., damaged

[india santos]

December 24th, 2008 -- It's the 4th Annual Schwartz/Santos Fundraiser Gala, and as always, it is hosted on Christmas Eve at the Schwartz extravagant mansion. -- She is adorned in a black short dress, with puffy sleeves. Her mother picked out the dress as a surprise, and of course, India fell in love. She's paired it with simple black heels, and a strand of pearls cover her neck. It is, without a doubt, the simple look for a classy evening.  -- Red lipstick stains the cheek of India's beau. Her hair is unsettled, and her black heels are tossed on the floor. The young black haired girl's legs are draped over the man she calls her boyfriend. They've been tucked away inside Henry's room, adamant on avoiding the friends of their parents. The only people here their age are their siblings, and even then, the two are not keen on seeing them at the moment. India is only sixteen years old, and is, completely in love with Henry Schwarz, a mere eighteen year old. He's rough, rugged, sexy and all hers. They've been dating for the past few months, and what started as a mere fling, has turned into something entirely different. She's afraid of him, but in a good way. He treats her with respect, and often gifts her many various things..often those of the Tiffany variety. She's spoiled, and she's not sure what to do. India's wrapped up in him, in every sort of way. -- Lips collide against each other, as the friction and heat is intensified between the two bodies. India is nervous, and scared. Henry's bigger than her, and tougher, and stronger. She's out-of-place. She's intimidated. Their bodies are moving in motion, and she's not totally sure of what's going on, or where things are going. In between the kisses and heavy breathing, India has a second to mutter out, "Wait..we..our families.."  he hushes her. A finger lays against the red lips. She emits a smile, and they continue. She wants this, more than anything. She craves his touch, she craves his feel. She likes the way he makes her feel, loves the way he touches her. She loves the way he..loves her. She is, without a doubt, in love with this man. India's crazy for him, something she can't deny. -- The black hair comes undone, and she begins to get a sense of where the night is headed. His hands wrap around her waist, and shift to her neck. She can feel the stubble of his neck touch the side of her face, sending a shiver down her spine. A slight moan emits from her lips, "Henry..." she whispers, in pleasure. Her hands reach for his shirt. Hands, fumbling with the buttons. It's too dark in the room, and she can't see her fingers. She manages to get the shirt undone, and tosses it to the floor. Her eyes lock with his, and glances are exchanged. She smiles into the kiss, and her fingers find the belt loops. India's slim fingers insert themselves into the belt loops, pulling his body closer to his. "Please.."  Henry's hand reaches behind her waist, reaching for the zipper on her dress. Her head tilts back. She's in heaven.   -- India pauses, and pulls her body away from Henry's. She's scared, and has tensed up. She adjusts her dress, and moves away from Henry, sliding to the opposite end of the bed. "I can't..." TAGGED: henry albright NOTES:  super shitty, sorrrrry MUSIC:  kelly clarkson lol

[Deleted]

12/24/2008; 5:32 PM           CRIMSON stains one cheek and over-priced perfume clogs every sense. No matter how desperately he tries, he can't fight the rolling nausea or the steady rhythm pounding away at his temple. For once, he wants to escape; to hide away from the eyes piercing him like they were attempting to dissect a particularly fascinating child; to push away the hands smoothing out wrinkles and flicking loose lint. They're not his mother's hands -- she's too busy clicking away at her cell phone, a wry grin crooking her lips -- they're his mother's latest victim. The newest maid. An elderly woman that seemed to know exactly how to push his mothers buttons and when to reel it in. She had only been there a few weeks and already fawned over him the way a mother should. He liked her. 12/24/2008; 5:50 PM           THEY'RE still staring at him and it's making him fidget. The sleeves on his coat isn't tailored properly, it feels stifling; the material of his shirt pulls tight across his chest every few minutes, his shoulders rolling backward, his neck cracking. He can't stop moving no matter how many times his mother casts him a glare. Is she trying to be intimidating? She was about as tough as a bunny and his father... yeah, he could see why she thinks the look would work. His father wilts under it without fail. No wonder he keeps catching the Schwartz patriarch drooling over other women. Younger women, women that he should be pursuing. He can't fight the laughter that bubbles up as his father makes his way onto the dance floor with a gorgeous blonde. 12/24/2008; 6:05 PM           ONE of the cackling hens whispers at a volume that could barely pass as an inside voice and his mothers ears burn red, splotches coating her cheeks as she excuses herself to the restroom. He knows why she's boiling with embarrassment, he heard their scathing words and should be more pissed off than he is, but he can't bring himself to care. "He's on drugs," one clucks; "Just like his father," another chirps; "Poor India," drones the last. He's not on drugs, not tonight, but he wishes he were. It might make these events somewhat more bearable. Knocking back a glass of scotch, his most charming smile hiding the wolf snapping his jaw at their throats. "Looking gorgeous, as always, ladies," he purrs instead, a wink following the deceit that had become so easy. 12/24/2008; 6:24 PM           FISTING a section of dark locks, his full attention is on one thing: getting laid. And that means he doesn't give two shits about  the way she protests, the way her words war with her body. She squirms against him, moving into his touch, mewling when he presses his lips against her throat. She wants this, she's just apprehensive. He'll sooth those worries or convince her they're unfounded. No one cares what they're doing. Those snooty assholes are too preoccupied with their gossip and their determination to one-up the other. Somehow spending more money on shit you didn't even care about meant you were the top dog. That was the only reason they came to these things. Who cared if two kids were off in some dark corner? Fuck them anyway.      WHEN she tenses, he pushes. When she retreats, he yanks her back. When she mutters the halting words, he ignores he. He's a wild animal on the prowl and she, his prey. Fingers curl around thighs that had been long since exposed; his lips still seeking the thudding pulse under her jaw a stark contrast to the way his fingers press into delicate flesh. There would be marks there later. Red and yellow beneath tanned flesh, high enough up on her thighs that no one would see -- not this time of the year -- and light enough that he could argue it was the heat of the moment. There was nothing demanding about it, it was an accident fueled by his unquenchable passion for the brunette.      PROTESTS are uttered and silk is tugged past his wrists. Shit. She's pulling back and he has to take three deep breaths to reign in the temper that's bubbling to the surface. His head is spinning, that headache building behind his eyes again. He's pissed, but he can't let her see it. So his chin tilts, his eyes close, he's breathing in the faint scent of perfume that lingers over her collar in the few seconds left before she's out of reach. There's something about the perfume that reminds him of the women out there who give him migraines, but she's young, too young to have learned the art of bathing in it. The thought of India turning into their parents normally made him want to laugh, but now it only fuels his anger toward her.      HE'S on his feet in seconds, buttoning up the crisp white shirt and adjusting his belt in a haste. He can't talk, not yet. He needs a smoke. Shit, right now he could do a mother fucking line and he wasn't sure that would be enough to squelch the urge to put a hole in the fucking wall. Fucking Bitch. The words tumbled over in his mind several times before he managed to loop his belt back into position and slide his feet back into the scuffed shoes at the foot of the bed. "Fucking tease, fucking bitch tease," he mutters, mostly to himself, but truth be told, he wants to scream it at the girl adjusting her hair and dress. She's like a doll. She's so fragile and he's trying not to hide his temper from her, but getting from the bed to the desk where his cigarettes were seemed too long of a process.       AS soon as one of the beautiful cancer sticks had been retrieved and lit, he was stomping back across the room, stopping in front of her to give her the most bland expression he could manage. Bitch. Tease. "Do you even want to be with me, India?" The question is uttered in the calmest voice he can muster, the facade of the charming young man fighting for supremacy over the wolf desperate to rip into her. His expression is relaxed, bored even, the nicotine helping him grasp at control. She's a Santos, he has to remind himself. The Schwartz's couldn't afford to lose their favor when he father was vying for re-election. "Most guys would toss you on your ass for this." Not him, she would only go and cry to her brother about it. Not worth the drama. "You're welcome." Bitch, he wants to add.      ANOTHER drag, another exhale, and he's stomping to the balcony doors, throwing them open until they clang against the walls when they slam open. Maybe he wasn't as good as he tried to be at containing that pesky temper.  He needs to smoke and he's not going to listen to another lecture about his bedding smelling like tobacco so he's going to continue his temper outside, where he can watch the attendee's mill about his mother's pristine garden. "Or maybe I should just find a new girlfriend." NOTES, ssdfsdfs this was terrible, i'm sorry! please feel free to not match this length lmao.

