Chapter 12

It was terrifying. But that wasn't a good enough description. Rather, it was worse than the nights spent homeless - worse than my first night on my own after running away. No sleep, no rest. I couldn't calm down, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't keep my guard down, knowing that it was possible that Clare could come in and show me just how vulnerable I really was being with handcuffed to my bed.

I stayed up all night. But not just because I didn't want to go to sleep in case Clare came. It had gotten to the point where I tried to go to sleep because I was tired of waiting, knowing it wouldn't do any good whether awake or asleep if she came. When I tried, I couldn't. My mind wouldn't stop racing, wouldn't light up about thoughts of the drugs my body was craving mostly. The physical pain, the mental pain, the thoughts that I couldn't help coming to me.

Yet, that was all I really know from the past hours during the night. It was a little bit of a blur - which I figured was a good thing. All I knew was that I couldn't fall asleep because my greatest fear filled me - and all along with the pain from withdrawal. But it all blurred together. It was vague which was the only good thing about it.

It didn't make me forgive Luke at all for it, however. Nope. When he first handcuffed me, I couldn't hide my scared side. But after he left and up until now, I was filled with disturbing thoughts about how I wanted him to suffer like I just did. I was angry. So angry to the point where I was going to do something about it. Being handcuffed to the headboard didn't give me many options. But by the time the sun was up and I knew Luke was too, my anger decided on it's own what to do. And I was ready when Luke cracked my door open first thing in the morning.

If he thinks he could do this to me then come in the next morning and unlock me so he could watch me again like he did yesterday, he was wrong.

My eyes were already on the door before he opened it, hearing the floor slightly creek on the other side. When he opened it and slowly came in, the pissed off scale in me went off the charts. Not only did seeing him make me more upset, so did the details I noticed about him.

Luke entering my room quietly, he met my eyes and stopped, eyes widening. He was surprised to be seeing me sitting up and resting my back against the headboard. Like I was for most of the night. He probably found it a little creepy, seeing me sitting up like I was, eyes not only already glued to him, but just as droopy and and tired as his were in the past few days.

Well, I shouldn't say 'past few days' when I noticed his eyes finding mine were still droopy and tired. His facial expression was defeated in a way - which was cool with me. The part that pissed me off was that I realized he didn't sleep well last night; he didn't get the rest that he needed. He should have slept better, gotten well rested last night because that was his reason he handcuffed me here. To go get some sleep. Yet, I saw he got none if I had to guess from how he was looking now.

So, with the need to be mad, in a way... he handcuffed me for nothing if he didn't get any fucking sleep!

It was my own fault too. He probably would have slept well if I didn't explode in a rant last night about all my issues I had with him. Luke left my room last night filled with a dead expression over pain after I said those harsh things to him. Seeing him now, I saw that those words I said were still taking an effect as they had last night when he tried to sleep and couldn't.

Dear God, what did I do to deserve to never get a break?! I only do bad things when necessary! It's not my fault my mother is your worst enemie's mistress.

His tired green eyes on mine, he just stood there, taking me in and my messy features of a night spent with eyes open. I saw he didn't even change out of his clothes from last night. He stood there in the same jeans and white muscle shirt. But at least he has his own clothes. I have been stuck with wearing Clare's shit (even though I admit, her clothes are more comfortable than my few that I had while living homeless).

He looked down, hating how I was looking at him - which was with hurt and an angry expression over all. He took a deep breath before he turned around, shutting my door. Then, he moved forward towards my bed and I could feel that in me, I was ready to hurt him. I was ready to do that throughout the whole night.

He neared my bed. With every step he took, my free hand tightened a little more around the lamp that I was hiding under my covers. The one thing that was good about him not being able to sleep last night was the fact that he wasn't that alert to notice the bedside lamp was missing from his sight. The lamp... that was the biggest thing I was able to reach with my other hand trapped in a circle of hard metal. It was either the lamp or the clock. I figured the lamp would drive home to him how pissed I was.

Looking to him as he moved closer to where I was sitting, I stared daggers at him which he avoided. That was fine. He couldn't ignore what I was about to do. Not a word spoken between us yet, I noticed that between his fingers was the small grey key to unlock the handcuffs and he leaned over more, lightly lifting my bound wrist to get a better view. A moment later, I glanced to look myself and saw him slip the key into the lock and not a moment later did I feel my sore hand go free and my numb arm was given access to move.

And it moved alright. I wasn't even sure I could do it with such a sore hand and arm but I really didn't care. I was hurting everyday.

