Chapter Twelve|| You Can't Touch my Tits
I didn't know how I had ended up here. Well, I actually did.
I had snuck into Sam's backseat, in hopes of me scaring him when he arrived to his destination.
I was hoping to spit out something funny when he was about to fuck some girl or going to order some fries, I don't fucking know, but I sure hadn't expected to end up in the woods somewhere while watching Sam and some other fuckers beat some poor moron up.
"You know, I usually don't come to these little interventions," Coen smirked as he punched a man in the stomach, "But you're a special occasion Eddie."
Sam was leaning against a tree, he looked bored as fuck as he watched the scene play out in front of him.
I, on the other hand, was hiding behind a tree on the other end, wishing I had never gotten out of Sam's car.
Maybe I could make it back to his car. Fuck, it was parked far away.
"Eddie, just tell him what you took so that I can get the fuck out of here, I have a family dinner to go to," Sam spat as he looked at his watch.
How could he be so casual about this?
I grabbed onto the tips of my hair nervously. It was already starting to grow. I really needed to cut it again.
"I-I didn't take a-anything!" Eddie cried out, choking on his own blood.
"Sammy, my hand is getting a bit tired, can you take over for me?"
"Not in the mood," Sam said.
Coen sighed and shook his head before shooting Eddie.
What the fuck? I had- oh fuck- I need to get the fuck out of here before I vomi-
So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.
I fucking love that song- wait, why is it playing in the middle of the woods?
I looked down to my pocket, and- yes, you've guessed it. My phone was ringing, blaring out the words to Wannabe.
I looked up and- of course- found Coen and Sam looking at me. I couldn't blame them. This was a fucking good song.
"Get her," Coen growled to Sam.
Shit, bye, I'm out.
I started running, thanking God that I was in track in my last school.
My phone rang again, and I answered it despite the current situation. I mean, even if Sam did catch me, he wasn't going to kill me. . . was he?
"Hello, mom," I said in between breaths.
"Hey, baby, are- wait, are you running?" She asked abruptly.
"Yes," I answered.
I could practically see her raising her eyebrows through the phone. "Okay. . ." She trailed off, "Don't forget to come home at 7:00, we're having dinner with the Beckhams."
"Okay, mom, gotta blast, bye." I quickly slipped my phone back into my pocket and then the most stupidest thing happened.
I tripped.
Yes, I was the stupid fucking girl in horror movies that tripped with the air. Suck my dick.
Sam pulled me up by my shirt and wiped the dirt off my arms. He then handed me the keys to his car.
"Take my car and get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind and turn you in to Coen," he hissed at me.
I didn't answer, I just ran to his car.
â¢â¢â¢
Mrs. Beckham smiled at me.
"So, Sawyer, I hear that you've taken interest in Nick," she said.
She was a very petite woman. Blonde hair and blue eyes, contrary to her husband, who was three times her size, black hair and brown eyes.
"I mean, I wouldn't go that far," I muttered as I fought the urge to scratch my wig.
My mother had looked at me weirdly when I exited my room with it, but she didn't say anything about it.
"I swear, where is that boy?" Mrs. Beckham muttered as she started at the clock, "He promised he'd be here."
Almost as if on cue, Sam came in. My eyes widened at his appearance.
His hair was all over the place and his face was bruised and swollen.
Mrs. Beckham looked like she was about to burst into tears.
"I fell," Sam said, as if it explained everything and walked- well, limped- upstairs.
The tension grew thicker and I cursed whoever the fuck had organized this shit.
"I need to go to the restroom," I said, and ran upstairs before somebody could say otherwise.
I opened the door to Sam's room and spotted him on his bed.
"Not right now, Sawyer, leave me the fuck alone."
I set his keys on his desk and closed the door behind me. "Where is your first aid kit?"
He scoffed and sat up slowly. "I don't need that pussy shit."
I rolled my eyes and sat beside him. "Let's see who's a pussy when that cut get's infected," I chuckled as I pointed to a cut in his cheek.
He stayed quiet and glared at me.
"So, what happened?" I questioned.
Sam narrowed his eyes even more and closed his eyes. "Coen wasn't too happy when I told him a loose end had gotten away."
I winced. "So? Will he come after me?"
Sam shook his head and laid back down. "I won't let him touch a hair on your head."
I sighed in relief and also laid down. "So, will I need to suck your dick in order to repay you for this?"
He chuckled but didn't answer.
"I'm sleeping with you tonight," he said after a while.
I furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head. "The fuck you are," I hissed.
"You owe me, Collins, it's either that or a sponge bath, you choose."
I narrowed my eyes into small slits while heading towards the door.
"Fine, but you can't touch my tits," I said as I closed the door behind me.
And I swear, I heard him say "Fuck" before I closed it completely.
Author's note
Okay, I know I'm slacking, but to be fair, the number of votes have decreased and you guys aren't really motivating með
What's you think about this chapter?
Leave me a fucking comment because I am very, very lonely.