[india santos]

December 24th, 2008; 7:15 P.M. -- As soon as India pulled from his grasp, she could feel the tension and intensity building between them. They were having the perfect moment - clothes were coming off, his grasp becoming tight in certain places. Hands on thighs, kisses being exchanged, flirty looks being taken between them. They were about to dive into the bed when India decided to tell him to stop. She, in this state, was curious as to what made her stop. Was it his grasp on her? Was it the situation they were in? Was it the fact that their parents were right downstairs and she had a fear of them coming in on them to see what they were doing? Or was it the fact that India just wasn't in a good enough mindset to have sex with her boyfriend tonight? Whatever the decision was to make India not want to continue must've been a grand one, because she sure as hell never denies herself or Henry of sex. She's always willing to abide by whatever Henry wanted. India was the submissive in this relationship, as it was made very clear by the actions Henry had taken in previous moments like this. He had total and complete control over her, and she couldn't just deny him the right to sex without giving him any reasoning behind it. Sure, she was two years younger than he was, but he's bigger, tougher and a lot stronger than she is. He has no problem with taking her in his grasp, and hitting her if need be. Though, if she's being honest, she wouldn't want this situation to ever reach that point. -- The tiny framed brunette gathers her dress, fixes the zipper and adjusts herself in it. She slips on the black patented heels, and adjusts her makeup. India takes a second to adjust her hair and fix any flyaways that must've gone haywire during their few minutes of making out. Henry, is, at this point, full of rage and anger. He's calming himself down with a cigarette, and she's hoping this will make his temper go down. He's put his satin shirt back on, and slipped his feet into his formal shoes. India's found herself backing against a wall near the bed. She's scared. She's intimidated and fearful of what might happen if she says the wrong thing, or makes a wrong move. The giant 6'3 man makes his way towards her. The 5'7 girl, tiny in frame and height, is miniscule in comparison. He's got muscle that she doesn't have, and everything about him is bigger and grander in size. She could easily break in half at any point due to his monstrous size. He closes the gap in between them, and lets out a jab at India. The comment, "Do you even want to be with me, India?" causes the girl to swell up. She lets out a sound, only to be silenced by more nasty remarks. She wanted to be with him, and wasn't sure how this one time could make him think otherwise. -- Henry makes his way to the balcony. She's left in the dark, standing by herself in the middle of his grand room. India takes a second to collect herself. They're in a relationship. They've been dating for quite sometime, and are of course, going to run into some issues such as these. She's never backed out of sex until today, and even then, it might still happen. She doesn't want to become the girlfriend doing things to fulfil the boyfriend's needs. She needs things as much as he does, and Henry should know that sex isn't something that India takes very lightly. After all, a mere few months ago, India lost her virginity to him in this very room. This, at least for her, was somewhat a sacred place. Composing herself, and turning on the flirty charm, she made her way to her boyfriend. Henry was leaning against the balcony, albeit taking in the scene below him. The tiny girl wrapped her arms around his waist. India let her head, full of brunette curls, rest against his back. "I want to be with you, Henry. Why would I be here if I didn't wanna be with you?" India makes her way underneath his arms, to face him. She's standing close, and they're leaning against the railing. She wraps her arms around his neck, and pulls herself closer to his body. She plants a kiss on his cheek, before reaching up to whisper in his ear, "You don't need to find a new girlfriend. You have me." She flashes a smirk and a wink, and signals to the bedroom. She takes his hand, and guides him back to the bed. She wants to have sex with him tonight, and not just on his accords. The girl slams the doors closed, initiating the next move. -- India slips the black heels off, and reaches behind her hand to slip off the dress. She's left in her red, new, lacy underwear and bra set from Victoria's Secret. She bought it just for tonight, in hopes of getting into Henry's bed. She sits Henry down, and lets her legs rest on his. She plants a kiss on his neck, in hopes of reeling him back in. India can be seductive and sexual when need be..and this instance is one instance where it could possibly work in her favor. Tiny fingers play with the buttons on his shirt, and she feels the large hand, playing with the clasp of her bra. She reaches his ear, and lets out a slight moan. "I'm sorry I teased you earlier...I don't know what happened. I hope you can forgive me." India flashes a wink at her boyfriend, before laying on her back and pulling him on top of her. India knew what she was getting herself into, but at this point, she just didn't really care. India just wanted to walk out of this situation with no marks, and wanted an enjoyable night, for both of them. "I love you, H..." she lets out, before a gasp escapes her mouth, as Henry finds the spots that give her the most pleasure. He was getting what he wanted, and India was giving him what he needed. A win/win situation for all, right? NOTES: Sorry this sucks. It also got steamy

[Deleted]

PRECARIOUS barely covered his temperamental state. One moment he was preparing to slam his fist into a wall, the next the sweet taste of nicotine and tobacco cured the tightness of his chest and lessened the blow of rejection. If it weren't for the burn between his fingers, he probably would have pushed the petite girl away when she sidled up beside him. What the fuck did she think she was doing anyway? There was a pretty good chance he was going to toss her over the railing if she didn't move out of his way. But he contained his upset by clinging to the cool metal. Knuckles turning white beneath clenched fists. So much for his temporary cure.        ONE more drag before he tosses the stub to the unsuspecting guests below. He likes to imagine he had the luck that it would fall in some snooty, old rich woman's drink, maybe the ashes singed her perfect wing, but he didn't have that kind of divine intervention. It was probably out my the time in landed in a bush to be found by a gardener sometime later in the week. "Move, India." That was his softly spoken response to her words, words that sounded like he was listening to them from underwater. The cold venom his words carried before no longer existed, but there was still a great deal of exasperation in his movements.        DESPITE how quickly the heat in his blood ran cold, he followed her. Maybe she could revive his passion for her, replace the quiet brooding he was partaking in. His eyes follow her every movement. She hadn't yet masted the art of seduction, her cheeks were still full, her eyes still too wide, her hips hadn't yet rounded out. She was beautiful in her own ways, but she was still a teenager on the cusp of adulthood -- watching her attempts at seduction was almost enough to make him chuckle. Almost. Instead, a half-hearted smirk lifts a corner of his lips. Still following her movements, but with hardly any real intent behind his movements.        LIPS press into her throat, hearing her words, but barely paying attention to them. It takes seconds for him to get bored of 'going with it' and sighs. Maybe it's more of a huff. Wrapping his fingers around her wrists, he pulls them away from his shirt and holds her at bay. "Yeah, this isn't happening." He offers her a grin that is half sympathetic, half condescension. Trailing his gaze from the slope of her shoulder, where her hair was once again spilling forth, down the length of her torso, he shakes his head. "Cheap lingerie is a real turn off." A short pause which he fills with a roll of his eyes and a chuckle. "And that's not an invite for you to go all despo on me and take it off."       SECONDS pass and he's on his feet, having discarded her from his lap to the bed, non-too-lightly, putting feet between them. He's yanking his tie off, tossing it onto his dresser and changing his shirt. Her perfume stuck to the expensive material and there was lipstick smudged over the collar. Typically he wouldn't have minded sauntering through a party like that, but this had a subconscious message attached to it. I'm ashamed of what went down here. Of you. "Get dressed," the words are thrown over his shoulder as the he admires his reflection, adjusting the buttons. From his back pocket, he retrieves a small box -- Tiffany's -- unwrapped, and tosses it on the bed.       "MERRY fuckin' Christmas."

[india santos]

