Stepping Out To Watch The Final Scene

“Get the fuck up,” loud, demanding words filled my ears as a rough slap met the fat on my rear, the harsh contrast of the cold air sending goose-bumps across my body as the thick comforter was thrown from the bed.

“Go away,” I mumbled incoherently, swatting around the bed until I felt the wrinkled ends of the burgundy sheets, tugging them over my body and desperately pulling the fluffy, matching case covered pillows over my head, trying to block out the bright illumination that was piercing my pupils so unpleasantly.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Guin?” I was suddenly flipped over, the comfort of covers and protection ripped away as Dillon’s long, lean body hovered over the bed, the veins in his neck bulging as he stood there, every muscle in his body tensed up in anger. “Running off like that and not answering our calls. You fucking scared everyone! And I come home only to fucking find you passed out in bed! My room is a fucking mess and you practically swallowed the whole damn bottle of Ibuprofen! What the fuck is wrong with you!? Not to mention the God damn Whiskey bottle that’s fucking emptier then empty! I don’t think there’s even a drop left in that fucker, and you never drink.” He stared down at me, his dark brown eyes full of disappointment and rage. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What’s going on? Why the hell would you fucking do this?!”

“Go away, Dillon. I’m trying to fucking sleep and I don’t appreciate you coming in here like a fucking drill sergeant tearing through my shit and yelling at me for no fucking reason. You don’t have right to treat me like a child,” flipping onto my back, I pushed myself into the upright position, glowering at him as I chucked the pillow that had been over my head not a minute ago in his general direction. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“I think I have a right to fucking treat you like a child when you’re acting like one, Autumn. Who the fuck do you think you are!? You were doing so fucking well and now you’re sitting here fucking doped up on pain meds and Jack!? And for what?! What the fuck happened that was so fucking bad it made you relapse!? Huh?” He stared at me, his jaw tight and wired as he clenched his fists in a desperate attempt to stop his hand from rising up and nailing me across the face. “Because I bet you everything on this fucking God given earth that it wasn’t anything fucking world ending like you’re making it out to be!”

“You don’t know anything, Dillon! You’re so stuck up your own ass, you fucking hypocrite! You sit there and yell at me and reprimand me but you’re the one with the Shrooms under your fucking bed! And you’re the one with the alcohol in the cabinet! And not to mention the fact that all you do is sing about fucking whores and getting drunk and fucked up on drugs! So don’t even fucking pull that shit with me! You’re just as bad, if not worse. You have a voice and people listen to you, I do this in the privacy of my own home without bothering anyone! There’s a huge fucking difference!” I went to roll out of bed, wanting more than anything to lock myself in the bathroom where he couldn’t get at me; where he couldn’t pick apart every little thing he felt like. And if I really had too, I could make an easy, quick escape through the small, vented window. But I wasn’t even able to slide a foot across the mattress before he grabbed my upper calf and roughly yanked me by my limb towards his body.

“YOU ATE MY FUCKING SHROOMS TOO!? COME ON, AUTUMN! THAT’S MY FUCKING SHIT!” His voice echoed through my ears as he roared the wrath filled words, his anger seeping through every pore on his pink tongue and slamming into the white, picture covered walls. I swear I could hear the swish of his words, like they were liquid fire, traveling up the sheetrock and sending ripples of blazing, ashen flames through the plaster as they ate away at the existing support beams. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“I’M WALLOWING IN SELF PITY! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” Instinct kicked in as I pulled my leg from his rough grip, using the muscles in my lower thighs to slam my foot into his jean covered groin. I thought I was home free; I thought I had him under my finger; I thought I’d watch him fall to the floor, clutching his crotch and whimpering the word “Mama” over and over again.

But the whimpering never came. Well, that was a lie. There was whimpering, but it wasn’t from his mouth, it was from my own. I had aimed for his family jewels, knowing it was an easy way to get what I wanted, and my aim was good, but Dillon’s hands were faster, and just before my foot made contact with the sensitive, private area, his fingers wrapped around my ankle and held my jerking limb tight against his stomach.