The moment I was freed, I tightened my sore hand into a fist and before he could notice with his dead eyes, I wound it back and shot it up as fast as I could, punching Luke hard in the face. My fist coming into contact with his annoying and smooth face, a pain entered my hand and I grunted a little. But I didn't stop, didn't hesitate or slow with what I did next.

Yes, that's right folks. Yours truly knows how to be a badass when I must.

Luke staggered back a little, groaning slightly and caught off complete guard. He braced his hand against the wall, trying to catch his balance. But it was too late by the time he fell and roughly leaned against the night stand to get himself to remain still. But I was moving forward before he even was able to try to catch his feet. After I punched him, I whipped my legs over the side of the bed and got up, revealing the lamp from under the covers I was holding (the lamp shade I took off and slid it under the bed). I didn't even know if he was able to see it before I smashed it against him.

I had charged for him with the lamp as he was staggering and when I was close enough in the next second, I swung my hand with the lamp up and near the back of his head. And I would have hit it there to hopefully knock him out. But he was still moving with trying to gain back his balance and get properly to his feet. So instead, with the angle I was at in relation to him swaying, I ended up smashing it again his the middle of his back. At that contact, the glass broke into a million pieces and penetrated the skin of my hand, the sharp shards cutting my palm, which was expected with such a shitty reaction time to my own plan.

I at least hoped it would hurt him too though. Because it was meant for him! It didn't even knock him out. But that doesn't mean I am not a badass when I need to be, got it? Like they say, it's the thought that counted! Not to mention he was the dummy that moved and caused me to mess up in the first place.

I didn't - couldn't - dwell over that at the moment - even though I was the first one to say anything. "Damn it!" I groaned as I moved towards the door quickly, not bothering to wait to see what the damage was to him as I felt blood start to run down my fingers.

Not only did I attack him like that because I was mad - which was the main reason. I needed to get out of here for as long as I could. Just to get to the drugs. I knew he would find me and drag me back here. I just hoped it would be after I got a hold of something that would make this burn in me go away.

I ran as fast as I could out my bedroom door after swinging it open with a wince. I was instantly dizzy, my head pounding as I moved towards the stairs (probably because that was a lot of movement in so little time for someone that hasn't moved much in the past few days). But that didn't make me slow as I moved down the steps, bounding down the stairs, knowing that if I let my body control my movement, it might put everything more at risk. The faster I get out of here, the better chance I could have more time to find drugs.

By the time I reached the bottom step and sprinted towards the front door across the room, I heard the stairs seem to echo the sound I just made a second ago with my feet. Except the echo was of even quicker steps and it made my heart jump in knowing I would not get much farther.

As I reached for the front door, he hit me with the force of his body for what seemed like the hundredth time. At least he didn't tackle me to the floor. He was polite enough to just grab my arm and pull me back after crashing into me, turning me around.

Facing him now though, he didn't stop. He backed me up into the wall besides the door, my back pressed roughly against the wall and it made me hit my elbow against the hard wall when I tried to at least push him back. I moved my hands up in time to push back on his muscular shoulders, putting my weight into it as best as I could before he really got a good position. The result was him pinning me with my back against the wall even tighter to the point where it was almost pointless to fight. Nit to mention, I would have a bruised elbow like it was nobodies business. He was on the top of my shit-list at the moment.

His face an inch in front of me, I gasped as I saw the damage I caused him. Along with his already incredibly tired eyes, his nose was bleeding, a drop of blood leading a trail of red down from his nostril and over the corner of his lip. Well, at least my punch was effective. I would have to find out if my attempt with the lamp did anything to him. But being in this position, I would find out later since I couldn't even get a good look at his back or side even. It probably didn't even leave a mark, the stupid lamp. Of course, if I had more time, I could have stuck the cord up his ass. That would leave a mark. But time wouldn't allow that with how swift I needed to be.

He was scowling, breathing hard with annoyance and anger in his gaze set on mine. I couldn't move, I noticed. He wouldn't allow it, I saw. Breaking our glare, I glanced up to where both of his hands pinned mine up above us against the wall. Groaning, I tried pushing him away from me but all he did to keep me still was press his body closer to me roughly, making me grunt in pain as I saw his face - and really all of him - move closer.

He was so angry, he couldn't say anything it seemed from his glare and scowling expression. I was just as mad; I just couldn't get a damn break. Handcuffed to the bed on top of withdrawal. I couldn't imagine what it would be like when it gets worse because I knew it would.

"Well, good fucking morning to you too," I said in a growl in his stupid, pretty, and slightly bleeding face.