-- Only a mere few seconds into the moment, and she feels a tight grasp center around her wrists. He's pushed her off of him, and is holding her in his tight grip. He's not having any of this tonight. He's rejecting her, just as she had rejected him earlier in the night. India can't exactly say that she didn't blame him, although, the way he's going about rejecting her is a little too rough for her tastes. She's only sixteen, for God's sake; she'll have moments of self-doubt, and embarrassment. Though, if she were being completely honest in this moment, she's got a bit more than embarrassment going on. She's kind of ashamed of how the situation went down, both with her reactions and his. Both rightfully felt, but maybe shouldn't have been as extreme on either parts. "Isn't this what YOU wanted, Henry? I'm doing what you want.." her voice heightens, the intensity increases. She's getting pissy with him, and upset at the way he's handling this situation. This wasn't India's intentions in the first place, but this is, according to Henry how things are going to be. -- More insults are pushed her way. Comments about her lingerie, and the, unfortunate, seduction skills that India has gained through her times with Henry. She's still awkward, and her body hasn't completely grown out yet. Her curves aren't there, and she's still got a baby face. But, she, in a way, was beautiful. India wanted Henry to see that, and appreciate that. But, sometimes she felt as if she weren't good enough for him. Good enough for his image, and good enough for his family. "You're not gonna let us discuss this? You never even told me why the fuck you got mad at me." she shouts to the tall man standing before her. He's getting himself dressed, changing into a new white shirt, as the previous one he was wearing is covered in perfume and lipstick that screams India. He would've loved to flaunt it around if they had actually had sex tonight. -- The tiny petite picks up the black ruffled dress of the floor. She steps into it, and zips up the back. She slips her painted feet into the heels, and adjusts herself in the dress. She walks to the mirror, and fixes out her hair. She's messed up. Her hair is unraveled, and her make-up is smudged. Her parents are going to ask questions once she reaches the bottom of the stairs. They, India and Henry, still have to walk around the gala hand-in-hand, acting like nothing had happened. They have to exchange "I love yous" and smiles. She has to act like the perfect girlfriend, and not even think about the previous events and the things that happened just minutes ago. At the beginning of the night, they were fine. They were kissing, and touching and not even an hour later, they're in an argumentative state, ashamed of the events that took place that evening. A little blue box - one that India has come to know so well, lands on the bed beside her feet. Her head falls as the words escape his mouth. A deep sigh escapes her breath as she reaches to pick up the box. Tanned hands open the box, and a stunning gold chained heart necklace falls into her eyesight. Her mouth drops, in complete awe of the present. He treated her well, that's sure as hell. -- India's heels click-clack along the hardwood floors, making her way towards Henry. He's outdone himself, yet again. She can't be mad at him for this, for anything. Her tiny arm clutches at his, rubbing her hand up and down his forearm. She's apologetic, completely sorry for the events she's caused. She's holding the box in her hand, and motions to have him put it on her. India turns her back to him, and raises her curled locks. "Can you..?" Large hands drape the necklace across her neck, and she hears a tiny little ding, indicating that the necklace was now secure. She turns around, leaning herself against the large armour. She takes her hand in his, and offers a gentle smile. India's trying so hard to make up for what happened earlier in the evening, and even more than that, she's trying to emit something to come out of him besides disdain, and disinterest. "Thank you so much, baby. I love it..I have yours waiting downstairs in the car." As a sign of thanks, India reaches up to his ear, and emits a, "I'm so sorry..", and plants a kiss on his cheek. NOTES: This actually made me feel bad for India

[Deleted]

LUST that he had almost demanded she satiate only moments before was gone, replaced with contempt. He wanted her to do what he wanted whenever he wanted it from her -- in this instance it had been sex. He was frustrated and wanted to fuck it away. But when she rejected him, he was almost repulsed by how easy she did a turnabout. It was bratty and stubborn and his moods were volatile, but he didn't even recognize how unfair he was being to her. "Maybe you should think for yourself for fucking once, Christ," he counters, a snort following his words. Someday India would rise to become just like the rest of the pathetic housewives littering the gala. Submissive, porcelain venomous. For now, it pissed him off. He wanted her to think for herself, but stop thinking so much, he expected the impossible from his girlfriends.        HER volume rises and he wants to strangle her for it. Didn't she know people could hear her? Jesus Fuck. His fists clench and relax several times, he's counting, that's what his therapist had suggested when he wasn't sure he could contain his temper. Count to ten. "Shut up, India," he's speaking through gritted teeth, his jaw muscles ticking away. It was rare he used her full name, having taken up the shortened Dia the day they met. "You're in my families home, you need to learn a little respect and lower your fucking voice." That same calm, collected, hateful voice is used, but dammit if he doesn't want to scream right back at her. He just knows better. He knows the repercussions of yelling. It would attract and audience. If they attracted an audience, it would only amplify his rage and her humiliation, then he would have to deal with their parents wrath and the gossip of the attendee's.        BESIDES he doesn't actually care what's coming out of her mouth at this point. Her concerns didn't make a lick of difference to him. Once upon it might have. Once upon a time, he would have tried to soothe her worries and make her feel better, but he had grown out of that phase of his life and into the phase where he worried about his wants and needs above... basically anyone else. Especially above hers. Why was he still with her, then? Because she was the type of woman -- girl, he had to remind himself -- that everyone wanted him to be with. She was the type of girl his family would welcome into the family with open arms one day. He would be surprised if his mother and hers didn't have their wedding entirely planned already. And maybe there was a part of him that knew, underneath all the obligation, he cared about her. Loved her, even. At least he did, at some point. His emotions had become jumbled along the way.        WHEN she speaks, he's not paying attention. His gaze is on his cuffs, adjusting them into place and tucking his shirt in. He's doing away with the tie and coat, his blood pressure has risen, his skin is on fire, and dammit, that thing is too fucking constricting. He'd deal with the snarky comments of his dressing down if he didn't have to wear a tie. "Yeah." He'd like to say that jewelry meant something, that it showed his genuine sorrow and compassion, but it was a schtick. How many necklaces, bracelets, earrings, had he given girls over the years to keep them passive? Maybe it was a subconscious effort, but it was there nonetheless and it worked. He knew if he gave India her gift now, she would stop screaming. If he bought his mother a new dress, she would get off his back about the gossip. If he bought his father a new watch, he would ignore the DUI.        ALMOST robotic, he does as she bids, draping the necklace around her throat and adjusting it so it was straight in place. No words are exchanged in those moments, he's working on his recovery. On building up to the charming young man that the gala expected to strut about with his perfect girlfriend on his arm. The kiss is returned with a half-interested smile and a deep breath. Instead of responding to the sentiments, he swings open the bedroom door and gestures the hallway, music and laughter filtering in from the event. Now, there is a grin on his face. It's not genuine, but to the untrained eye, he looks as happy as can be. Perfect life. Perfect girlfriend. He can fake it with the best of them. "Shall we rejoin the party?"

[india santos]

-- Out of all things that Henry's given her over the years, nothing could satisfy her more than getting the love she gave him returned to her. She loved him more than anything she ever loved; even more than she loved Percy, and Percy is someone she's loved for a few years. The love that India had for Henry was so much more than she could've ever imagined. She's only sixteen, yes, but she knew the moment she met him that she would, one day fall in love with him. Granted, they spent a few years apart when her family lived in England, but there wasn't a day that she didn't spend thinking about him. He was the first person to ever make her feel a strong and powerful way. He has a hold over her, and he does something to her everytime they're around another. Henry's got a big influence over her in every sense of the word - both in her personal life, and in the relationship they share together. He demands so much from her, and wants so much out of her. He has his moments of sensitivity and romance, but at the same time, he can be really rough and strong-willed with her. He's touchy, and then he shuts her down. He wants sex and then he rejects her. It's their cycle. India knows herself, and she knows that she shouldn't be with him. But her heart wants him, needs him, craves him even. And she can't fight what her wants. -- His words sting her wounds. He's spitting out venom at her every chance he gets. He's conniving, wrangling her to do whatever he wants. He's yelling at her to quiet down in his house, when, in reality, he's the one being obnoxiously loud. Henry's tone is intense and is meant to scare India. And it's doing just that. He knows how to use his words to hurt her, and it seems almost planned out. Though, in reality, his voice is somewhat calming, and quiet in tone. He knows how to turn it on and off whenever he has to. "I'm just frustrated, I'm sorry." her tone is low, and her words are short and concise. She can give him the same amount of attitude back. India's not afraid of using her words the same exact way he uses his words. She's smart, and is on an even playing field with Henry, although, she's not so sure he sees it that way. -- After a few moments of silence, Henry, seemingly composed at this point, reaches down to return the kiss. A rough face full of stubble brushes against hers, and she feels the butterflies all over again in her stomach. She knows it's not as genuine as he's trying to make it, but whatever makes her happy in the moment is what he's willing to do. She flashes him a grandeur smile, and takes a few moments to completely fix herself, and adjust his shirt, flattening everything out. They're about to head out to the party where they have to stand, hand-in-hand, side-by-side and flash a smile to all of their parents' friends. They have to say hello to each person, couple, patron that they run across. They have to sip the champagne and act as if everything is okay. They are the power couple at this event, and are made out to be the perfect people for each other. Their parents have been planning this event the entire year and if the two of them, Henry and India, ruin this event by a meaningless quarrel in the bedroom, then they'd be doomed for the rest of the evening. If they draw attention to themselves, then questions would arise and neither of them want that to happen. Henry offers her his hand, and she intertwines her tiny fingers in his. She takes a deep breath in as he opens the door for them. She follows behind Henry, and lets out a quiet, "Yes." as she flashes a grand smile at him, as ingenuine as his was. It's time to put on a show. -- The couple, walking hand-in-hand, make their way past the grand hallways. Saying hello to every person they come across. Flashing smiles, and small talk throughout the few people they pass. People are glancing over, whispering things, such as "Oh they're perfect.", or "Something happened there.", and as always, India's favorite: "Poor India." she scoffs at the last one, gripping a tighter clutch onto Henry's hand. She's already over this party, and wants to get as far away as possible from Henry. Just being beside him at this moment is making her mad. She loves him too much to even do anything about it, but her temper is boiling, and she's reigning it in as best she could. She pulls Henry to the alcove between the hallway and the bathroom and brings his body close to hers. She wraps her arms around his waist, and brings them to his back. She brings her face closer into his, keeping her voice extremely low, and quiet, wanting the conversation to only be between them. "Please tell me you have some sort of alc-" but she is caught off guard with a kiss being planted on her lips. Her eyes close, and her body melts into his. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies their parents. She breaks the kiss off and takes a hold of Henry's hand, and wraps it behind her back, stepping in front of him. -- A strong arm wraps around the girls tiny waist. Her back is touching Henry's front side, closing in any space between them. Her mother is arm-in-arm with Henry's mom. The two look conspicuous as to what happened earlier, and why India's hair is down. Her mother, smiling from ear-to-ear, looks at her daughter with a glazed over eye. "The gala is beautiful as always, mom, Cordelia. Henry and I were just talking upstairs about how each year it gets more and more elegant. We couldn't be more excited to support our families in this great cause." she is putting on the show for their mom's. They can't, under any circumstance know of the fight that had just occurred upstairs. If they saw bruises, they would question Henry, and he would retaliate against India. This wouldn't be an ideal situation for either party involved, let alone India or Henry. Cordelia, Henry's mom glances over the couple in front of her eyes, and exchanges glances with both her son and her son's beautiful girlfriend. She flashes a half-hearted smile, "It wouldn't have been possible without you two. Now, mingle with the guests, don't keep to yourselves too much." As soon as their parents walk away from them, India pushes his body away from hers. A scoff emits from her mouth, and arms are crossed in front of her body. She's upset, even more so than before. She keeps her voice low, and gives an eye roll or two to Henry. "Why did you kiss me just now? You know our parents don't want us doing that out in the public." she keeps her gaze aligned with his. She's getting awkward glances thrown her way, and in response, grabs a hold of Henry's hand guides him to the next quiet place she could find: the gallery at the far corner of the house. Finally, more quiet time. NOTES: 'Twas longer than I wanted, sorry!!

