His After The Heartbreak (BL)-Chapter 159: piece of mind

Let him drive to wherever the hell he was taking me. I didn't care anymore.

I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, the anger bubbling quietly under my skin.

Bloody Samaritan.

Calling me a bitch because I sat on the front seat.

Because I sat too close to his holy self.

But when it's time to get hard? Oh, then I'm not a bitch. Then I'm just fine. Then my body is soft enough, tempting enough, warm enough to make him lose control.

It's funny, isn't it?

When he's chasing his desires, I'm not a bitch.

But the second I need something simple—respect, space, kindness—I become a problem.

I become a bitch.

I sighed through my nose and sat back properly, pressing my spine into the seat like I could melt into it. My arms stayed folded. I didn't want to move. Didn't want to speak. I was boiling inside, but too tired to explode.

He got into the front seat and was about to start the car—then suddenly, he paused.

He turned around and just... stared at me.

Why the hell was he staring?

He looked at me for what felt like forever. Thirty seconds. Maybe more.

His eyes burned into mine like I was supposed to get it. Like I was supposed to read some invisible message written on his forehead.

But I didn't move.

I didn't ask why he was looking at me. I didn't have the strength to ask stupid questions.

If you had something to say, you should just say it.

Instead, this man was trying to speak with his eyes like I was some kind of trained mind reader.

After a few more seconds, he scoffed like I was the problem.

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"Weren't you supposed to know that by just looking at you, you'd already understand what I want?" he said, sounding irritated.

I blinked at him slowly.

Was he being serious?

This man... this man really thought that because he gave me one long, silent stare, I was supposed to unlock his brain like a damn fortune teller?

I tilted my head a little and kept my voice calm—dead calm.

"You don't learn, do you?" I said under my breath. "You really don't."

He raised a brow like he didn't hear me, but I didn't care.

Inside, I was screaming. Shouting at myself, shouting at the universe.

How the hell am I supposed to know what's on your mind?

What do you want from me? What signal am I missing? What part of this circus are you trying to drag me into now?

I changed my expression and let the anger fully show on my face.

"And why the fuck," I said slowly, clearly, "am I supposed to know what you mean? Huh?"

My eyes locked on his.

"How am I supposed to know the message you're trying to send just by you staring at me like a damn statue?"

"You're gradually becoming too rude for my liking," he said sharply, his voice tight with anger.

I turned my head and looked at him.

He really had the audacity.

"Maybe," I began slowly, "you should come down from the car... take a look around... maybe you'll find a belt, or a stick, or even a plank lying somewhere. So you can use it on me."

His eyes narrowed, but I didn't stop.

"Since correcting me is suddenly your life's mission, go ahead. Beat the manners into me. Isn't that what you men like? Correcting women like they're broken things?"

It's funny, you know?

Just a few hours ago—maybe even just minutes—I was scared of him. Truly scared.

He choked me near death. Not metaphorically. Literally.

His hands around my neck, squeezing until I passed out.

I should've stayed scared.

I should've kept my mouth shut, nodded my head, kept the peace.

But here I was... talking back.

Giving him a little piece of what's left of my mind.

I don't even know how to explain the mess between us. It's not love. It's not hate. It's not even confusion anymore. It's pure toxicity. A cycle of control, silence, anger, and fear.

"You know your cup is going to get full one day, Beatrice ," He said, voice low. "And when it does, you won't be able to escape my wrath."

"Maybe change your name to God while you're at it," I added with a dry laugh. "Since you clearly think you can descend on me whenever you like. Strike me down with your holy rage."

I clapped my hands slowly.

"Our beloved Declan. Savior. Judge. Executioner."

I looked away, shaking my head.

"If you don't have anything better to say," I muttered, "then start this car and drive. Let's go where that person said we should go and just get it over with."

I sighed heavily.

"Because honestly? I'm tired. Tired of all this. Tired of you."

He went quiet for a second. I saw him take a deep breath, like he was trying to calm himself before he lost control again.

Then he turned to me.

"The door," he said, pointing at my side. "It's not properly closed."

I stared at him, then at the door.

I know I closed that damn door. I wasn't stupid.

Still, I turned and looked again, just in case.

"I didn't expect you to know how to close it properly," he said, his tone turning cold. "You only enter cheap cars, after all. You don't know how expensive doors work."

I blinked.

Wow.

He really said that.

At this point, I can't even say he said to me—because this wasn't talking.

This was him insulting me to my face.

Without shame. Without blinking.

"Anyway," he continued, still full of himself. "Open the door again. Close it properly this time. Make sure it locks."

He shifted in his seat and added one more line—so casual, so cruel.

"Doing it for your own good. Wouldn't want you falling off while I'm driving. Because if you do fall off, I'm not stopping this expensive car to come save you."