“You can be such a fucking bitch sometimes,” the words seethed from his lips as he wrenched my body into his, hips pressing together, our sexes separated by only the colorful cotton and lace of my panties and the thick material of his blue jeans. “Why the fuck are you acting this way? What the hell happened? You’ve acting like such a fucking selfish, stuck up brat, and I’m really sick of it. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s over absolutely nothing. So either you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on, or I’m going to fucking teach you the definition of self pity.”

“Is that a threat?!” I spat, hooking my calf around the back of his waist, clutching at his wrist and digging my almost none-existent nails into the soft flesh and large, prominent veins. “Are you threatening me, Alvarez? Because let me tell you, I will fucking fuck you u—“

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Guin. I swear to God, you always open your mouth and make yourself look like a blubbering fucking idiot.” He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, the force of his grip slamming our hips together tightly, bones and pelvises sliding and rotating against one another as he pinned my clawing hands to the bed beneath my back. “What are you? PMSing? You’re like a fucking witch on your period, it’s fucking red—“ I didn’t let him finish his sentence, somehow distracting him enough so I could pull one of my hands from his hold as I wrapped my now free fingers in his hair, pushing until I felt scalp and knitting them to his head heatedly. In my brain, my gut reaction cells were working a mile a minute, screaming this and that, hoping I could catch onto one idea and follow through with it.

And I did. I made sure my fingers were woven in his hair like heavy, fine threads of mesh, rearing my head back for leverage and pulling on his at the same time, yanking at the thick hair follicles until he echoed his pain with a deep, primal, suffering grunt.

Using the diverted time, I quickly swept my other hand from his weakening grip and used my tight grasp on his hair to direct his body onto the bed, flipping and twisting our limbs, muscles, and fatty tissue until I rested on top of him, secreting dominant, commanding control with every heave of my chest. Meaty thighs spread out over his waist as I pinned his hands down on either side of his body to the bed, pushing our chests together to keep his elbow joints from overpowering my firm, but faltering and unstable restraint.

“What were you saying?” I felt the smug, sly smirk slide across my pink lips as I stared down at him, pressing my hips down into his roughly as he tried to toss me off of his body.

Fucking pigheaded idiot was trying to overthrow me! The hell with that, he wouldn’t break through; he would not defy me. I would not let it happen.

I was the fucking Queen! He had no fucking right to come in here, demanding me to do things when he had no idea what I was going through; no idea what I wanted or needed! I was in control! And he’d just have to get used to that! ….Or it was off with his head!

Despite the imitated, seriousness of my words, I couldn’t help but giggle softly, my hips shooting forward in a gentle, sensuous friction as the soft contour of his length began to harden beneath the zipper of his jeans.

“I’m about to fuck the shit out of you just to shut you the fuck up and teach you a God damn lesson.” He ground his hips up against mine, angrily ripping his arm away from my clutches as he fought to release his other.

“Bitchtit,” I slapped him across the face, smiling sickly at the loud, harsh echo of flesh on flesh, slamming my hips down into his and pushing my thumb nail into the tender flesh on the underside of his wrist, knowing that if I pressed hard enough the pain would distract him from trying to get away.

“Fucking smelly cuntface,” he snarled out heatedly, grasping the cotton material of my shirt and yanking it over my head, his large, calloused hand slipped up the soft skin of my sides as he groped the fatty balls of tissue, his fingers tweaking the firm skin of my nipples roughly.

“Limp dick!” Crying out in pain, I desperately slapped at his hands, arching my spine and hips into his as I struggled to push my chest into the ceiling, relentlessly forcing myself to find a way from his compressing touch.

“Saggy tits,” he continued, grabbing the lacey exterior of my bra and tugging the molded cups down over my breasts as he reached around to unclasp the supportive underwear.

