it.

I stormed over towards where he sat and violently grabbed him by the arm, flinging him across the room and, of course, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. I bent down and straddled him, trapping him to the ground as I began to lay punches across his face repeatedly. Within every punch, I hit harder. And with every hit, I drew blood. I became addicted. I wanted to see him spill more and more blood.