Addicts held onto their addictions until it killed them: Whitney, for Richard, was no different.
He was compulsive with her, obsessive to a fault. Wanted to own and possess her wholly. Scare her into obedience and allow fear to sweep over her at the thought of him leaving her. That hardened glare sunk into his expression. He could kill her—would if she pulled a stunt like leaving him and following through with it. Richard had made it clear: if he couldn’t have her, no one else would.
Starring at his fiancée now, he considered how far she’d come. Richard had to take sole responsibility. She was not the innocent teen he’d spotted at eighteen, plucked from the crowd and called her his. Maybe her innocence was what struck him, imputed from the world, wrecked by his touch, his mind. Surely, the outcome was worth it. The woman she was back then was not the woman he could’ve considered marrying. The woman now was.
His release on his fiancée was quick. Though the NDA all staff signed to work in home was one thing, another was openly allowing them to really rip into one another. Waving one of the maids off with a darkened stare, his silence was questioning. “You wanna stab me, huh?” He whispered. Hadn’t this intentional phase in her mind been what he wanted all along? He picked up the shard from the china, gripping it hard enough in his palm as the sharp glass ripped into the flesh of his hand. He flipped the now blood stained shard, approaching her slowly, gripping her wrist as he reached out, placing it in her hand. “Do it.” Stance close, jaw clenched. He’d been waiting for this.
A woman crazier than he? Check.
He wanted to break her. Push her beyond the limitations she set, create boundless ones. Heavy breath fell through flared nostrils, as he lowered his height to hers. “Isn’t this poetic, Whitney?” His grip lightened, now injured hand staining her blouse as he pulled her into him gently. Clean hand moved the tresses of blonde from her face. “What do you want, baby, you want the truth? You wanna kill the only man who will love you the way you want? Who else could take care of you the way you need, fuck you the way you want? You gonna find another man willing to die for you? I don’t think so. Do you?”
Hadn’t it been what she was seeking for a decade from him?
“You want me to be honest with you? You wanna be the only one to kill me?” He daren’t kiss her, even with close proximity. Even now, as he stared at her, the slip of the demonic stance, that darkened, unreadable expression shifting into something almost-human like. “The truth is maybe I’m punishing you for leaving me. That you broke me when you decided to leave me. Maybe I keep them around to scare you into realizing someone else might get me.”
Jaw clenched. It was the truth, a tormenting game placed upon her for leaving him. She should’ve known better, known she belonged with him. The wall a buffer, a means to keep her between his body and running a long-gone option. “I put that ring on your finger because I want you to be mine. Because no other bitch is gonna get me the way you do, you know that, right?” He was coaxing, his voice like velvet as he stood, pressing her frame into the wall, a small smile appearing. “Whitney,” He whispered her name. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, baby.” He tilted his head to the side, sympathetic for appearance. “I told you years ago to be patient with me. There’s no one else in this world I could ever love except for you. I was always yours.”
Blood stained hand moved to cup her cheek. She always looked good in red. He thought arrogantly, lowering his lips to hers, still refusing to close the space. “I’ll have Bellamy killed–is that what you want?”
How far could he pushed her until she snapped?
That was the million dollar question. The unspoken fate that more than likely lingered in their minds. Surely, he would be the end of her or she would be the end of him. There was no other way this would end -- surely her happy ending would turn into a bloody nightmare.
They were a toxic pair. The pure definition of chaos -- violently colliding together in a way that would surely make them combust. As infuriating as it was, an intoxicating high also came along with it. As seen in her eyes as a wild look appear in her blue orbs, making them twinkle with a deadly glimmer as the shard of glass was placed into her hand.
Without hesitating, it’s placed to his throat - thankful for the sky high heels that adorned her feet. It was also made easier when she’s tugged closer, the red staining her couture blouse but that was hardly a cause for her concern. Pressure was added, not enough to kill him -- yet -- but enough to where she found herself mesmerized by the little bit of blood that trickled down his neck. All she has to do is hit the right artery and he’ll be gushing blood all over the place before falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
In her manic state, the thought was tempting. "I don’t know, Daddy. Keep pushin’ me and maybe I’ll find out for myself sooner than you think.” It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. The look in her face was deadly, daring him to try her because her hold had yet to falter. In her own way, or maybe it was only in her hand, she had the upper hand but RIchard her her full attention.
The close proximity making it damn near impossible to avoid his gaze. Even though her rage she could see his expression soften, the admission making her heart drop as the truth finally revealed itself. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole.” Not a new development but it was the truth nonetheless. Her hand dropped, ready to shove him away but, instead, she was pressed against the wall and trapped against his frame. “You should’ve thought about that before you stuck your dick into another broad.” Whitney spat back, voiced mixed with a deadly combination of venom and bitterness. “What the fuck did you expect me to do, RIchard? Stay?” Of course he did. Of course he expected her to forgive him like she always fucking did but that would only make her look weak -- no, no she had a fucking point to prove. “I didn’t leave you because I wanted to, I left because I had to -- because you wouldn’t appreciate me until I was gone.”
And he still doesn’t -- maybe he never would and maybe that was part of the problem. Or maybe that’s what she signed up for -- if she wanted to be worshipped, she’d marry some random WASP who she could walk over. But Whitney had bigger ambitions, she wanted the fucking world and RIchard was the only man capable of giving it to her. “No, I don’t know that. Not when you’re throwing a bitch in my face every chance you get.” She snapped. “What the fuck else do you want from, huh? I am here. I came back. I’m yours.” The piece of glass unintentionally joins the others when his head lowers down to her level, hating the way her breath gets caught in her throat at the mere action.
Her head lulled into his cheek, unbothered by the blood as it stained her cheek when she nuzzled against it. “If you’re sorry, prove it. I’m sick of the bullshit, I’m tired of these games. I’ve been doing this for a fucking decade with you.” Her voice was heavy, the exhaustion evident in her voice. Although she could muster up enough strength to confidently utter her next statement. “It’s a start.” She hummed, lips brushing against his. “I want her to fucking suffer for thinking she could have what’s mine. Do you understand me? I don’t need a constant reminder of your fuck up thrown in my face. Get rid of her and I’ll never mention what happened again.”
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