Forced (1st book in The Forced Series)

Thirty

Thirty

"Oh my gosh! He said that?!!"

Hazel nodded weakly at,"Yep. That and...so much more."

In the few months that Hazel knew China, she had proved that she was a great friend, far better than any Hazel had ever had. And for a younger person with little experience, China gave great advice. The girl was practically the best thing since sliced bread and... Van?

"Wow... so... you do believe him right?" a frown marred China's face,"Cuz' believe me when I say he does have that addicted look about him. I think you should cut him some slack... talk to him."

Hazel laughed humorlesly,"Yeah sure. I'll talk to him over dinner. Tell him how I lost my virginity, how my father turned his back on me and how I've lived alone for the last five years; no family or friends. That would make great small talk."

Hazel appreciated China's shocked look at the new information. Her brown eyes wide, and mouth hanging open.

"Gosh...Hazel...that's... oh my."

"It's nothing." Taking a deep breath, she stood, mindful of not dropping the canvas. It was a new painting; a self portrait of herself.

Now that Zash had brought it up, she was getting fat round the middle, just a bit. She wanted to have a portrait of herself in the each trimesters.

In that painting, she was sitting on her easel stool, brush in hand, easel and canvas to on side, her cast a splash of colours over her injured hand. Her hair was down, hanging around her face and looking frizzier than ever. Her stomach, just a bit bigger than its normal size, was exposed as she was only in her sports bra.

China stood beside her,"That looks amazing. You are simply too talented."

There were voices and heavy foot steps in the hall as the both Van and Zash left Van's study. They carried out to the kitchen before Zash yelled,"China, you ready babe?"

"In a minute." China yelled back, she turned to Hazel. "I think you should open up to him. It'll do you both some good. Call me."

With that, the brunette left the room.

×forced×

Van sat back on the sofa, a bottle of beer in his hand as he watched the game on TV. He wouldn't call himself a big fan but he sure didn't want to be disturbed. At least, not with the prospect of a possible fight with Hazel. He was in a particularly grouchy mood because of his increasing work load over a mare thing as a couple of new employments and retirements. The head of HR, Van knew, had a major thing against him. Van didn't exactly know why he hated him, but he was sure it had nothing to do with anything work related.

Hazel bit her lip, trying to find a reason not to talk to him. She actually had many but doubted China would think any of them valid. Swallowing the fist sized lump in her throat, she stepped into the living room.

Van looked reasonably yummy. She didn't know exactly where that thought came from, but she couldn't deny it. His wavy hair was sticking up at odds, making it appear as if he'd ran his hand through it one two many times. His top was bare of clothing, his lower half wrapped in a particularly baggy sweatpants. Tempted to avoid pouncing on him, she folded her hands across her chest.

This stance put Van on edge about whatever her problem was. He took another sip of the beer.

"Van, can we talk?" She had decided that she would talk to him, not for the prospect some sort of relationship but to get him off her back. At least that's what she told herself.

"Listen, I'm not really in the mood to for an agrue-" Van began, closing his eyes from the headache he had.

"My father abandoned me five years ago."

This made Van open his eyes immediately,"What?"

Hazel frowned down at her fingers and up the cast,"I...never mind. I'll... go to bed now."

Her eyes began to tear up as she rushed to get to their bedroom. She distinctly heard Van's heavy steps behind her but she was too agitated to face him. In one quick move, she dashed into the spare bedroom and locked the door.

The handle jingled,"Hazel. Haze, please open the door."

"No... I don't wanna look at you." she squeaked.
Van hit his head against the door,"Okay. I'll stay out here and you can tell me."

There was a pregnant pause, then she broke it with a barely audible voice,"He hates art. I don't know why, but he loathes iy. Mr. George is a domineering man. He expects everyone to obey his very command. So when I told him that I would register as an art student, he went ballistic. He told me to get real, in not so nice words. When I told him I wouldn't, he turned his back on me. I was left alone, at nineteen and a couple months. I...had to leave Jersey, had to get away... and a couple of days before I came back here was the first time that I had seen him in five years."

Van took in a strangled breath, listening to Hazel's recount of five years prior. He hadn't expected her to open up to him, much less to tell him something that she clearly hadn't gotten pass. He could only imagine how hard it was for her to say that.

"So... you lived alone... for the last five years." Van nodded,"I thought that you had wanted this...a marriage to a rich man."

There was no sound from the other side of the door for some time, until Van heard the distinct sound of vomiting.

He stood from where he had been sitting, pounding on the door with his fists,"Hazel! Hazel!"

After the sound died down, the door opened, revealing a pale looking Hazel, her eyes cast down and body resting heavily on the door frame for support.

Absolutely horrified, Van picked her up bridal style, carrying his wife to their bed room. With a heavy heart, he sank down on the bed with one knee. Her frail body sank into the bed while he kneeled at the bed side, watching her take heavy breaths, her eyes brimming with unshed tears that peeked out of her closed eyes.

His heart ached at her unhappiness. Van knew without a doubt then that there was nothing he could do about the fact that Hazel, however torn she was, had permanently stolen his heart.

"I will protect you Haze, I swear to God that I'll do anything to protect you."

Van's murmured promise floated over to Hazel's sleepy ears. However she heard him. The sincerity ripped at her; leaving her somewhere between not believing and yearning for something, someone -Van specifically-, to hold onto.

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