[Deleted]

APOLOGIES, apologies, he doesn't give a shit about her apologies. He wants her to stop apologizing, stop talking about it, stop talking in general. "Shut up." Again, the two simple words are uttered softly, on a single breath, low enough that should hear him and the seriousness of the statement and the still simmering anger under the surface. Once he was mingling with the sheep below, he would calm down. He would have an outlet for his frustrations via mocking the countless guests milling about and, if he was lucky, he'd manage to wrangle in a few of his buddies as entertainment. Drop India off with her girl friends and he would be fine. No one would suspect they were feuding.        AS gentle as Henry could possibly manage, he's gripping the girls hand, tugging her through the halls to the staircase and into the event. He's doing his best impression of perfection; a smile on his face, a beautiful girl at his side, and a quip whenever someone decides to speak to him. There are the cackling hens from before, still casting him suspicious glances, still expecting him to explode, while giving India their best facade of sympathetic they could muster. Too bad these women only cared about gossip and didn't have any genuine concern for the pair. Anyone that cared would be able to see the game they were playing. It's not until they're in the shadows that the grin slips off his face. He's tired of it. He has goals for the night. So he cuts her off, non-verbally, and encourages her to keep moving.       JUST as he had before, when he was alone, the second he's under the careful eye of their parents, he's fidgeting. His finger itch to fetch another cigarette, but instead he plays with the soft fabric of her dress, his eyes darting away from the scene. He's paying attention to the sucking-up India's doing, but he's embarrassed on her behalf. The women eat it up, grinning from ear-to-ear -- he smirks and swallows a laugh. You wouldn't see him kissing anyone's ass like that. He'll play along, smiling and being polite to the guests, but that was the extent he would go for these events. It's all bullshit anyway. It's not until she's pulling away from him that his attention is drawn back to the conversation and he can breathe again.       SNORTING probably wasn't part of the "perfect" image he was attempting to conjure, but there he went, unable to stop himself. "Like I give a shit," his voice is a mumble, of course, "It was the easiest way to shut you up before you started being a brat again." Not that he knew if that's what she was going to do -- he just didn't care. He didn't care if she was about to be completely polite or if she was going to attempt to lay into him in public, where he couldn't let his temper get out of control. There was no way he was going to find out either way.       SHE'S dragging him into a room and he's grumbling protests under his breath, only loud enough for himself to hear. If she wants privacy, fine, but he's not going to stand around and have it out with her. Again. Shaking his head, he digs his cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one and wiping the happy expression from his face. No more public Henry. Tobacco would linger in the room after they left -- another spat with the maid for smoking in the house. "Make it quick, I have shit to do." He may have only made those plans within the last five minutes, but she didn't need to know that. "What the fuck do you want, India?"

[india santos]

-- Throughout the last few months of their relationship, things had been steadily increasing and going in the right direction. They started their relationship secretively; sneaking behind Calvin's back whenever they were around him. She would sneak out late at night and spend time with him in his car, in his room, wherever they could get away to. They would hang out at night, and he would get her drunk off wine coolers. They stayed up all night, talking about endless ramblings. They would make out, a kiss here, a touch there. It didn't get serious until mid-February, when they finally confessed their feelings to each other, and kind of, in a way, sealed the deal. They couldn't tell their families about it yet, as they had precautions about the way they would handle it. But, truth be told, everyone in the Santos/Schwartz clan always wanted them together. They were, in a weird twisted kind of way, the Chuck and Blair of California. If anyone was bound to be together for the rest of their lives, it was them. At least that's the way it seemed. -- The brunette is becoming immune to his words. Every word he says is passing right by her ears. She's listening, but not concentrating on what he's saying. His words, becoming silence in the wind. She was just as mad as he was, but for completely different reasons. Yes, Henry had full intentions of having sex with his girlfriend tonight, but no, that was not in the plans for India. She wanted it just as much as he did, but for whatever reason, her heart wasn't going to let her get into with him tonight. Not tonight of all nights; not tonight, on the night of the annual Christmas Eve Gala. This is one of the most important nights of the year, and to have it ruined by two teenagers having sex upstairs? That was not in the books for her. He could fight it all he wanted, but India just wasn't having it. India lets out a gruntle, rolling her eyes side to side. She's getting more and more heated with each word that comes out of his mouth. She just wants to slap him across the face for being so ignorant, but, she'll put out the Santos composure and keep completely calm. Which, is completely the opposite of what Henry's trying to do. -- "I wasn't being a brat. You were being childish. And kissing me like that, when you didn't even wanna touch me minutes earlier? Real fucking mature, Henry." the tone was quiet, and low. The words were meant just for Henry to hear. The bystanders around them could ignore every sentence and every word being exchanged between the two lovers. It was clear they had gotten into something earlier in the night, and people had their thoughts on what had happened. She didn't want people speculating, especially her family or friends. Even though, in reality, some of her friends had already speculated the worst. India hasn't shown up to their outings with bruises prior to tonight, and there was no way in hell she was going to let them see her with bruises tomorrow. She was going to come out of this conversation unscathed and untouched. "You're handling what happened earlier completely wrong. You won't even fucking talk to me." she murmurs, as the tiny brunette settles into the room. They were alone now, and she's going to have the talk she wants. -- Just as the girl had opened her mouth to speak, her older sister, Pixie, turned the corner and entered the back room. India grabs Henry's hand, pulling them around her waist. She flashes her sister a wide eyed smile, and elbows Henry in the stomach, urging him to do the same. Nervous laughter escapes her mouth, and she manages to compose herself in a few seconds. "I expect you two are behaving yourselves, yes?" a faint nod manages to be forced from her head, as India watches Pixie turn her head. Before leaving the room completely, Pixie reaches for India's arm, turning her ear to face her mouth. "Are you okay?" the older Santos girl whispers to the seemingly disheveled girl. India musters out a weak "Ok" before facing the boy once again. She breaks away from his grasp, before gathering herself to speak. This is her once chance to actually talk about the night without being interrupted, hopefully. -- India grabs a hold of Henry's wrist, bring it to her chest. She holds his hand on her chest for a few seconds, before grabbing both of them and pulling them behind her waist. She figures if she gives him a little bit of what he missed out on, that he would lose his anger and want to carry her upstairs and accomplish what he wanted in the first place. The girl closes in the apparent gap between them, and lets her lips find the edges of his neck. She plants a set of kisses along his neck and cheeks before breaking away from his face. She's got him riled up now, and has him wrapped around her delicate finger. A slip of the strap, and an extra wink or two in there would seal the deal for the both of them. She knows how to get him excited, and if this didn't work, nothing would. Fingers find the edge of his belt loop, and a wink comes across his eye. She pulls him closer, and whispers into his ear, "Now that I have you riled up, can you tell me why you didn't want me tonight?" her tone is low, and the sound is quiet. She's speaking in a volume only they could hear. She's demanding answers in the sexiest way she could possibly give it to him. If this didn't fix things, India wasn't sure what would. NOTES: I LOVE THEM

