Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

My Boyfriend's Sister's Boyfriend (P4)

Warnings - abuse, name calling, depression, alcohol

"What the fuck did you just say?"

I was cringing, wishing I could fold into myself. I was going into survival mode. If I wanted to save myself, to save my reputation, I was going to have to gaslight him.

"What? Did I say something?" I asked sweetly. "Come on, don't you want to finish?" I asked, rolling my hips. He wasn't buying it.

"Timothée, you said Timothée," he growled. He looked absolutely lethal. Dillon has always had a temper, but I'd only ever seen this specific anger directed towards others, never me.

"Did I?" I asked innocently, trying to look truly confused.

"Yes, clear as day. And that's not my name," he snapped.

"Sorry baby, you know I work with him now. My mind must have been on work," I chuckled, as if this was a funny story we could tell later.

His hands were on my wrists suddenly. His grip was more than bruising, my arms ached.

"Dillon, you're hurting me," I said, with a whimper.

"I know, that's the point," he said darkly. I couldn't believe he was intentionally hurting me. He moved to my arm, pinching the skin harshly, I didn't make a noise, but tears sprung into my eyes.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you're acting like a slut," he snapped.

"I promise, it was a mistake. I'm super stressed from work. If I wanted to be with Timothée, don't you think I'd still be at work? But I'm here with you, with you inside me. Cant you see how crazy you're being?"

It was self preservation at this point. He was scaring me. He was the vindictive type, if we called things off, my whole family and all my friends would 1000% know all the dirty details. I'd be labeled a whore, a wrecker of my own home, and I could forget Timothée ever being accepted if I found solace in him.

"I suppose, but If it ever happens again, a lot worse will happen," he threatened, eyes blazing. I nodded solemnly.

He continued our previous activity. At one point, the way he was rubbing my skin was burning, and I was pretty sure he knew it. It was reminiscent of the snake bites he used to give me when we were children. He put both hands on my arm and twisted the skin in opposite directions cruelly. I think he was trying to punish me further.

When he finally finished, and I pretended to finish (not that he necessarily cared), he told me to make sure to lock the door on the way out. I did as he said, walking in a trance like state to my car. The light from the over head light showed the bruises he'd left on my skin.

I began driving, still feeling like I was in a dream. I didn't know where I was going until I saw the street I was on. Timothée had told me where his apartment was located. In my fractured state, my mind had automatically sought him for comfort.

I didn't feel willing to stop now. I went in the building, and rode the elevator up, all while ringing my hands. They were shaking as I knocked on his door. Tears were welling in my eyes.

The door swung open. Timothée looked rather shocked that I was there. He just stood for a moment.

"What's the matter?" He asked, taking in my dejected form. He was searching my body, but I was cleverly hiding my bruises.

"What's happened?" He asked again, the look of desperate concern on his face making my tears increase. Before I could muster up the words to say anything, someone was calling him.

"Timothée?" It was Julie, and the knot in my stomach hardened. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

"I'm sorry," I choked out. "I wasn't aware you had company."