Page 49 of Hate That Blooms

I drive my car to a house three houses down the street from where Gabriela parks her car. She didn’t seem to notice me following her all the way home. Snatching the clown-faced balaclava from the seat, I slip it over my head and bolt out of the car, hoping to catch her before she makes it up the steps to her house. I leave the car running for a quick getaway. Sprinting across the asphalt, I reach her car door just as she is stepping out. Now I get my turn with his precious little bitch.

I slap a gloved hand over her mouth before she can scream and pull her out of the car and drag her down to the cement. I groan in her ear as I rip her leggings and panties down and shove her dress up to her waist.

This needs to be quick and rough, hopefully to get my point across.

I’m not some stupid mother fucker you can just use to do your bidding and always keep me on the sidelines.

Pulling my cock out, I lined up with her pussy and forcefully shoved myself inside of her. The muffled sound of her scream has my eyes rolling back and fuels my fast, hard thrusts inside of her. I grunt, as I use all of my body weight to keep her pinned to the ground. I can just barely make out her muffled words.

“Quín! Stop. You’re hurting me.”

She thinks Joaquín is the one doing this. I sneer under my mask and think to myself. This may just turn out better than I expected.

I drive into her, brutally taking all my frustration out on her tight pussy. Relishing in the fact that I’m inside Joaquín’s girl. My best friend’s girl. His obsession that grew into my obsession.

Right now, she’s mine.

I let out a long, drawn-out groan as I empty inside her. Now if he goes to fuck her again tonight—it will be me he feels making her wet. The bruises on her face are from me.

Me, fucking me.

Quickly, I pull out of her and run back to my waiting car, slamming the door behind me. I speed off, leaving her a sobbing mess in the driveway.

There you go, Joaquín. Your girl is all nice and broken in now.

Chapter32

Gabriela

Once I am sure that the car is gone, I slowly get up, my body so sore from being held down. I can feel the bruises already that are sure to be all over my hips and face. Nothing compares to the hurt in my heart.

How could he do this to me? Was it really so hard to just fucking work on himself so that he could be a better version of himself for me?

I pull myself up to a standing position, slamming my car door closed. I limp to the steps, taking a deep breath, before sliding my key into the lock and heading inside. Luckily, Mireya should already be asleep, so I will only have to make it past Jazmin without her noticing. Entering the house, I quickly lock the door back up and rush past Jazmin.

"I'll be right back. A baby threw up on me and I need to shower real quick.” I take off for my bedroom and hear her whisper-yell to take my time.

With my door shut, I slide to the floor, my hands covering my mouth as I let out a guttural cry. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull out. His name, “Joaquin,” flashes across the screen. I deny the call, and seconds later, he is calling again.

“Fuck you.” Throwing the phone across the room, where it lands on my bed.

I somehow find the strength to pull myself up and strip out of my clothes, leaving a trail all the way to the bathroom.

I feel lost.

Broken.

So fucking hurt that he chose to take from me when I willingly gave myself to him. All because he can’t control his emotions and doesn’t want to work through the shit with me.

I turn on the shower, the hot water scalding my skin, but I need it. I need the heat to burn away the cold, the sickening numbness that’s settled deep in my chest. The sound of the water hitting the tiles fills the small bathroom, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts swirling in my mind. I press my forehead against the wall, letting the spray soak through my tangled hair, tears mixing with the water.

How did we get here? How did I let it go this far?

I could feel his anger, his frustration, his inability to face anything—his demons, his mistakes, the weight of the relationship that was too much for him to carry. But I was there. I was always there, willing to stand by him, to fight for us, for what we could be. I thought he would be stronger than this. He would see my point in making him get better so we could be together for real.

But it’s always the same. He takes, and I give.

It’s never enough.

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