Addicted | ✔

C h a p t e r S i x t e e n

                                                        ❝Your my haven, in life and death.❞

My mom, used to have good days, and worse days. As my father called them. I watched her go through mood swings, redesign my room, and then lay in bed for weeks. I've always been afraid I'd be bipolar. Maybe I am, and I've fucked my brain too much with copious amounts of opiods. I used to think my own mom was the walking embodiment of Monica Gallagher, but maybe, it was actually me.

I thought I'd learned my lesson going through Jack's stuff. But the crazy random part of me that wanted to know if he actually was bipolar. I didn't see it, and there wasn't a market for Lithium or any of the other stuff. He wasn't bipolar, he never switched up on me. He had the same mood most of the time, if not all the time. He never seemed depressed, or more so than anybody else who was cursed enough to grow up in the part of town he'd no doubt seen. 

"Morning." Jack said, as I walked into the kitchen. "Is that my fucking shirt?" He continued before I could say anything. I glanced down, it was actually his shirt. I'd taken a half hearted shower in practically orange water. I wasn't going to mention it. The fact that I was essentially living in a trap house.

"Yeah, u can wear my underwear if you want. Alls fair." 

"Your underwear is practically the size of a piece of toilet paper." He said.

And there he was, showing no sign of the man he'd been the night before. No sign of the half affectionate man he'd been. I watched him walk into the bathroom and swing the door behind him. I watched through the crack as he pulled the medication bottles from the shelf. He emptied two of each of the three bottles into his palm, he bent his head over the sink to swallow them.

The door swung open. Fast too. I jumped from the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He said, in the same voice I'd heard a month ago. I backed up. 

"Jack.." 

He walked toward me, fast. 

"I asked. You. a. Fucking. Question." He said, grabbing me by the neck and shoving me against the wall. 

"Fucking stop Jack." I choked. He continued squeezing my neck. I felt my vision flickering. 

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

Feeling his hands around my neck, feeling my state of consciousness slipping away. My mind was remembering when he'd said, I was never going to be like my dad . I stared into his eyes, I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I felt completely and utterly helpless. 

"You are not special. You are nothing more than a fucking girl to me. You will always be a fucking  body beneath me." He said, slamming my head against the wall. I felt myself slip more, my lungs were on fire. 

"You said you weren't your dad Jack." I said, it taking all the rest of the air I had left in my body. I saw rage dance through his eyes. The eyes I was in love with.

"The difference, Kaitlyn." He spat in my face, choking me more. "Is that my dad abused a woman. I abused a whore." 

I felt myself struggling against his grasp, this only caused him to hit me hard across the face. I don't remember blacking out. I only remember his fingers sliding up my shirt.

"Where the fuck are you gonna go? I'm the only person you've got left. I'm the only person who hasn't walked out on you." He said wrapping the hand that had held mine in the hospital, around my tits. I kicked my legs at him, hard. He lifted me off my feet, I felt my body suspended over air. He pulled off my underwear, and I felt himself let out a silent scream. That's when I realized I couldn't breathe. I heard the undoing of a belt. He dropped me, hard to the floor. My body gasping for air I stared at him. 

He pinned my arms over my head. He stripped off his pants. This time was different, there was no passion. No love. It hurt. He was hurting me. I started to squirm against him and he gripped my wrists tighter. 

"You should be fucking used to this by now. Stay fucking still." He snapped. And I let my body go limp underneath him. I felt tears well in my eyes. 

A/N: This one was rough on me to write. I am in no way, glorifying asault. As you can see I did not write it as a pleasure chapter. This killed me to write. I feel obligated to write it, as it does play a part in Kaitlyns story. I also feel obligated to say this: If you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted, or is currently being assaulted. The national sexual assault helpline is: 1-800-656-4673

Thank you for reading, and I am sorry for this chapter,

Sonya