[Deleted]

DESPITE the anger rolling off him, all he could do was laugh. Right in his girlfriends face, laugh at every word she said and the way she tried to puff up like she thought she was being... tough? Standing her ground? God, he really didn't know, nor did he care. She could get riled up all she wanted and it wouldn't affect him. At the end of the day, she would always be far more affected by words than he ever could be. They were just words, he knew how to use them as a weapon, but he didn't see the value in them in his personal life. Especially when it came from someone he didn't view as a threat.  "I thought so," he mutters around a drag from his cigarette, casting her another scathing look. If she wanted to have this talk she was pushing, it would only end badly, he knew it, and he wanted to stop it before it escalated, but every time she pushed his buttons, it took a little more effort to keep himself put together.       THE second she tugs his arms around her, he yanks them back. No, he's not putting up this pathetic act when it was just her sister in the room, he was pissed off and nearly dropped his cigarette -- the only thing he's worried about at the moment. "Fuck." He doesn't bother with niceties, he unlatches himself from the brunette, perhaps a bit too roughly, casting the girls sister a brief smile. Tense and forced, but at least it's there it's better than what he wants to do. To wrangle the older girl into staying with her sister so he didn't have to. He's seconds from trying to flirt with Pixie, if only to piss off India, when she steps back out of the room. Damn. "If you don't mind, I'm going to follow Pix on out 'cause this shit isn't gonna fly with me." Talking shit out? No, that wasn't his way and that wasn't about to become his way because she stomps her feet and demands it.       OH no, she can't leave well-enough alone, of course not. One foot in front of the other, his fingers balancing the lit tobacco between two fingers, angled away from her body. Even if he wanted to strangle her, he didn't want to burn her. A corner of his lips hitch in a smirk -- he's full of contradicting thoughts and emotions tonight. Maybe if he had a few more drinks it would make this ordeal go over smoother, maybe if his cigarette had a few more drags on it, he would last long enough to reach the liquor cabinet. Maybe if he could find Damon, he could get the eldest Santos to control his sister and prove to be a much needed distraction. There were far too many 'maybe's' pouring through his head and in the meantime, India was doing her best attempt at seduction. It was cute, but he still wasn't having a lick of attention for the actions. Once more, it was just annoying him to feel her squirm against him.       BOREDOM is etched on his face as he drops the cigarette into the hardwood floor and steps it out. There may have been more than one burn mark littering the halls of the lavish estate, but he wasn't concerned about it. His parents had more than enough money to mend it, if they wanted to, he never understood the fuss. His fingers tangle through her hair, his gaze following the movement, letting her work her magic. Magic that he wasn't into, not anymore. He wanted it half an hour ago, when they were first in his room. Oh, yes, he was desperate for it then, but now, he was fighting the urge not to push her away from him with every brush of her lips. Reaching the ends of her hair, the locks are draped over her shoulders, on either side of the brilliant necklace hanging around her neck. He would have to remember that silver was her color in the future. Perhaps tomorrow morning when he was actually remorseful for the words on the tip of his tongue.       TENDERNESS disappears in the blink of an eye to be replaced with a ticking jaw and a firm grip of her shoulders. He was physically removing the teenager from his personal space, pushing until she was at least arms length away, giving her no other option but to move. He was stronger than her, but he didn't want to hurt her, not really. Yet there he was, fingers gripping her too hard, looking down his nose at her like she wasn't worth the air he breathed. "Step The fuck. Back." Words grit out through grinding molars, he was close to blowing a fuse and this was not the place to do so. "I don't know when you became such a desperate little fuck, but you stink of it." He's not yelling, that's not his way. He's softly spoken antagonism and barely contained rage. "Touch me one more fuckin' time and we're going to have a serious problem here, understand? You need to go find your friends and let me cool off."

[india santos]

-- For a split second, India has him wrapped around her finger. For a split second, his whole focus is on her. For one single second, India's getting him to do exactly what he wanted earlier. But after the second passes, and anger fills his body, things begin to go downhill for her. India's ashamed of the events that have unfolded between them on this night. It is Christmas Eve. It's the annual gala, supporting whatever cause their families have chosen this year. They're in their best dress, and even this event couldn't have prevented everything that has happened since the move that changed everything for them. Flashback to a mere hour and a half ago when India was sitting on Henry's lap; fingers touching every sensitive part of her body, hair being tugged, lips touching lips. She was in heaven, and wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. Something changed in India, and something had halted her from moving forward with the evening. Even she didn't understand what happened upstairs, so how was she going to get her boyfriend to understand what happened? -- Strong arms yank back the tiny delicate arms, and the brunette is pulled forward. A gasp escapes her mouth. He's getting physical. This isn't good. She tenses up, her body conforming to the uncomfortable sense felt in the air. She's pissed him off even more right now, and she knows it's only bound to get worse. He's not being gentle with her as he was earlier in the night. Henry's arms unlatch from hers, and the two create more distance between themselves. She's closing herself off, making herself appear distant and upset. People are passing, and they're getting looks of disappointment and disdain. Their volume hasn't risen, but she feels that Henry's bound to do something he'd soon regret come morning, come Christmas morning. The girl conjures up enough courage to finally stand against the 6'3 towering man standing in front of her. She closes in the gap between them, and takes a deep breath in. "Don't fucking touch me." she whispers, in a low, steady tone. She's serious, and is worried for her safety at this point. Cautious, she backs up against the wall, and keeps Henry at an arms length apart. -- Once again, they're in a position of semi-decency. She's touching his face, kissing his neck, wrapping her arms around him. His fingers find the ends of her hair, playing with the long locks of her hair. She's hoping that this mood will continue. That she can just take his hand and he'll take her upstairs to his bed, and they'll fall into their usual routine. That he'll forgive her for her earlier actions, and have a change of heart. Maybe they'll make up, and he'll apologize for everything he's said. Maybe she'll conjure up the strength to apologize to him for pissing him off. Maybe they'll make up. Maybe they'll make up. She's replaying those words in her head, over and over again. There's gotta be a million times that Henry has done something, and a million more times that he's been on his knees, asking for her forgiveness. He's showered her over and over again with presents, mainly Tiffany's. And every single time, it's worked. This time, she's not quite sure her begging and seduction will work in her favor. She's pissed him off, and there's no chance in reversing that. -- His arms are, once again, on her body. She's swelling up. His grip on her is tight, pushing her away from him. She's scared. This girl, is scared of her boyfriend in this moment. He's stronger than her, bigger than her, and could possibly do damage if he wanted to. "You're hurting me!" she screams, silently, towards him. His grip is tightening, and she's struggling against him. They're struggling for power, and the weaker is obviously bound to lose in this instance. His words are hurting her even more. Accusing her of things she hadn't done. Calling her names, just increasing the vocal abuse already being projected onto India. Normally, she would be fine with his occasional name-calling, and vulgarity towards her. But with all the events that've taken place tonight, she just can't stand to hear one more word out of him. You fucking wanted it not an hour ago. Why the fuck did you change your mind?", she protests. Delicate arms push the rough arms away. She's standing in front of him, continuing to take the words that are spilling out of his mouth. Her pressure is increasing, her intensity going up. Things weren't going to end well for them tonight. "Did you get upset because your perfect little girlfriend didn't give you what you wanted?" -- She's gearing up to be on his level. India's ready to burst. She's in a showdown with her boyfriend, in his home, nonetheless. She's only 5'5, 5'7 1/2 with heels on, and has a tiny frame. She couldn't do any actual damage to him, or anyone. In reality, India wouldn't hurt anyone, wouldn't lay a hand on anyone. But with Henry? He's gone away too far. Calling her names, pushing her away, yanking her this way and that way. If she wanted to do something about it, she'd have to act out with her actions, not her words. At this point, India couldn't give two shits what the people around her would say. India couldn't give two shits what attraction she'd draw to the crowd. She was done with his words and his actions, and he kept laughing in her face, and calling her out on her weak actions. If he wanted a strong woman like India, she'd have to show him her worth. Since she couldn't show him her worth in his bed, maybe she'd have to show him his worth through her physical actions. Calming down, she relaxed her body. She flashed him a grandeur smile, and took in what he said. Thank God no one is around to see this confrontation go down, or else, she'd be in deep trouble with Henry and their families. "You'll want me later on tonight..you always do.", and as he started walking away from her, she grabbed his arm. India, fearing for her life, prepared her hand and took a grand slap across his rugged face. Grabbing his mouth, she gave him a stern look in the face and confidently emitted, "NO, do YOU understand me?" NOTES: Yep. She went there.

