Scarletts P.O.V

Afteryou'reyour dressed you decide to go find him. You search the house.

Where the hell is he? Maybe he left.

You checked the driveway and notice his car is still parked there.

Okay, but he's not in his room.

It's not until you hear the music coming from the garage that you find him. He shirtless, sweat dripping down his body and disappearing into shorts as he punches away at the punching bag that hung from the stand in the corner of the garage.

When the hell did they put that there?

Your eyes linger on the sculpted muscles of his back as he throws more blows at the back.

Damn... he's really fit.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at me?"

"Shit, sorry. Didn't think you noticed me."

"Of course, I noticed you!"

You wrap your arms around yourself and step forward. He turns the music down and twist his head to look at you.

" just fucking leave, Scarlett"

You frown and place your hands on your hips.

fucking talk to

You shrug.

not good to keep all that shit in. You gotta

warm place to lay our heads when i was younger. No stability. Keeping it bottled up just makes the problems

fuck do you think

coated with sweat,

that to you?

doesn't needs to fucking know. I can handle

yeah, beating the piss out of a punching bag and not letting him know about the toxic environment at home is

You see then tension throughout

you understand, I don't

You scoff.

what it means

shit you do to me. Pestering the hell out of you to get

arms defeatedly before he runs his tongue over his

you, will you leave me the hell

"I can't guarantee that."

my moms piece of shit

"He hit you?"

"No shit"

he

you who hit me. That's it.

points towards

don't fucking know where

actually gives

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