𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

26 || Sweet And Sour

Song: Kid Cudi - Tequila Shots (slowed + reverb)

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Josie

Being drunk wasn't nearly as fun as the movies made it out to be.

Not when mundane tasks like showering, changing and getting ready for bed took twice as long.

And no one talked about the clumsy mishaps and how they weren't so harmless. Not when I was currently standing in the kitchen with blood dripping down my arm because I'd somehow tripped and managed to rip open the cut on my palm.

And the cherry on top? I couldn't even tell you how it happened. It was all a blur. From the second I'd stumbled into my room to shower until now.

My bare feet slap against the wooden floors as I stumble towards the cabinet near the sink in search for my medical kit.

The faster I cleaned this up, the faster I got to bed.

"Come on."  I huff under my breath, yanking and fumbling the zipper with my unwounded hand. Yet the stubborn thing still doesn't budge.

Far too caught up in my own fit of aggravation, I don't register the sound of footsteps until the medical kit is swiped from my hand from behind.

Although my reaction is delayed and I don't smell the clean scent of body wash and aftershave until it's gone, my body bristles.

As if this night couldn't get any worse.

I was drained, angry and in pain. The last thing I wanted was to be dealing with the man who I'd gotten into a verbal altercation with less a few hours ago.

I withhold the urge to sigh and square my shoulders before turning around, pinning the large man across the room with a hard glare.

"Go away." I spit, only to stop and realize that I'm the one in his kitchen.

You see, this is why I couldn't be mean. Not only did it hurt to be mean to others, but I was terrible at it. Especially when I was up against the meanest of them all.

Clad in a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight black T-shirt. The dim glow of the light above me casts a shadow along half of Nico's form, making him look all the more dangerous and terrifying.

While I stood beneath the light, clad in nothing but a silk white tank top and matching sleep shorts that'd once fit me modestly before I'd hit my growth spurt.

I stare at Nico's dark intimating form trying to come to terms with the fact that his mere presence seemed to naturally put me into a place I hated.

A place where I was submissive, docile and weak.

I hated it just like I hated him.

My eyes refocus on his form as he turns his back to me and nods to the stool on kitchen island. "Sit down."

Curt, nonchalant and straight to the point.

Ugh.

He didn't even need to try to be domineering. It was in his nature to demand and when he was around me, it was in mine to submit.

No. I wanted to say, but what comes out of my mouth is far worse.

Two simple words.