"Why mom? Why on earth him?!" I exclaim as my rising voice breaks with anger. She twists her blond locks in between her thumb and finger as she cowers into the sofa.

"Honey, having him around will help us in the long run."

"Help who mom? You? He'll provide all the alcohol if you will simply fuck him and let him live here. Is that correct?!" I cannot help but raise my voice. Anger fills my veins and hardens my heart even more towards her.

"I am still your mother! You will not speak to me like that." She asserts herself as a dominant role in the conversation, like she has the right to lay that card down. She lost that privilege the day she lifted that first bottle of gin to her lips.

I narrow my rage filled eyes on her, so ready to let the emotions I've stored away for so long run rampant. I want to scream, whale, and let the emotions violently assault her soul. I want her to understand my pain. But as I look into her ocean eyes, I don't even recognize the woman I used to know.

"I don't even know who you are." My voice becomes brittle as our similar eyes intertwine. I can barely stand to look at her. I flee to my room. I can hear my mom call my name but I refuse to turn back. I swing open the door and immediately lock the door behind me.

I collapse on my bed. I reach for a random pillow and pull it so close to my chest that I can feel my own knuckles pressing into my skin. A trembling sigh slips past my lips as I allow myself to unravel. I allow the threatening tears to flow with total freedom. Venomous sobs prick my lungs as my body shakes violently.

It's not just this one thing. It's the millions of little things she's done over the years. The four A.M. phone calls from sheriff Foster letting me know she's been detained for public intoxication. The fabulous job opportunities she's fucked up for sexual relations with the boss or coworkers. The days when I'm visibly upset and she's strung out on the couch, just simply not giving a damn. The countless empty promises of seeking help when she's sipping on small tequila bottles.

I lay in bed for the next few hours, crying and sobbing into my pillow until I finally fall asleep from the throbbing headache.

My eyes wince as I awake to the blinding afternoon sun baking my whole room. I feel so hungover. So lifeless. The dull and hollow feeling still reigns in my chest. I inhale deeply as my eyes adjust to the sunlight.

I reach for my phone. Nine missed calls. Twenty unread messages. All from Kenzie. Crap. I redial her number and place the phone to my ear. After a brief ring, she immediately answers.

"Girl, where the hell are you?! I've been blowing your phone up! Why didn't you respond? I've been so worried about you. I would just die if something happened to you!" Stress and concern consume her shrill tone.

"I'm sorry... things have kind of been stressful lately." An exasperated sigh huffs out of my nose as I apologize to the best of my ability. I need to give her an explanation so I begin to explain to her what went down.

"So... what are you going to do?" She asks with a delicate tone.

"I can't leave her, Kenz. Someone has to be here to protect her and be there for her."

"Yes, but you don't deserve to be placed in a toxic—even dangerous—situation. You need to look out for your best interest as well, sweetie." Her modulated voice is sweet yet firm. Deep down, I know she's right. However, I have to put it aside for now to do what I usually do: protect my mom.

Our conversation carries on to other topics before eventually circling back. She insists I come to her house again for the night, although I politely decline her offer. Christian will not have control over where I place my head down at night. This has always been my house, and he will not take that from me.

As we hang up the phone, I hear a disembodied voice coming from the hall. Curiously, I silently stalk towards the white door and lean my ear against it, attempting to eavesdrop.

"That shipment needed to be in yesterday, Randall. Not tonight, or tomorrow. Yesterday." Christian lowers his voice so no one can hear him fuss at the mysterious Randall. "I don't give a shit. Get it done, or you won't live to see dawn."

His guttural voice shakes me to the core. As soon as he hangs up, a loud knock echoes in my room. I leer at the door knob, hesitant of my next action. Should I open it? If I don't, he will be suspicious.

"Grace, open up." His throaty voice commands. I inhale sharply before gently opening the door. As it swingings open, Christian's venomous eyes glare a hole into my own. I relinquished the harbored anger from earlier to match his hard, leering gaze.

"What?" I scoff.

"We never finished our conversation from the other night." His ash brown eyes are glazed in a coat of obvious deception and wicked intentions.

"Which conversation? The one where you called me your 'girlfriend,' or the one where you were being a stereotyping moron about wolves?" I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my eyes into his.

A hollow laugh bellows from his lips. He places a hand on the door frame and leans over me, "Don't flatter yourself. I only said that to get him to back off."

"Tell me... in what world would that run a werewolf off? Oh! I'm her boyfriend! Leave her alone!" I mock his ridiculous explanation. That doesn't even work in the human race, let alone the werewolves! Animosity bubbles like volcanic lava in his cold eyes as he takes a step forward.

"In what world would a proper lady allow herself to be fucked by a beast?" His nostrils flare as his harsh words hit me like penetrating bullets.

"I don't know. Ask my mom that next time you lay down with her." I scoff.

Within seconds, his hand is wrapped around my throat, squeezing and tightening his grip with every passing moment as he shoves me into my room. He pushes the door shut with his foot before swinging my body around, and slamming me into the door. My eyes burn as salty tears flood my waterline. The nerves in my back are lit up like the Forth with excruciating pain from the hit. I try to firmly grab onto his wrist and try my best to jerk myself away, but my attempts to remove myself is unsuccessful.

"Watch your tongue, young lady." A dark growl echoes from the depths of his hollow chest. He slowly lowers his fat head next to mine. Christian's hot and heavy heaves carass the nape of my neck, electrifying every hair covering my body with heart stopping fear.

"Fuck off!" I grunt. His fingers press deeply into my neck, nearly cutting off my circulation completely. I desperately gasp for air as the bitter tears rip down my redden cheeks.

Suddenly, he releases me from his grimy grasp and takes a step back. I drop to my knees. A heavy gasp escapes my chest and roars in my room as I feel the blood quickly rush into my veins again. I find myself in a fit of coughs as I try to regain air into my lungs. My head feels like a bobber floating in the lake on a windy day. I feel so lightheaded, it hurts.

"Next time, I won't be so nice." His low, threatening growl sends shivers down my spine.

"You won't... do... shit." I call his bluff while coughing my lungs out. A sinister laugh crawls out of his mouth as he mocks me before crouching in front of me.

"Try me..." He roughly grabs my face and holds my chin within his manicured fingers. A cold glare meets my own as he rubs his thumbs across my lips, tenderly stroking them. His hard gaze lifts away as he begins to walk off, leaving me in a puddle of fear, tears and worries.

A/N

Wowww,  Christian is a tool. What do y'all think? Please let me know in the comments. What do you think this shipment is??

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