A mirror would be nice. So would a razor, not to cut myself (I think Derek would do a lot more than choke me if I did) but so I could shave. They took care of me in the coma as best as they could, but now I was out and needed to care for myself. As best as I could.
I guess I should ask Derek, right? He is the Alpha…
I let out a breath and walked out of my room, down to check his office. I knocked, no answer. I went down to where his room was and tapped.
There was shuffling on the other side and soon Derek opened the door. My eyes couldn’t help but trail his body. He was dressed in some sweatpants and his muscular chest was bare. My eyes met his gleaming blue ones.
“Done checking me out?” he smirked and my cheeks heated.
“I- um, I- I wasn’t-” I rushed out only to get a chuckle from him.
“I’m kidding Flower, you can look all you want,” he teased, leaning against the door frame, crossing his arms, “are you okay? Do you need something?” he asked, concern taking his tone.
Nervousness took over me, what if he flipped? “I- um… I want to a-ask you s-something,” I whispered, my hands fidgeting. I stayed silent, waiting for his permission to continue.
He waited for me to finish but once he saw what I was intending, he spoke, “go ahead, honey.”
How was I supposed to word it? “I…” should I just go for it? “C-could a mirror be placed back in the room? A-and a razor so-so…” I drifted, feeling too stressed to finish. I glanced at Derek and saw him clenching his jaw, eyes focusing on me.
He thought for a moment before he spoke, “you can use my mirror with supervision,” he declared, nodding like he just solved a hard trigonometry problem.
“S-supervision?” I asked. I wasn’t a child. I didn’t need or want supervision. And he didn’t answer the razor question.
He hummed in response, “and for the razor question,” he gritted out irritated and I felt my heart rate pick up, “you can have a nurse do that stuff for you. Since you’re not too close with me,” he muttered the last part, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear it.
… Um… no?…
I furrowed my brows, my wolf supporting my confidence to stand up to him. I didn’t need a nurse to help me shave, I wasn’t disabled.
“N-no,” I defended.
He raised an eyebrow and straightened his stance. “No?”
“N-no, that’s ridicul-” I started but was cut off by his scoff.
“Ridiculous?” he humorlessly chuckled, “last time you were left alone with them you attempted to kill yourself- oh wait, I’m sorry. You were punishing yourself, and failing a suicide attempt,” he smarted off. I felt my heart throb despite myself.
No.
“I didn’t fail s-suicide with a razor blade, it was a k-knife. Maybe I s-should’ve used a razor- it c-could’ve work-” I didn’t get to finish that sentence.
Derek reached out and grabbed me, dragging me into his room and the door slammed shut. The moment it was closed he pushed me against it, wrapping his hand around my throat, but not putting pressure on it.
I grunted and jerked my body to get away from him but his growl stopped me. He dipped his head down into my neck and slightly nipped at my ear, heat flooded my body. He moved up to my ear and whispered in it.
“Mate, you don’t want to finish that sentence,” he threatened but once he called me ‘mate’, I couldn’t focus. It wasn’t the term because Chris always called me ‘matey’, it was the way he said it. My trauma smashed down on me. He knew what he was doing, he’s done it before.
N-no, get off!” I shouted, heaving. I thrashed against his chest, tears blurring my vision. He didn’t let up, and I tried to go under his arm but his hand on my throat caught me.
“Stay,” he warned and trapped me. I gave up and stood still, heaving, and internally panicking. “Good girl.”
I calmed for a second, that term meaning I did something well, and then struggled once more, tears falling.
I hate him! I do!
My wolf whined and it stung but I pushed on.
“Stop it, Violet,” he put more pressure on me, my back digging into the wall. I grunted in pain and pressed my body against his to move him.
“Get off!” I shouted at him.
He growled and slightly relieved the pressure off my body. I looked up at him and glared with my teary brown eyes.
“I won’t hurt you,” I spat his words back at him.
He sucked in a breath and straightened his posture, removing the hand from my throat.
“Viol-”
“No! This is what I-I mean!” I shouted at him, my voice wavering, a sob building up in my throat. “I-I c-can’t do this! I’ve told you a-and you’re not listening to me! I’m done,” I croaked.
I turned to open the door, leaving him. It cracked before his arm reached out, halting the movement.
“Violet, I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m not letting you go, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he spoke lowly, riding his arm from the door.
The moment he let go, I swung it open and practically ran down the hallway.
Once I got into my room I tightly shut the door and crawled into bed. I pulled out the inhaler from the nightstand and put it on top, in case I couldn’t calm down. I wiped my wet cheeks and thought back.
Why was he so bipolar? He contradicts everything he says.
I won’t hurt you. Chokes me when he gets frustrated with what I say.