[Warning; Sensitive content ahead]
Aaron's eyes stuck to me the moment I walked through the door.
He was slumped on the couch, a beer bottle hanging loosely in his fingers, the glow of the TV flickering across his face. Even from across the room, the stench of alcohol and sweat clung to the air.
He was drunk.
"You're finally home," he slurred, his words thick and lazy.
I didn't answer. Didn't look at him. Just kept walking. Straight to my room. It's better not to interact with him at all when he's like that.
I shut the door behind me, but the broken lock mocked me.The lock had broken a week ago and I was going to get it fixed.
Why the fuck had I not gotten it fixed earlier?
My stomach churned. I hated being alone in this house with Aaron.
Kaitlyn wasn't home. Probably out drinking with her friends again. She didn't have a job. According to her, she didn't need one.
I tried to put the anxiety away, sitting at my vanity and staring at my reflection.
Different. I looked… different.
Put together.
Beautiful, even.
But my makeup had started to melt, and the bruises beneath became obvious again. A cruel reminder.
I rummaged through my bag, searching for something with better coverage for tomorrow, when the door creaked open.
My breath caught.
Aaron.
He didn't knock. He never did.
Still nursing his beer, he leaned against the doorframe, eyes devouring me.
My heart dropped.
"Hey," he slurred, stepping inside like he belonged there. "You got your hair done."
He smiled, slow and sleazy.
"It's nice… Who knew all you needed to look hot was a bit of box dye?"
I stiffened as he moved closer, our reflections trapped together in the mirror.
"Aaron, please leave," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper.
He ignored me, his hand reaching out, tangling in my hair.
"You look like Marilyn Monroe," he murmured, brushing his fingers through the strands. "But she was much prettier."
I jerked away, standing so fast my chair screeched against the floor.
"Aaron, leave my fucking room."
His smirk twisted, something dark settling in his eyes.
"Why should I?" He took another step.
My stomach turned.
"You want this," he said, his voice lowering. "I know you do. You tease me, barely let me touch you, and now you went and got your hair done—"
The scent of cheap liquor rolled off him in waves.
"And you know how much I love blondes."
His fingers fisted my hair, yanking me closer as he buried his face in it, inhaling.
I couldn't move.
Tears burned at the edges of my vision.
Not again. Oh God, not again.
"Aaron, please," I gasped. "Just leave. I won't tell anyone, I swear."
His smile widened, sick and knowing.
"But I haven't even done anything yet," he whispered. He shoved me backward, sending me stumbling onto the bed. "What can you tell anyone when I've done nothing—" He licked his lips. "Yet."
I fought.
Kicked, shoved, scratched—
But he barely moved.
"God, you're so hot when you cry," he whispered, his breath burning against my ear.
His hands were everywhere. Grabbing. Groping.
I gagged pushing the bile back down my throat.
He squeezed my breast roughly, his grip painful.
"And such a nice, perky rack," he muttered.
Then—his expression shifted.
Anger.
SLAP
The hit sent my head snapping to the side, my ears ringing.
"But you never let me touch them," he snarled.
I sobbed, thrashing wildly beneath him, praying someone would hear—anyone—but his laughter drowned me out.
"You like fighting back?" he taunted, grabbing my wrist and forcing it against his erection.
My stomach lurched.
"Feel that?" His voice dropped to something cruel.
"Look how hard you make me, you fucking slut."
Tears spilled down my face.
His zipper came down.
"It's been so long since I fucked you, Nova," he whispered, positioning himself between my legs.
His hands were on my waistband. Tugging. Fiddling.
I squeezed my eyes shut.Dissociating .
Drifting somewhere else.
Somewhere safe.
Somewhere far away.
Then—
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"
Kaitlyn.
Aaron jerked back, scrambling off of me, fumbling with his zipper.
I just layed there.
Eyes unfocused.Body limp.
"Kait, it's not what it looks like," he stammered, stuffing himself back into his pants.
But she wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at me.
Her eyes burned with hate.
"Cover yourself up, Nova," she spat. "And stop being so fucking dramatic."
The words barely registered.
But the next ones?
The next ones made my blood freeze.
"You dyed your hair blonde?" she sneered. A hollow laugh escaped her lips. "You fucking whore."
I blinked at her.
"What?" I breathed.
"Aaron was right," she said, voice dripping with venom. "You've been trying to get in his pants this whole time, haven't you?"
I sat up, disbelief and fury crashing through me. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"
She scoffed.
"For years, you've played the sad, pathetic little puppy, looking like some worthless servant. And now, what? You think dying your dull-ass hair will make anyone want you?"
My vision blurred with rage.
"You asked for this, Nova. Stop acting like a fucking victim—"
I lunged.
My hands clamped around her throat, slamming her against the wall.
Her eyes bulged.
She struggled. Scratched at my arms. Kicked wildly.
I didn't budge.
"Say that again, you fucking bitch," I growled, pressing harder.
Her face reddened, her nails biting into my skin—
Then pain.
A sharp, explosive pain in my ribs.
Aaron's hands ripped me away, slamming me to the floor.
I gasped, my body convulsing from the force of the hit.
Kaitlyn stumbled, coughing violently.
She looked at me, eyes wide.
Shaken.
Terrified.
She wasn't supposed to be afraid of me.
She was a wolf. I wasn't.
But she was afraid.
And she hated it.
"Get out of my house," she breathed, her voice unsteady.
I wiped blood from my lip, breathing heavily.
"You're done, Nova," she said, trembling. "Pack your shit and get the fuck out."
The room was silent, only our collective breathing could be heard.
I slowly got to my feet, brushing the dust from my shirt, and met her eyes.
"Gladly."