The moment Thomas finally stopped was the moment the car halted. A short pause later, he pulled me up by the destroyed fabric of my dress.
I didn't even look at him; the first thing I did when I was out of that horizontal position, was grabbing the booklet and hit him in the face with it, as hard as I could.
Not waiting for whatever would follow, I opened the car door, the booklet still in my hand, as I ran into the house. Not stopping to turn on the lights, I ran the stairs up, my feet bringing me to Jude's room.
I barged in and closed the door behind me, even locking it when I saw a key in the keyhole. Speedily, I was in front of the desk and whisked the chair away before crawling inside, moving the chair back before me.
The booklet still clutched in my hands, I tried to calm my breathing. Only after a few minutes did I notice that the light was switched on in the room, which should be dark with Jude sleeping in it.
When my ears were no longer filled with my own rapid heartbeat, I finally heard the sound of a shower.
It didn't matter, though, if Jude was sleeping or showering or whatever. I was here now, so this wasn't Jude's room anymore; it was my hideout.
If Thomas came after me, I don't mind killing him for real, killing myself, or killing us all together. Sadly, my bag was still inside the car, along with my phone, so I would have to see how to get it back for the school trip tomorrow.
One might think that I would forsake the school trip after going through another harassment, but oh hell, I had to leave here as soon as I could. Even if I decide not to run away, I don't want to see that man, and I swear, I will never sleep in his bed again.
I thought I already knew how far my so-called husband was able to go. But that he would turn on the light while I slept, unclothe me, and look at my body only for then to put clothes on me again—how psycho was that?
Oh my goddess, or had he put a camera in the bathroom? In the shower? Maybe even inside the toilet, to blackmail me with videos of me peeing or even more unpleasant things?
A door opened, and I stopped dwelling on the lunacy of that person any further; instead, I flinched in fear that Thomas had found me.
Yet, I only saw Jude exiting the bathroom in jogging pants, a towel on his head as he dried his hair. The door to the bathroom was on the same wall I had my back pressed against, so I could only see Jude's bare back from my place, his wounds already looking much better.
Does Thomas have some strange back-fetish? Jude was whipped on his back, and I was molested on my scar on my back. Creep. Psycho. Asshole.
I saw Jude stopping on his way to the walk-in wardrobe across the bathroom, looking at the key on the door, I can't say why, but I held my breath, suddenly scared that he would discover me, which didn't make any sense after fleeing inside his room—now my hideout.
Jude turned around and bent down, his black eyes finding me accurately, scaring me almost into my afterlife.
He threw the towel in some corner—no wonder his bathroom and desk are so cluttered with throwing things around indiscriminately—and came closer.
Slowly, he took one step onto the next, showing not only his muscular upper body, but also his hands, as if I were some timid animal, scared and ready to flee.
But I have to say, seeing him like this really calmed me down a bit. It is always good to show your hands when walking towards someone, showing that there is no weapon hidden. Very good, very polite. It is absolutely normal to find that calming; nothing only scared animals could find good.
In the end, he crouched down sideways, his forearms propped on his thighs, as he let his eyes wander over me, scanning my body before landing on the booklet for a brief moment.
The abyss turned back to myself, reaching and pulling me down in the reassuring darkness where nobody but the blackness itself would be able to see me, shielding me from harm.
"Lesly." Jude quietly said.
"Be a good girl, and tell me what happened." His deep voice let me shudder, I felt especially receptive to the pleasure of it at this moment, where my senses were still heightened.
However, don't call an adult girl, you little kid, improper to the max! He shouldn't be able to see my bare back that was pressed against the wall, and with my legs against my chest, he shouldn't even notice that the back of my dress had been ripped open.
I didn't answer him, and he slowly pushed the chair away, removing the door to my hideout. I followed his movements skeptically: I won't come out; if you burn this desk down, you must burn me with it, and if you lift the desk, I will stick myself to it, and if you reach inside, I'll bite you to death.
Jude didn't usually play by the rules, and he did the same this time.
While I was distracted with watching his one hand and the chair, his other reached me, whisking me in his arms—miraculously without hurting me—although, the booklet had fallen on the floor in the process.
Yet, I didn't feel the need for a weapon anymore, his scorching body giving me security.
Similar action—different people, and it felt worlds apart.
Jude rudely tearing me from my hideout was an action I nearly perceived as tender, as I was submerged in his arms, my chest pressed against his naked upper body and my head securely against his neck, while when his father's hands were on me, I felt violated and insulted.
Jude froze suddenly, and I think it was because his other hand was on my back, and he should have now discovered that he was not touching fabric but my bare skin instead.