He took harder breaths, trying to calm his anger because he was seriously pissed now and more than a little stressed. He closed his exhausted green eyes for a minute, trying to get himself under control. It was obvious why too. For one, he knew he couldn't really blame me for this - not after he saw my panic last night from the handcuffs, my outburst at him, and on top of all that was the withdrawal that drives people to do crazy actions for drugs. So he was trying not to be too mad. But on top of that... there was another reason for his attempt to calm down. It felt like I saw that before with him. I realized I really had just then. I am sarcastic and sometimes harsh, I harass and tease and mock but not just for the fun of it - though it was fun too.

I like to see what effect I can have on people. I like knowing I can make someone laugh, or become embarrassed, defensive, mean, angry, and rude back. And seeing those reactions on people's faces, seeing their response to my words tells me a lot about a person. If I get a pissed off reaction, its more than just a way to hide my own pain.

Making someone angry tells me I hit a nerve of theirs. Making someone defensive tells me they are nervous about whatever I said and could be in denial. If someone becomes embarrassed and so much as blushes tells me they are uncomfortable with what I said or even ashamed because it could be true. Even if I make someone laugh, it could mean they like my humor - because yeah, it was humor in a way.

Reactions tell me at least a thing or two about somebody. I get satisfaction out of that because it makes me feel powerful, more knowing of people and the unknown - which was also a great fear of mine. But most of all, it makes me feel as if I am in control when I see I can have some form of an effect on someone.

But... it was different with Luke. Yes, he would show me disappointment and anger like he was now. He laughed a few times. But when he first arrested me, I remember he made me nervous and upset because I couldn't get a reaction out of him like I wanted. He had a blank face and it showed me nothing. And with Clare, he kept control. He was mad with her at first but then, he was able to get control by just lying and saying he forgave her, making that blank face return with her. Even just for the sense of control. After that and even now, he was trying to hide the need to show me a wild side of him, one that maybe didn't want to be in control all the time but felt secure with it.

Watching him now, breath hard and evening, he was getting himself back in control, trying to make the anger in him vanish. True, he was trying to calm his anger over what I did. But overall, I wasn't what ticked him off. It was the situation, one he really couldn't control. He was losing his patients and was trying his best to keep it. Keep order to keep what he knows in check.

"You are angry with me," I observed. "But it's because you can't seem to control me. To control anything after I came home." More than I wanted to admit, he and I were alike more than it seemed.

He looked up as he slowly opened his eyes, eyebrows dipping at my words. Taking in the blood over his smooth lips, his tired expression, his eyes held mine as we were close to each other. I could feel his hard breath brush against my face and... it was somewhat welcoming and warm, comfortable.

Dear lord, who was I turning into? Speaking of control, I didn't like that I also was having to try harder to keep control too. He was affecting me in a way that made me feel sympathy, kindness, and other things I didn't want to feel. I was hoping it was just the loss of drugs causing this stir of emotions that made me want to throw up. Or maybe it was just the burn in me, the growing ache from withdrawal that was causing my emotions to heighten. I hoped so. Physical issues were better than mental.

He didn't deny it. Finally, with slightly wider eyes at my observation, he said angry, "Then maybe you should start cutting me some damn slack."

"It was just an observation," I clarified even though those uncontrollable feelings said otherwise. "You need control now but you don't necessarily want it because you feel locked away at the same time."

He just... stared at me, trying to process my words. As he did, I watched in wait, wanting and hoping for something, for a reaction to seeing that I understood a little about him too. His curious green eyes in mine were searching, beautiful with brown flecks. Yet, I still didn't get much of a response but I think it was mainly because he wasn't sure what to think about what I said. He finally sighed, not showing me an answer because he wasn't sure. But also, I wasn't even sure if he would be okay with me figuring him out like that.

Breaking his glance, it made me leave my thoughts and made reality that much more real. I felt something slowly start to crawl down my arm that he had pinned up against the wall. It was a wet feeling and I could feel gravity take it's course, making whatever it was glide down my arm. I was able to glance up to the side to see, despite how close and tight he held me there. I was able to see that the one hand that I used to smash the lamp against him was even more bloody. To the point where that red liquid was streaming down from my hand and along my arm that was pinned above me.

He also noticed I saw when he started to lower my arms. He didn't back off me though even though his arms weren't occupied with containing me. His body and force behind it did enough. I didn't try to push him away anyways. Despite the burn, the terrible need that was making me shake, I knew I couldn't escape him right now.

The next second though, he grabbed my other arm that wasn't bleeding tightly and began walking towards the stairs, towing me in a hard grip. "Ow man, you're hurting my arm. Not to mention my elbow is going to receive an ugly bruise because of you!" I said as he continued to quickly drag me to the stairs, forcing me to pick up my pace as he moved fast up the staircase.