[Deleted]

IN the blink of an eye, he's gone from attempting to conceal his temper to not giving a single fuck if anyone saw the monster lurking beneath the surface. He was livid -- which, in his state, didn't feel like strong enough of a word. Tomorrow, when his mother questioned him about the raised voices and abnormal behavior, he might regret the show, but in the heat of the moment, he didn't care. He wasn't sure he could make himself care, no matter how many cigarettes he smoked or drinks he downed. No matter how much she whines or complains, he feels no obligation to explain himself or give her what she wants -- even if he so frequently demanded it of her. He was cruel and selfish, which only amplified his short temper.        TAKING several steps back is the only way he's going to keep himself from putting a hole in a wall. His fists are clenching and unclenching repeatedly, knuckles turning white in the effort it takes him to keep his fists at his side. "Perfect little girlfriend?" Snorting, he has to take a few steps back, remove himself from her personal space. Now, his hands raised, he's mocking her anger, despite the red turning his skin. "Did my mommy tell you that? 'Cause I wouldn't listen to her judgement on perfection. She's a pathological liar, y'know." How many times had he listened to their parents go on and on about how 'perfect' they were, how 'perfect' they had to be? They were the furthest thing from perfect and right now, he couldn't deal with it. That wasn't him or who he wanted to be and listening to her throw nonsense their parents rattled on about didn't help.       WANTING her at any point, now or later, wasn't exactly what he was planning for. Even if he did want her any time in the near future, he sure wasn't going to admit to it. He'd rather cut out his own tongue. "Your desperation is showing again," he shakes his head, malicious in tone and no longer attempting to keep quiet. Fuck the guests. "Get over yourself, I can walk out there and find half a dozen pretty brunette's that would be significantly less annoying than you that would be willing to suck my dick." Which, truthfully, he was pretty sure of. It wasn't like he didn't look or flirt, it wasn't like there weren't girls that thought he would eventually leave India for them. He's preoccupied with his thoughts and making his way out of the room to realize what she was going to do.       JAW stinging from the sensation of her hand against his, he doesn't have a chance to react to the shock before she grabbed his face. Now she's pushed him too far. The man's seeing red, not hearing a word she says. No, he's way too far past the point of making things right. "You psychotic bitch." One hand yanks her by the wrist, pulling her hand away from his face without a thought for her comfort. The other hand does something he wouldn't have thought to do if she hadn't struck him first. He backhands her, hard. There's no effort at trying to hold back because she's a girl, there's no effort at trying to stop himself from bruising her. He smacks her as hard as he would if she were just another man he was getting into it with.        THAT'S it. That's the final line he's crossed and there's no coming back from it. And... he doesn't care. He doesn't care that he hurt her or that he would have to explain it if she bruised. He's too far gone for any of the gentle composure he fought to hold onto. "See you what you fuckin' did? I told you not to touch me again and you wouldn't fuckin' listen." Taking several deep breaths, he runs his hand over his jaw, almost as an after thought. "Make sure to tell your parents we're done because their perfect little daughter couldn't keep her hands to her fuckin' self."

[india santos]

-- Her stomach is churning. The butterflies have been replaced with endless amounts of nerves. She's never been more nervous or scared of a person's wrath than she is right now. She's crossed a huge line with Henry, and she fears whatever retaliation he is planning. She knows he can be dangerous. She knows he can be intimidating when need be. India knows Henry, and she knows what buttons to push and how to push them. India knows Henry like the back of her hand, and she knows how to use certain things against him. Violence had always been something she had known about Henry, but India NEVER expected to be a victim of his violence at hand. He was semi-careful around her, and chose words that wouldn't hurt her as much as his words would hurt others. He was temperamental, that she had come to know. He was explosive at times, and there had been a few fights ending with door slamming, and tears being shed. She was in a different relationship than most kids her age, and she knew that. But there were also times of very sentimental moments during their relationship. He could be gentle with her, and sweet, and caring. But he could also be rough, and touchy..and not in the way she wanted him to be. -- His words are flying out of his mouth; but she's ignoring it with every fiber of her being. India's tuned him out, she doesn't wanna listen to the numbing things he has to say. He's spitting venom out of his mouth to her at every chance he gets. He's bashing her. Calling her elementary names, and causing more tension to be built between the two of them. The space between them is growing more and more further apart; a crowd is gathering around them. Looks are being passed between the young couple, and whisperings are beginning to surround them. Eyes darting between India and the youngest Schwartz boy. She's intimidated by his actions, and isn't quite sure what to say to the things he's spitting out. She's timid, and is closing herself off. She shudders, and the only words she can utter out is, "Fuck you, you're doing this to me, Henry." her voice is low, and shaky. She's completely fearful of his next move. She's not quite sure what's going to happen, and is quite scared of his next move. -- If there was anything that India wasn't, it was desperate. Sure, she longed for Henry's attention to be on her 99.9% of the time. And, she might be a Daddy's girl with his attention on her 99.9% of the time, but she was not, under any circumstances, desperate. She abided by all Henry's rules, and was by his side ready to accomplish anything he wanted. She did everything for him, and satisfied his every need. She was never the type to ask for things, for crave things from him. Henry showered India with gifts; and accepting every single expensive item with open arms. She never once turned down any gift he had given her, and always showed her respect and admiration with a kiss or two, even more when he requested it. This was a relationship where India was playing the submissive role, and Henry, her dominant. He treated her well enough for India to never report him to their parents, and she loved him enough to not want their relationship to end badly. She was just too in love with him to ever do a damn thing about the random bruises found here and there. "Do they know you lay your hands on your girlfriends? Do they know you hit them?" This was a jab at his character. This was a jab at his abusive ways. This was her way of abuse. -- The sting of his hand slapping her skin hits her on impact. Eyes begin swelling with tears, and a scream is emitted from her tiny mouth. She's in pain. He's slapped her, hard. He's bruised her, no doubt. She's hurt. Badly. She's broken. Even worse. He's done something he hasn't done in a long time; slapping her across the face in a public place. Henry's yelling at her, calling her a "fucking bitch". And "you made me do this." Of course he's putting the blame all on her. Of course he would turn the entire situation over onto her. This, is an example of how abusive relationships work. The innocent does nothing, gets slapped around, hit around, and abused. The abuser puts all the reasoning behind the abuse on the innocent, and turns things around on them. This is exactly what Henry's doing with India; yet, all she can do is sit back and take it. Sure there were people stopping to see the damage, but they wouldn't dare say a word against Henry. India's arms find Henry, and she begins hitting his chest. Slapping him as hard as she can, with tears rolling down her face. She's bawling at this point. In a gut reaction, her knees give out, allowing India to fall to the floor. She's buckled over, crying at an event that should've been one of the happiest nights of her life. Instead, she's been a victim of physical abuse. Once again. -- Hands reach for Henry's hands. She doesn't want the relationship to be over. She doesn't wanna be done with him. She wants his forgiveness. India will do anything for his forgiveness. She'll do whatever she can do to get him back. She just can't not be with him. Not now, at least. She's reaching to grab his hand, looking up at his bruised face, through her swelling tears. Using her free hand, she wipes away as many tears as she can. "No! Henry, please...I forgive you for hitting me. Please don't go.." She's begging him to stay. Begging him not to find another girl to fuck. Begging him to not find someone to replace her with. Begging him to please give her one more chance. She's been hurt too many times to give up this easily. She's been abused and slapped around too many times to let it just end. Their families will not stand for this. She'll be left with a bruise and nothing else to show for their relationship. She's left her mark on his face, and Henry's left his mark on his. She can't give him up now. India finds her footing, and finds her way to his grasp. India wraps herself up in his arms, tears running down her face. "I need you to stay, please.."  She's a mess. A complete ball of mess. She's filled with anger, and hurt and all she wants is her boyfriend to console her. "I'm so so so sorry..I didn't mean to hit you..please stay.."

