Tré Calling, chapter 8
"Want a drink?" I ask nervously, playing with the bottle lids in front of me.
"Sure, I'd love one," Tré replied.
"How about this one? It has a very high alcohol percentage," I giggle, trying to put on a calm, friendly aura, but not being able to stop my hands from shaking.
"If you think it's gonna help you calm down. You're obviously either scared or you don't talk to people much."
I threw Tré a sarcastic glare and proceeded to pour out two large glasses of the pungent liquid.
"So... " Tré started, sitting down on my sofa and patting the space next to him. "Tell Mr Tré what's wrong."
I opened my mouth to start, but found that my words just weren't forming in my head or on my lips.
"I... I... I don't know where to start... I don't even know if I should tell you at all... "
Tré lifted his glass to his lips, never removing his steady gaze from my eyes.
I slumped down on the seat, angry that I couldn't find the words to relieve my secret burden. But a million thoughts were running through my head. For one thing, I kept asking myself why I was willing to tell a man I'd only known for a couple of days my problems. However, the main question that was going through was whether or not I should tell him anyway.
A snap of Tré's fingers brought me back to reality with a jump.
"Tré... I don't know whether I should tell you or not. I can't work out if it's the right thing to do... " I fiddle with my now empty glass, running my finger round and round the rim. The liquid that not too long ago occupied the container now left nothing but a strong smell.
"Maria. I know I've only known you for a tiny amount of time, but I'm always willing to let a hot girl unload her burdens onto me," this small speech he accompanied with a wink and a further sip of his drink.
"But Tré... I just... I don't know," I state simply, slumping into the sofa cushions and reaching for the bottle to pour myself another drink.
"Okay. Why don't you think it through while I take a trip to your bathroom?" Tré asks, standing up and placing his drink on a coaster.
I quickly direct him to the bathroom and then sit back down on the sofa. Placing my drink down, I trace a scar on my wrist, cutting close to my veins. The memories flashed through my head.
He gripped my wrist and pulled me out of the taxi. Stopping only to pay the driver. I put on a fake smile for the man at the steering wheel, pretending that I was perfectly happy to be going back into my house. Back into my hell.
"Wait there," He hisses at me, leaving me at the foot of the stairs and shaking in nervous anticipation.
He soon returns, a kitchen knife in hand. My eyes widen in fear as my head shouts at me to run, but my feet are glued down. I gulp and stare at the oncoming figure.
"I saw you looking at that other guy in the bar," he states, playing with the knife tip, the blade flashing between his hands.
I swallow and open my mouth, only to be stopped from talking by the shock of my back hitting the wall from taking involuntary steps backwards.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself? I bet you've been sleeping around haven't you, you little slut? While I've been out working my ass off for you?" His calm tone only serves to scare me more because I know that he could snap at any moment, and he's just waiting for the right moment.
"WELL?" He repeats, much louder, grabbing my wrist and drawing his face closer to mine.
"I haven't done anything, I promise!" I shout, drawing my face away as far as I can.
"Don't lie, you bitch! I know you have!"
With that sentence, he turns my wrist over and drags the tip of the knife across the base of my palm, relishing in my reaction. I want to scream out to stop him, but I know he'll only hurt me more if I resist.
So I put up with the searing pain. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes together in an attempt to keep the tears in.
"Have you thought about it yet?" Tré asks, returning from the bathroom and snapping me out of my daydream.
"Yes. And no."
Tré looks at me, confused. So I continue to explain; "I can't tell you. Maybe some other time. But I'm not ready yet. Sorry to lead you on," I look down, genuinely ashamed that I've caused so much trouble.
"I know how you can make it up to me," Tré states simply.
"How?" I question, looking up at him.
He pulls me into a fulfilling embrace, caressing my lips with his. And this time I don't stop him or turn away. Because it feels like heaven.
"Sure, I'd love one," Tré replied.
"How about this one? It has a very high alcohol percentage," I giggle, trying to put on a calm, friendly aura, but not being able to stop my hands from shaking.
"If you think it's gonna help you calm down. You're obviously either scared or you don't talk to people much."
I threw Tré a sarcastic glare and proceeded to pour out two large glasses of the pungent liquid.
"So... " Tré started, sitting down on my sofa and patting the space next to him. "Tell Mr Tré what's wrong."
I opened my mouth to start, but found that my words just weren't forming in my head or on my lips.
"I... I... I don't know where to start... I don't even know if I should tell you at all... "
Tré lifted his glass to his lips, never removing his steady gaze from my eyes.
I slumped down on the seat, angry that I couldn't find the words to relieve my secret burden. But a million thoughts were running through my head. For one thing, I kept asking myself why I was willing to tell a man I'd only known for a couple of days my problems. However, the main question that was going through was whether or not I should tell him anyway.
A snap of Tré's fingers brought me back to reality with a jump.
"Tré... I don't know whether I should tell you or not. I can't work out if it's the right thing to do... " I fiddle with my now empty glass, running my finger round and round the rim. The liquid that not too long ago occupied the container now left nothing but a strong smell.
"Maria. I know I've only known you for a tiny amount of time, but I'm always willing to let a hot girl unload her burdens onto me," this small speech he accompanied with a wink and a further sip of his drink.
"But Tré... I just... I don't know," I state simply, slumping into the sofa cushions and reaching for the bottle to pour myself another drink.
"Okay. Why don't you think it through while I take a trip to your bathroom?" Tré asks, standing up and placing his drink on a coaster.
I quickly direct him to the bathroom and then sit back down on the sofa. Placing my drink down, I trace a scar on my wrist, cutting close to my veins. The memories flashed through my head.
He gripped my wrist and pulled me out of the taxi. Stopping only to pay the driver. I put on a fake smile for the man at the steering wheel, pretending that I was perfectly happy to be going back into my house. Back into my hell.
"Wait there," He hisses at me, leaving me at the foot of the stairs and shaking in nervous anticipation.
He soon returns, a kitchen knife in hand. My eyes widen in fear as my head shouts at me to run, but my feet are glued down. I gulp and stare at the oncoming figure.
"I saw you looking at that other guy in the bar," he states, playing with the knife tip, the blade flashing between his hands.
I swallow and open my mouth, only to be stopped from talking by the shock of my back hitting the wall from taking involuntary steps backwards.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself? I bet you've been sleeping around haven't you, you little slut? While I've been out working my ass off for you?" His calm tone only serves to scare me more because I know that he could snap at any moment, and he's just waiting for the right moment.
"WELL?" He repeats, much louder, grabbing my wrist and drawing his face closer to mine.
"I haven't done anything, I promise!" I shout, drawing my face away as far as I can.
"Don't lie, you bitch! I know you have!"
With that sentence, he turns my wrist over and drags the tip of the knife across the base of my palm, relishing in my reaction. I want to scream out to stop him, but I know he'll only hurt me more if I resist.
So I put up with the searing pain. I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes together in an attempt to keep the tears in.
"Have you thought about it yet?" Tré asks, returning from the bathroom and snapping me out of my daydream.
"Yes. And no."
Tré looks at me, confused. So I continue to explain; "I can't tell you. Maybe some other time. But I'm not ready yet. Sorry to lead you on," I look down, genuinely ashamed that I've caused so much trouble.
"I know how you can make it up to me," Tré states simply.
"How?" I question, looking up at him.
He pulls me into a fulfilling embrace, caressing my lips with his. And this time I don't stop him or turn away. Because it feels like heaven.