He scoffed. "You're complaining about how you will get a bruise on your elbow. Yet your hand and arm are both covered in blood," he said by the time we got to the top of the stairs. He didn't pause, moving quickly down the hall and entered the bathroom with me. "I should be the one yelling at you for punching me and smashing that lamp against me!" he growled as he shut the door behind us.

"You know there is no point in scolding though," I pointed out, knowing he understood despite it all.

"No, there is not," he groaned in hesitant agreement, taking hold of my other hand that was the source and pulling my bloody arm near the sink. Just as my arm was hovering over the sink, the first point of blood dripped from my skin and we were just in time; it hit the bottom of the sink, the dot of red liquid slowly moving towards the drain of the sink.

He turned the sink on in the next moment and moved my arm under the faucet, letting the cool liquid spread over the surface of my arm, tainting the streaming red lines on my skin. It made the water in the sink turn a tinted color as it rushed down the drain. Moving his hand up and down my arm quickly, getting the blood that flowed down it off, he then moved my hand under it. Locating the points that were the source to all that blood, he groaned when seeing some of the small pieces of glass were buried slightly in my skin from the impact. I felt myself wince slightly as he rinsed my bloody hand more gently and left my hand clear of blood. All that was left was to dig out the shards I saw were slowly letting a little more blood seep out again.

After that, he had me sit down on the side of the bathtub. After I did so, I looked up to find him turned away from me and towards the drawer under the sink, opening it and taking out something I couldn't see. In that little second, I admired how nice of an ass he seemed to have. Don't gasp or be alarmed folks; it wasn't because I was letting my eyes enjoy themselves. My eyes needed it for distraction from the pain my hand was in.

Setting whatever it was on the counter for a quick second, he grabbed a piece of toilet paper and cleaned up the blood around his nose and lip. The blood I caused. But my eyes were desperate for distraction, I tell you.

After he was finished quickly wiping his blood up, he took a hold of whatever he went in the drawer for and turned around so I could really see him. I couldn't admire any of his other features when I saw what he held in his hand though. Oh joy. He was holding tweezers - but really, what else should I have expected? Like a toothbrush, a bar of soap, or makeup could help.

After my eyes moved away from the tweezers he held, I saw that his face calmed to the expression of just... exhaust and a little anger still. But he forced the control - or illusion of it - back to him. He came to kneel in front of where I was sitting on the side of the tub. Luke reached up and took my hand that was torn with the buried pieces of glass, just slightly dug into my skin; it should be easy enough to get out.

"I can do that myself," I said automatically.

He glared up at me and spoke quickly. "You should. Because it's your own fault. And you would if I didn't know you were already going through hell with the withdrawal. Plus, you can't. You are shaking."

I was shaking harder than I thought I was earlier, I observed. In the next moment though, looking back up to him, I saw a worried yet still angry look in his eye. It was gone quickly after he then glanced down to where he grasped my hand in his, tilting it towards the light more. Taking a deep breath, eyes dropping with the need for some sleep, he leaned in closer to my hand for a better look. A second later, he raised the tweezers he held in his fingers, holding my shaking hand tighter in the other.

I watched as he slowly, gently moved the tweezers closer to my skin with the two cold points making contact with where I saw a small shard was sticking out, causing the skin around it to become a little wet with blood. He moved the tool closer, placing it so the piece of glass in my skin was between the two points. He pinched the tweezers closed, grabbing the shard of glass with it and he removed it from my skin.

One piece down. Too many to count to go. It was going to be a long time sitting in this bathroom with him.

It took too long in my opinion. Especially when the time ticked by with nothing but silence. He was quiet throughout most of it and I really wasn't in the mood to pick on him. After all, he was the one challenge to figure out when provoking him.

He used the tweezers for most of the time and a needle for the deeper ones. He would also occasionally tear off a piece of toilet paper and dab up the blood that was slowly coming as he picked at my skin. It had to have taken an hour or so. In that time, he didn't say one thing, obviously tired and upset. I left him alone and I think that surprised him or something. And to be honest, it was hard not talking to him or having some form of distraction. Every minute that went by, the flames of pain were growing more hungry. And all I could do was sit there on the side of the tub for an hour - yeah, an hour sitting on the edge of a bath tub. My ass was so sore!

It wasn't until he was finished and wrapping my hand up that he said something. He wouldn't meet my eyes as they were focused with winding the white cloth around my hand. "Was it because of the handcuffs or because of the need for drugs?" he asked quietly, wanting to know my reason for attack. At least he was acknowledging there were two reasons.