[Deleted]

WHAT had started out as pure, no longer containable rage had taken on an entirely new layer -- embarrassment. It may have been better had he looked at the situation and been embarrassed by his rash action, maybe even apologetic, but he wasn't. He didn't feel shame for smacking her, if anything, he felt relieved that he had an outlet for the simmering temper. His embarrassment were in her actions. She had spent the majority of the evening attempting to seduce him despite his refusal to go down that road, she had manhandled him, yanking him around, poking the monster despite his continued assertion that they needed to cool off. The second her hand hit his cheek, she had knocked off the lid to his anger. For that, he felt justified in his actions, but humiliated that he hadn't put her in her place before it escalated. And now look at her? He couldn't. His eyes glanced to her then away, over her head, his expression contorted into disgust.      IN a handful of seconds, his mother would catch wind of the situation. She would fuss over the guests to satiate their need for gossip and controversy and he would end up in the dog house until he made it right. Right under her standards, that is. For now, he didn't care. "Girlfriends? You're the only one dumb enough to think they can hit me and not be hit back." Didn't that justify his actions? Didn't it make it okay that he had hit her because she hit him first? He wasn't some sort of casual abuser, India was the first woman he had ever laid hand to in that way. He was sure someone, somewhere would argue 'two wrongs don't make a right,' that he should have walked away, but he felt justified enough in his actions that her words had no affect. Rough and void of any tenderness, his fingers wrap around her forearms, restraining her, if only for his mother's benefit, so she didn't have to witness her son hitting his girlfriend again. Once she's untangled from him, on the floor, crying, making a fool of herself, he internally scoffed, he takes several healthy steps away from her. There would be no comforting from him, not tonight.       SEVERAL things happen in the span of only a few minutes. His hand is yanked away from her, he's recoiled and putting as much distance from the embarrassing scene as he can without physically running away. It doesn't matter that she's suggesting she forgives him because he feels justified as it is. He doesn't need her forgiveness if it was justified. In the blink of an eye, the anger had seeped out of his expression, still present just beneath the surface, but he's become an excellent actor. He knows how to play up the part of doting boyfriend and sympathetic elite. He's at her side, fingers against her cheek, just below the already reddened flesh, caressing her, reassuring her with his physical presence. When he tilts his head to kiss her cheek, it's really to create a semblance of privacy. His voice is low, a bare whisper. "Maybe you should spend the night contemplating what the words 'don't touch me' mean, hm?" Lips graze her cheekbone. "And get some ice for this before it bruises." 12/25/2008; 4:18 AM             DOORS are slamming, voices are raised, there's a steady pounding in the back of his head and without preamble, the door to his room is slammed open, a petite woman, boiling with fury, her clothes and hair a disheveled mess. The image standing in his doorway, artificial light barely filtering past her lithe frame, He doesn't say anything, he's still mostly drunk and he knows why she's storming around his room in the early morning hours. He begins to protest that this can wait until the sun is up, that four in the morning was a ridiculous time to have this out, but there's not an opportunity. His father stops in the doorway, his behind his mother -- they've obviously been arguing, probably about him -- flashes Henry a sympathetic look and marches off to bed.       BEING jarred awake and so thoroughly intoxicated meant that the shifting of weight on his bed was the only think that could distract him from the woman storming through his room, picking something off the floor and ranting about things he really couldn't process yet. His gaze lands on the naked blonde beside him, a grin crooking his face. Now he remembers. He had gotten drunk and flirted with anyone who would let him without slapping him, eventually taking one of the girls that always hung around to bed. He got laid and worked out his aggression in a constructive way -- he was damn happy with himself. Even if his mother wasn't. No, she was absolutely disgusted. "Give me a call before you head back to school, yeah? We'll have another go." He kisses her once before she's ushered out the door and he goes back to his lazy sprawl, waiting for the lecture -- not really caring about it. He already knew what she had planned.      "YOU will not see that woman again. You are going to sober up, take a shower, and be ready to have brunch with the Santos' by nine. Your little show with India last night was an embarrassment to both our families -- There were reporters at this event! Was there really no where you could take your childish spat? Did you have to have an audience?" She didn't care about the details or who did what. She cared that there would be a blemish on their family name. Something he had never attempted to dispel. In his mother's eyes, that was all that mattered and the destined couple had to reunite. "Buy her something nice. Earrings maybe. A ring. Maybe it's time you two get engaged. That would certainly make a statement..." At his groan of protest, she gives him a dirty look and waves a hand. "Fine, no engagement, but you will make this right." 12/25/2008; 9:47 AM             HE'S beyond late -- mostly because he felt like it. If he had to do this, put on a show, act like the groveling boyfriend, he was going to give his mother one more 'fuck you' before he did it. Even if it were in such a small, childish way. When he saunters into the Santos home, nearly an hour after brunch was set to start, he immediately turns it on. The charm, the flare, the attitude that had won him over far too many times. He had several gifts in hand. One for each of the women. Jewelry seemed to make all problems go away, all the time. "Sorry, Damon," his voice is a stark contrast to the tone he had the previous night, the attitude and anger all seeped away, "I didn't buy you a pearl necklace, but if you reach your hand in my pocket, I promise you'll find something else hard and long and just for you." His mother snaps, disapproving of such crudeness. Each gift is tossed -- something that makes both mother's cringe -- to their respective recipients, except the youngest.        AN arm slides around India's waist, a kiss is pressed to her temple. He's not quite looking at her, he's still angry, but he doesn't make it too obvious. He's pulling her close, being tender, his voice soft and affectionate. He could feel eyes on him, watching the exchange, waiting to see if all was mended or they were about to witness a blow up between the pair. "I couldn't stop thinking about our fight last night," there was the first lie, delivered flawlessly. "I spent all night up, pacing, wondering if you were okay and trying to think of a way to make things right," The girl he spent all night with would prove otherwise, "I bought you this... it's not much, but..." A frown creases his face as he holds out the blue box, diamond earrings tucked inside. "I love you, Dia." He doesn't ask for forgiveness, because even in the morning light, he doesn't feel guilty, and even now, there's a hardness -- anger -- hidden in his repentant expression.

[india santos]

