Chapter 6 Ben Breaks Up With Anastasia

• ANASTASIA
• Well, maybe I will agree with everyone at this point: Drinking is a bad thing. It induces this stupid courage in you and leaves you hanging there and staring blankly at the mess you’ve caused once the effect is gone.
• I’m biting my lips so hard right now because I can’t believe the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
• My memories of last night with Denver flood back. I press my head into the soft pillow, picturing the image of last night—how he kept staring at me and how his face remained rigid—but he's still the most handsome man I’ve seen at forty, and I can’t help but cringe at the words I said to him.
• And hell, no fucking way, I told him I haven’t been normal since I saw his cock. I pop my cheek as it burns red hot while I sit on the edge of the bed. How do I approach him now? I’m so embarrassed at myself.
• I wonder how he sees me or what he thinks of me now. Fuck, I promise that will be the last time I take alcohol again.
• I bring my hands to touch my lips, and my body explodes in a wild flame. He. Kissed. Me.
• Why did he kiss me? Does it mean he feels the same way?
• Shit, my skin is catching fire right now. On a lighter note, I don’t totally regret telling him how I feel and what I want. I feel some kind of relief, and now I’m apparently on the edge, dying to know what he thinks or his freaking reaction.
• I know he is a no-nonsense person, and he is almost too rigid and, most of the time, intimidating. I should probably prepare myself for the worst. I can’t have my heart broken twice by a father and son.
• Jeez, thinking about it, I’m so sick. Falling for my boyfriend’s dad? No, fuck it, that asshole is no longer a boyfriend to me. He stopped being my boyfriend since he started ignoring me, went to the height of fucking some girl, and made me listen to her stupid moans.
• And if falling for his dad makes me a psychopath, then I want to be one. Everyone is going mad, and I want to go mad in my own way. I want to be his personal psychopath.
• The house is so quiet, and I check the time; it’s still so early—literally, it’s 7a.m. I gather some courage in case I see him. I will have to clench on myself tightly so I don’t collapse out of anxiety.
• Anxiety makes my skin crawl, as if I should jump out of it. And the thought of seeing Denver after all I told him last night takes me to the highest peak of anxiety.
• I walk out of the room on my bare feet, and the ground is cold, but not as cold as my heart. My heart is fucking freezing, and the worst combo ever is that my forehead is beading some sweat and my palms are getting sweaty too. Weird, I know.
• I approach the hallway and head for his room. Another. Daring. Boldness.
• I knock for a few seconds, curling my toes nervously while I wait for his voice to boom out, but nothing happens.
• I gather more courage to throw the door open, and I see the tidiness of his room and the neatly arranged bed. He’s gone.
• I should probably be happy that it’s gone before I wake up, but there is this void that suddenly develops inside of me. This sudden dullness is as if a light was abruptly switched off.
• And still, my heart deflates like a car tyre because the anxiety has disappeared like it never existed.
• His absence technically saved me from collapsing again, because if I had met him, I would have almost suffered a heart attack.
• Something is so different about his room. His fucking, manly, beautiful scent.
• His scent occupies the space of his room, and I want to remain here for a few more minutes just to keep all of his scent and feel his warmth. Maybe add some imagination to it, like feeling his arms wrapped around me.
• The sound of a door slamming hard jerks me out of my imagination. My heart practically jumps out of my chest.
• The anxiety kicks in again. Is he back? What if he is back and he finds me in his room? Hell, no fucking way!
• Or what if it’s Sandra? Bennett’s mom, and she finds me in her man’s room.
• Shit. Shit.
• I stop panicking as I make my movements very inaudible so that I can sneak out of his room like a thief.
• I open a tiny path in the door to peek outside the room to know who it is. Nobody is apparently in the hallway, so I force myself out of the room through the small aperture I created through the door.
• I walk out successfully without being caught in Denver’s room by anyone. I’m heading back to Bennett’s room to get my denim jacket and zoom out when I see him lying on the bed.
• I don’t know how to describe the swift changes in my expression and mood. From being anxious to being freaking mad to the point of balling my fist in reflex action.
• "What are you doing at my house?” He vomits his venom, and my heart clenches as my fist balls harder.
• He stands up from the bed as if he is in attack mode, facing his prey. I don’t wait for him to say more words, as I match into the room and plaster a tight slap across his face.
• “You fucking asshole.” I say out the words like I’ve eaten something with terrible taste.
• He holds his cheek, and his eyes grow in size. His blue eyes dull cruelly as he sets those sinister gazes at me.
• I recall that he protects his face at all costs. He doesn’t like when a thing touches his face; it’s like gold; he protects it so dearly, but I just touched it. Tempered with it. Ruined it. With my fucking tight slap on his cheek.
• “ Anastasia...." The way he calls my name gives me this tight grip from within.
• I drag in a shaken breath and don’t show how much he is scaring me right now. “You of all people know how much I hate anyone touching my face.” He rubs his hand smoothly on it.
• I will slap him again and again if I have the chance to, but I don’t tell him that. I remain silent, and my heart keeps pounding against my chest.
• “How dare you fuck a girl and let me listen to her moans?” I gritted out the words with pain.
• “ And..” I don’t complete the sentences before he rushes towards me, throws me into his arms, and in very swift seconds I’m being tossed into the bed, and my head is in a disaster as it throbs with irritation in my throat.
• “ Fuck! Fuck you, Bennett!” I scream out in my teary, shaking voice.
• “You are lucky I don’t hit ladies. Now get this straight: I’m done with you, and don’t you ever come to find me or even dare to call me.” I want to yell to his face that I didn’t come to find him, but I keep it bottled up and just bawl my eyes out in pain.