I wanted to know why he wanted to know now and not earlier. Did it even matter because it wouldn't change anything? He was a likable guy. But what I absolutely hated about him was that I had no way of figuring him out sometimes.

"Both. Mostly because you cuffed me to the headboard the whole night. Does it matter which one?"

He nodded slowly, his hands still working over mine with the bandage. "If you attacked me and tried to escape because you felt so strongly, so obsessed with needing drugs in your system, it was bound to happen. You will try to get to it at some point because it just takes you over." He paused, sighing. "But you attacked me because I handcuffed you to the bed. It was more personal. And it gives me more of a right to be upset with you."

I internally groaned. Yeah, yeah, I get where he is coming from. But god, he saw how badly this affected me just last night - from my panic and he might have assumed my outburst was a result of him handcuffing me.

"You have no idea what I went through because of you last night! I have more of that right!" I shouted at him as I saw him finish with wrapping my hand up. He looked up to me, pursing his lips, not feeling too sorry for me - which was fine. He looked more curious on what I meant by that.

"Did Clare come in and hurt you last night?" He asked.

I groaned. "No."

"Then what was the problem?" he asked, eyes somewhat testing as if he already had an idea.

That was what I wanted to avoid: the problem I had with it. "I shouldn't have to tell you. Just know there is one. Can you find some other way to keep me in. Because if you leave me bound to anything like that again, I will do more than hit you with a fist and a lamp." I said, not wanting to sound too threatening or detailed since I guess I kind of was asking for a favor here.

"Do you think you deserve that after all you have put me through?" he asked. He gives me so much credit and has done so much for me. Why can't he just do this? He got me away from doing time in jail and community service. He is keeping Clare away and promised me a good summer after this. He's trying to help me. Yet, this had to be the simplest thing. Why not this? I knew there was a very important answer or rather reason but didn't know where to find it.

I sighed. "No, I don't. But you didn't hesitate with all the other things you did for me. Why not this?" I groaned.

He didn't give me a real answer. "I want to know the real reason as to why getting handcuffed bothers you that much."

I wasn't sure if I would have told him or not. It didn't matter because I didn't get the chance anyway. My stomach rolled and it made me tense up, the feeling of it building in my chest and up all of a sudden. Not a second ago was I somewhat okay; still sick but managing. But now, my head swarmed with a dizziness that took my vision for a spin. I could feel my face, my whole body for that matter, grow hotter.

The strangest part about all this was the fact that all this came upon me in less than a minute. Not the best of signs if you ask me. "Oh god," I groaned through a mouth that became watery, another sigh that told me just what was coming.

I stood from where I had been sitting for an hour or more. Though it brought sweet relief to my poor poor ass, something worse than that soreness came following after I stood up. I rushed to the toilet a few feet away and knelt on the cool floor in front of it, burying my head over the toilet just in time for it to catch what came forth in my stomach. With the awful sound of yesterday's food coming up from my stomach and hitting the water in the toilet, I grabbed the side of the toilet as I threw up harder.

Food was meant to go down in enjoyment, not up in disgust. What a fucking waste, I tell you. It tasted good the first time in my mouth and that's all that food should be judged on! Not only was the taste bad as of now, so was the sight. I really don't know why I opened my eyes. Maybe because it would help throw up again at the sight of my vomit. Sure, that could be my strategy. Throw up, and if you still don't feel good, just look at it so you can throw up some more to clear your stomach of that feeling. Well, at least that must have been what I was thinking since my eyes just happened to open and take in the orange gross shit I threw up in the toilet.

The only thing that seemed to be a good thing so far today was that my hair was up in a sloppy ponytail. But then again, that's how it always is (usually in a bun).

I heard something off to my side and heard it quickly exit the room. I wanted to internally kick myself, because this is just my luck. The minute I can't leave without being bound is the minute he decides to give me a chance by leaving me alone now.

It didn't last long though because by the time I stopped vomiting, he was back in the room. When I lifted my head, my slightly watering eyes finding him kneeling by me, he offered me a paper towel from the roll - which was what he must have left to go get me. I took it with shaking hands, wiping my mouth and face. The taste in my mouth and throat was terrible; a hot burn or acid. Yet, the one deep in me, the one that has been growing larger for days was what held my attention.

"What's happening to me?" I asked after I stood, standing before the sink and rinsing my mouth out as best as I could. I wasn't sure why I asked because I already knew that horrible answer.

"It's getting worse. To the point of where you will try, say, or do anything just to get your hands on drugs."