Held [Completed]

Nineteen.

Nineteen.

I tossed and turned during the rest of the night. It was as if my body was trying to shut down while my mind kept me awake. I can't sleep. Especially now that I've been with Rich for three or four months, give or take.  My insane sleep pattern is off the charts now, and I don't think I'll ever get it back.

My body jerks slightly when I feel something poke me. From the position we're in, it's easy for a boy to get...happy so with a suppressed giggle, I just lay still with a small grin. His arm is draped over my side as he sleeps semi peacefully. The light snoring feels like a soft wind on my neck and I begin to wander how on earth can he fall asleep so easily.

He pokes me again, and for the billionth time, I sigh loudly while shifting to lay on my back. I don't know what's worse, falling asleep only to see Rich invading my dreams; or, staying awake, only to be met with the dreary, depressing scene of the basement. Yet another reminder of Rich.

As my thoughts continue to spiral downward, I inch my hand closer to his. Our fingertips graze one another while I ponder on whether or not I should just grab his hand. I need him to hold my hand. I need him to reassure me that things will get better. That we won't be stuck here, in this depressing pit of weakness and pain, much longer.

My heart rate spikes when I feel his sturdy fingers wrap around my small hand, instantly interlocking our fingers.

"Can't sleep either..." He whispers tiredly. And judging from the smallness in his voice, I get a sense that it's not just a question, but an answer as well.

Tilting my head upward, I smile weakly.

"It's more than that, it's..." I trail off, regretting my words.

Not only was that bad feeling resting in the pit of my stomach again, and causing horrible jolts of pain; but the insatiable need to kiss him again kept creeping up. And even though we're holding hands, I still can't help but feel a heavy uneasiness right now. An uneasiness so strong that my fingers tremble. Something terrible is going to happen, and it's going to happen to us.

Just being back in Rich's awful grasp forces my stomach to twist, and my blood run cold. My despair filled thoughts fill my entire mind with dread, hurt, anger, turmoil. The only thing running through my tired brain is: why did he bring us here? He should have killed us by now.

"What did he carve into your thigh?"

My body tenses automatically as I try to scoot away. In one quick motion, Jake lifts himself up, with a few painful groans, before straddling me. Both of his hands are pressed against the matress while I'm stuck between them, and underneath him.

"I can't talk about it."

I can't look at it, and I can't touch it. If I talk about it then I'll feel it all over again. I'll feel the blurry tears stinging my eyes. I'll feel the searing pain of the hot poker carving into my flesh. And I'll feel the evil, unforgiving presence of Rich mocking me, taunting me with his cold, chocolate eyes. Something tells me that that was just the beginning.

I gasp loudly when I feel fingertips graze my inner thigh. It's not enough to cause harm, just enough to acknowledge their presence.

"What- what are you doing?" I ask shakily. My eyes search his for an answer. I hope he isn't going to do what Rich tried to do.

"Don't think like that, Livie. When have I ever purposefully hurt you?" He raises an eyebrow while I chew my bottom lip.

"Just because you have a witty response doesn't make it true. You purposefully hurt me with the words you say." I stare him straight in the eye, feeling a hint of courageouness.