Give and Take (poly) (bxb)

Sixteen

"Why are you crying?"

I shrug my shoulders, not letting go of the firm grip I have on the doorframe.

The four men came to an agreement, but I am unaware of its' details. Von went to his room and told me to follow him, that the others will join us later. I watched him walk slowly, long legs, 6'3, the tight muscles of his back constricting, and I had an odd mixture of hunger and fear coursing through me the entire time my eyes were on his godly body.

Now here he is. Sat on his lovely dark red couch, sleeves rolled up, eyes stabbing me as he reaches for something in his mini-fridge. Here I am in his lonely dark doorway, wearing someone's too-big clothes, grey sweatpants slipping down my hips, white long sleeves reaching my knees.

"Come inside. Are you scared?"

"No." I move away from the doorframe in an attempt to reiterate myself, but it's hard. Going towards him unrestrained, unaccompanied, it's a dangerous game I'm not sure I'm ready to play. But the glance he sends my way, pouring dark liquor over ice, he's not going to repeat himself.

So I make sure I close the door behind me before I join him. He's enough on his own. I can't take Romero, who looked absolutely enraged. Someone who was always so playful even in the most humorless times, suddenly somber because of me. L looked like he was finally going to act on his thoughts and otherwise empty words, even though this is the worst possible time. I don't sit down. I remain standing a couple of feet away from Von, just to delay the moment, just to hold on.

"I already warned you, little Mia." He's pouring two glasses. One for himself, one for me, I suppose. "What was his name?"

"Micah," I answer too quickly, and now I'm scared I've struck a nerve.

"I didn't want to do this to you. We have important things coming up... but you broke your own rule, Mia–"

"I wasn't doing anything with him. I promise." I plead.

"But I saw you." He reaches up from his seat to take my hand in his softly, and it's then when the tears blurring my vision become too much and I have to put my head down. I have to hide how weak I am.

I disappointed him. I disappointed them. They've done so much for me, sparing my life when it was arid and not even worth living. Letting me keep my job and stay with my father when we knew the danger it would cause, and the precautions we would always have to take. Treating me like an ally, a friend, and what's more, a lover.

Yet, I still kept Micah at arm's length. I kept him too close to me, like the four men weren't enough, like I needed more. Ungrateful.

"Drink." He puts the glass in my hand, and I'm hesitant. It's not peer pressure; it's a threat. And I don't usually drink. I don't do any of this, not unless Von tells me to.

My hands shake as I raise the glass to my lips, each drop burns on my already dry throat, and I know I'm taking too long when Von stands up, towering over me. When he places his hand over mine on the small glass and tilts it upwards, forcing it all down my throat. He takes the emptied glass from me, and I catch the blue flames in his eyes as he throws it against his bedroom wall. Time stops along with the piercing sound it produces. It shatters along with my resolve.

"Von, I'm sorry!" I'm sobbing now. What's worse than the fear is the shame. It's eating at me. Tearing through the fabric of my clothes with sharp nails and pointed fingers, leaving me naked and exposed. Biting into my flesh with jagged nasty teeth, leaving me raw and open. I want to please him, but I've failed, again.

He watches me for a second, waits for me to calm down, waits. He's swishing around the second glass now, yet to drink from it himself. I'm without words when he passes it to me.