“Incompetent, arrogant, pig-headed, drunken druggie,” I forgot his hands as I covered my breasts instinctively, realizing my dire mistake as soon as he wound one of his long arms around my waist, his hold tight around my body as he used his other to shed the T-Shirt from his broad shoulders.

“Why don’t you look in the mirror babe, I think that description better fits you then it does me.” He propelled his upper body forward so our bare chests pressed against one another, his hips digging in against my pelvis.

“Fuck you. I didn’t fucking ask for your commentary.” Reaching out, I grasped his small, pink nipple in between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed down, using all of my strength to make sure he would experience some of the pain he had caused me before. “Leave me the fuck alone, asshole.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch, you know that right?” He growled deep in his throat, snagging both of my hands, forcibly holding them in his own as he used his free hand to tear and rip the red cotton of my panties from my legs. I watched them fall to the ground in a heap of torn, tattered fabric, biting down on my bottom lip as his thick digit caressed my exposed opening. He leant forward, his head bending slightly as he pressed his lips against mine lightly, a smirk stretching across his face as he tauntingly blew against my lips. “I think you get off on it too. You’re fucking wetter then the damn Niagara Falls.”

His touch was making my confidence waver, but I fought to hold onto it was he continued his slow, sensuous stroking. “I was envisioning that hot guy from True Blood.” Gulping, I struggled to think of what else to say, stuttering out the words as he slid the tip of his finger teasingly inside of me.”Sor-sorry, I’m not into faggot shit pushers.”

“You’re a faggot? And your pussy leaks shit? Damn you should get that checked out babe, I don’t think that’s normal.” He was so arrogantly cocky, so stuck in his own fucking head, yet he could take my words and flip them so that I sounded like the fool, when in fact it was a dig at his sexuality. How perfectly easy he did it amazed me, but I wasn’t going to let him win; I couldn’t let him do this to me.

“Fucking stupid bitchtit,” I slapped him across the cheek again, fed up with the stupid, immature back and forth verbal war that we were both participating in, his grip on the back of my neck tightening as he pulled my head down, his thin lips smashing against mine in a rough, commanding kiss.

In the next few seconds, before I could even decide if I wanted this or not, he had me on my back, legs wrapped around his waist in a clutching embrace as he separated my lower lips with the bulbous head of his member. A thick, guttural sound echoed from deep within his chest, traveling up his windpipe and welling up inside of his throat, the room filling with the aggressive growl as he slid his body forward and buried himself deep within, my gasp of shock and surprise mingling in with the pleasure filled noise. The slap of his heavy, semen filled scrotum against the bottom of my ass sealed our bodies’ together, soft, tender muscle pressing and clutching at hardened flesh.

I felt stretched and pressed beyond belief, the soft, inner walls of my sex so tightly clasped around him, not even the small, unseen wisps of air that swirled around the room would be able to penetrate the tight bound.

On the surface I was enjoying it, barely, mind you, but the soft gasps and moans were filling the room, and I couldn’t deny that. I couldn’t deny how good he felt; how amazingly well our bodies fit together; how every little touch send fire through the pit of my stomach and shivers up the course of my spine.

But it hurt. I felt like I was giving myself away, and I didn’t mean just because we were having sex, I wasn’t trying to be sentimental or spiritual about sex, but there was more to this then just fucking. After everything that had happened yesterday, and today for that matter, I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be in this situation, captured by the lips and hips of the only guy that meant anything to me, but whom I could never fully please.

As I had found out yesterday, I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t woman enough for him; or any seed baring man for that matter. I wanted to run away, to go to some Lesbian island and stay there the rest of my life. I wanted to find a house in the middle of nowhere and adopt a billion animals, ones I could bond with and care for like friends, but never have to deal with the fact that I would disappointment them like I would my real friends.

If I couldn’t love myself, then how in the hell would I ever be able to love anyone else?