-- What was meant to be a nice, peaceful evening, has taken many turns for the worst. The events that happened in the bedroom had transpired into something bigger than India had ever intended. Henry, being the usual horny teen, just wanted to have sex with his girlfriend. And, at the beginning of the evening, India wanted it as well. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, and while it seemed as if they were both going to get what they wanted, India, had to back out of the plan altogether. This had, as usual, angered..no furiated Henry, and had caused some unwanted tension to be built between the two of them. She had done the unthinkable, and instead of shutting him off and ignoring him the rest of the night, she had to keep prodding. Pushing. Attempting to seduce the young eighteen year old man; even though all of her efforts and attempts to reignite the flame between them had all but failed. India felt ignored, and was feeling, well, "cheap." She was asking for something that Henry had been asking for earlier in the evening; yet when she wanted it, those efforts were turned away. And now, things had exploded into an area she never wanted to go. They've gotten physically violent with each other, something that had never happened before. She took the first swing, and rightfully so, Henry swung back. Hard. -- Eyes darting between the pair; whispers are surrounding them. Crowds are gathering, wanting to see the damage that's been done. People filing in from every corner, and yet the only set of eyes India is focusing on is her boyfriend's. His eyes are glazed over, anger filling from every part. The once tender look had been replace with utter disgust. The young girl is on the ground, falling apart at the seams while her young boyfriend is sitting over her, still abusing her. Still calling her names. Still filling her with nothing but negative thoughts, and yet, beyond her knowledge, all she can do is sit back and take it. She's caused him to do this. India's made Henry swing back, and she's at the bane of all of their problems tonight. His voice is low, and his tone is angered. She's uncomfortable with the intensity between them. Her voice is shakey, and all she can muster out is a weak, "That doesn't make it okay." She's contradicting herself; India placed a hand on his face, and yet, she's a female..so it makes it okay to hit him? She is, 100%, completely at fault. Or, as much fault as he is. They are a violent mix -- but their attraction to one another is too grand to ignore each other. A rough hand grabs her arms, pushing her away. He's not too violent, but the grip makes her emit a low grumble. She's still reeling from the sting of his slap; and she, honestly, can't take much more. -- Henry's hand yanks away from the brunette. She's left alone for a few seconds, before he is right by her side once again. He's turning on the good, doting, caring boyfriend card once again. Fingers caressing her cheeks, making her feel somewhat, "okay" once again. He's kissing her cheek, turning into her. She's semi-okay with it. She's fine with him pretending everything's okay in the eye of the public. This is good for their images -- the images of their families. She's fine with parading around the "perfect" relationship card along with Henry in the public eye; as soon as they're alone, however, they both know the truth. They are both furious and angry with each other. They've gotten into fights before, but this is the first time..one of the first times..that they've ever been physically violent with each other. And this is also the first time that they've had a fight in public. And to let it get this far? This was beyond India. A whispering tone is emitted through her ear, his word stinging her at the surface. She's silent, and gives him a nod. India reaches for his hand, before he vanishes into the crowd. She's quick to find her belongings, and makes a brisk exit out the side door and into her awaiting limo. 12/25/08; 1:32 AM -- Black locks flow down to the girl's lithe frame. Hands cover a face that's drenched in water. The girl's been sitting in the shower for the last hour and a half. Her makeup is smeared, the redness from the slap has vanished, and is replaced with slight bruising. Tears have been flowing steadily for the last few hours since their departure. India's been replaying the entire night over and over again in her head; from the first kiss, to the backhanded slap she received from her barely eighteen year old boyfriend. She's remembering the look in his eyes, the angered voices, and the yanking, the pulling. India's overthinking every single word Henry spoke: you'd be lucky, don't touch me, you made me do this. She's now in a state of putting complete blame on herself. She's made him completely upset, and yet, even still, he's putting on a facade of being semi-decent to India. He walked away from the scene, and her, and acted as if she didn't mean a damn thing to him; though, she knows she does. Even behind the picture he puts on, India knows that somewhere in there, he cares about her, maybe even loves her. But right now, she's never felt more unloved. She's sitting on her shower floor, bawling, doubled over. She hasn't heard a word from him since their fight, and right now, she's even wondering why the hell they're still together. At least, from the way he put it, they were over. They were done. But she's hoping, at least, that he'll come around in the morning. Apologize and ask for forgiveness, bearing gifts, albeit. -- After an hour in the steaming shower, India hears footsteps nearing her door. A low, high pitched tone is heard through the door. "India, honey, you have to let me in." It's her mother. "Shit. Hang on." The tiny framed girl emerges herself off the floor, and lets the door slam open. India finds the fuzzy robe, and drapes it around her body. She reaches for the towel, and wraps it around her head. The tiny hand opens the door, and sees her mother, still draped in the beautiful golden gown from earlier. There's a disappointing look lingering on her face; but behind the disappointment is a sign of empathy, of anger. Maybe she's angry with Henry. Maybe she's angry with India. They did, after all, cause a huge scene, but look at what happened because of that huge scene..India left the gala two hours earlier than needed, and she also left with a giant bruise on her beautiful face. What kind of mother could be mad when their daughter was at the hands of an abuser? "Baby girl..we need to put ice on that. But you also need to understand that the kind of behavior we saw from you tonight is not tolerated. You both embarrassed us with your little show, and we expected more from you. You can give this a rest tonight, but you must make up with Henry tomorrow at brunch. Understand?" Gabriella, India's mother, takes her daughter in her arms, and guides her to the kitchen. After an hour on the ice, India places the ice back into the freezer and makes her way to her bed. Things would, hopefully be made up in the morning. It is, afterall, Christmas morning. She could only hope for a healthy turnaround. 12/25/08; 7:35 AM -- The alarm on her phone has been ringing for the last fifteen minutes. Begrudgingly, India awakes from what seemed like, the shortest sleep of her life. India's been tossing and turning the entire night, and has not stopped thinking about last night's events. She's constantly wondering what Henry was doing: was he with his buddies, did he find another girl to keep company with, did he go to his room and drink himself to sleep. Was he even thinking about her? India was, indefinitely scared of the possibility of being cheated on. But she knew, somewhere, that even though they had had a blowout fight the previous night, that he would not do that to her. On top of being slapped at the hands of someone she loved, India knew that he wouldn't go the extra mile to cheat on the girl he so often proclaimed that he "loved." She would never go as far as that extent to release her energy from a previous fight. Pushing the covers off her bed, India slides to the floor, her feet hitting the cold hardwood floors. Caterers have been here since 5 am, preparing for the brunch that would begin at 9 am. India can smell the coffee from the kitchen, and she's using it as her motivation to get a shower, and get dressed before the Schwartz clan arrived: including her boyfriend. And, even if India was beyond furious with him, for leaving the scene, and for hitting her, she was still anxious to see him. They left things unresolved, and in reality, the one person she never wants to be upset with is Henry. 12/25/08; 8:50 AM -- An hour later, and India emerges from her grand bedroom. She is donned in a one shoulder magenta dress, with nude heels. Her hair is curled, and her make-up is flawless; hiding the faint signs of the bruise. She is cheerful, and is in proper Christmas spirit. The rest of the family is already downstairs, mingling with the Schwartz family. Her eyes dart around the room in search of the 6'3 man she called her boyfriend. He's just running late, she thinks...he'll be here in a minute or so. In hopes of not thinking about him, she finds Pixie and pulls her in for a hug: it's Christmas morning, and this is their usual routine. "Did it bruise?" India takes a deep breath, and nods her head. It's bruised, but it's not noticeable. The girl gives a loving smile, and finds her place at the table. Of course their parents have put them next to each other. They want them to interact and make nice. They want them to make it up. They want them to be that "perfect" couple again, and who wouldn't, right? They've been dating for almost a year, and to have everything end over a stupid fight..well that would just be pointless, and in their parent's eyes, really dumb. India gives the crowd a big smile, almost a forced smile, to be exact. She knows not everything is perfect, and with no sign of Henry yet, she knew things were bound to be shaken up shortly. "I'm sure he'll be here soon. He knows not to miss this." Cordelia's reassured India that he will be here, but she hopes he'll be here sooner than later. India needs to console him, and make sure that they're okay. 12/25/08; 9:47 AM -- As the brunch begins wrapping up, India hears footsteps approaching the dining room. Nervous, she stands herself up from her chair, and puts on a bright smile on her face. He's almost an hour late, but even despite that, India can't hide the smile that is on her face. She loves him, hell, and even in spite of the stuff that went down last night, she can't give up that easily on him. He's her boyfriend, for God's sake. They are meant to be together, even if it's a forced relationship. He begins disputing gifts out, and saves the last box to himself. A strong arm wraps around her waist, pulling the tiny girl into him. A smile is forced from her face, and she closes in the gap between them. Rough skin brushes against hers as a kiss is placed on her forehead. He's apologetic, affectionate. She's grinning at him, taking in every word he's saying. She's believing him, for once. India grips his hand in hers, pulling it behind her waist. Her head rests against her chest, hearing his apology. "Why didn't you call me? I was up thinking about you and the fight." she's also apologetic. Sincerely. She wants nothing more than to take him to her room, and make things right. But it's not the time or place. "I want to make sure you're okay. I'm so sorry for everything, truly." It seems as if his words are working, because India's buying it. She's loving the attention, this is what she wanted in the first place. As soon as she hears the last words, a Tiffany's box is plopped right in front of her eyes. Her favorite. She opens the box, and notices the frown that's appeared on his face. Smiling, she opens it. A sympathetic look appears on her face, she's forgiven him. India brings herself in closer to the man, and wraps her tiny arms around his neck. She closes her eyes, and kisses his lips. After a few moments, she breaks the kiss off, and places a hand on his chest, while the other is draped around his neck. "It's perfect. I love you, Henry." 12/25/08; 10:15 AM -- India takes Henry's hand, intertwining hers with his. She's beaming from ear-to-ear at his present, and the way he's carried himself. She's told the family that they will be in her room for a few minutes, as they want some time alone before they begin the present portion of the day. They walk to her room, hand-in hand, throughout the many levels of stairs leading up to the door. India wants to know that he's being true to his word, and that everything is okay. She needs the reassurance that they will be fine, and that everything is okay, once again. India needs to know that their little fight the previous night has not caused any major tension to be caused between the two of them. They finally lead up to the door, and she guides him inside. She sits down on the edge of her bed, and urges Henry to take a seat next to her. "I need to know.." before she can begin saying the rest of her thought, Henry's taken her up in his lap. Naturally, her arm drapes around his neck, with her other hand tight on his chest. She's gripping to the fabric of his sweater, and their faces are close. He plants a few kisses along her face, and neck and lets go of her for a second. "Baby, are we...okay? I mean, I know you said downstairs..but I just need confirmation. Are you mad?" she's wanting truth from him. And no matter what he does, she needs him to be 100% truthful with her. They're alone, he can be real, for once. In a response, she lets herself go, in the moment. She lets her lips graze against his before finally exploding, and places several kisses along his lips, and neck. "Please tell me..."