Organized Love [Completed]

8 | talk italian to me

The lights along the streets were just shutting off from the long overnight show. Even without snow, the town makes it looks like a white christmas with all their fake snow and bright as bright can be lights. The light show just got done, the judges long gone from the scene. I managed to sneak out of the house from Tyler and Mr. Delfino. I needed some time to cool off from everything that happened earlier in the night.

Tyler and everyone else in the gang had gotten wasted. So wasted they could barely stand up from their chair in the lounge. I wasn't in the drinking mood, so I had only drank a few glasses. It was enough to ge me teetering from buzzed to drunk. Everyone had somehow got up from their chairs and made it up a flight of stairs to their room. I had to help Tyler since he almost toppled backwards down the stairs. I set him on the bed, hoping he would fall back and pass out. He grabbed at me, his fingers tightly closing around my wrist. I let out a yelp not expecting the pain he keeps tightening with on my wrist.

"Ty, stop. Let go."

"No. You stop." I scrunch my brows and saw how red his eyes were. He looks awful. "I just want to say," he squeezed my wrist so hard I started to get nervous. I tried to pull out of his grip, but it's like cement. "When I first met you, I wanted to throw you against a wall." He hiccuped and managed to stand up and toss me against the wall closest to the bathroom. A throb started in my wrist. "I wanted to have you so bad we would put a hole in the wall." His words slurred together so much I could barely make out his sentences. Hell, he can barely speak. He shoved me harder into the wall, his body pushing against mine as if we would break it from this action. His eyes are crazed-- he's losing it right now.

"I've been whipped by you since that night in the club." He bit my neck, in what I assume is him wanting to try and be sexy, but he just ended up scraping my skin a little painfully.

"Ow, fuck Tyler. Stop your being -"

"What, too hard?" He lifted me and slammed me against the wall again.

"FUCK," I hissed out as my tailbone erupted with sharp pains. That's it. I shoved him off of me and quickly escaped to the bathroom. I locked the door and slid down it, holding my wrist in my hand. I can feel each heartbeat burn my wrist. My fingers are taking a while to move again and when they finally move again they cling around the door knob.

I don't know when I left the house, but Tyler was passed out on the floor when I walked around him. I grabbed the keys from his nightstand, my phone, and the bottle of whiskey they had been drinking.

I found my destination with my feet aching to stop walking. I sat down in front of my parents' grave and uncapped the whiskey.

"Hey mom, hey dad." I took a swig and looked around. "Merry Christmas."

⧫⧫⧫

My body jerked from movement, my eyes opening fast trying to find the person responsible for waking me up. I stared back into Tyler's eyes, knowing that my little get away is over. His eyes are bloodshot from the alcohol and trained directly to mine. I stay immobile for a few minutes watching him as his eyes traveled in thought. "Why did you leave?" His voice is hard. No sympathy. Just straight to the point. I know he might be pissed, but my body aches from the times he slammed me against the wall.

"You were a physical drunk asshole." His eyes hardened more-- I didn't think it was possible, but here we are.

"You can't just leave," his head moved so he could look at my parents' graves and I sat up of the ground. I tried to push myself up but my wrist gave out. I let out a hiss and set it in my lap. My wrist is scattered with purple and tints of red showing through where his fingers squeezed. Tyler moved closer to me and his fingers twitched to hold my wrist, but I flinched as he neared.