Chapter Nine

Van had never met a woman that physically cringed at the thought of having sex with him. The mere thought of the situation – the woman he was being shackled with not wanting to have a relationship – made him annoyed. Then she all but grabbed him and stomped out of the yard like a sexy raging bull, turning him into a cross between angry and turned on. What Van goth felt for her was a lethal attraction.

"Can't you be nice for five seconds?" he questioned, half joking, half serious.

"Can't." Hazel commented, completely missing his joke, "It's not in my anatomy."

"Well is there anything redeemable in your anatomy?" Van bit out as he walked ahead. He felt as if looking at her would cause him to do something rash; like try to kiss her. So he forged ahead, expecting Hazel to follow.

"I'm sorry I'm such a bitch, Saint Van."

He glanced back, shooting the dazzling redhead an irritated look. Van decided against answering. He rounded the car, intent on getting out of the heat. Perhaps her temper would cool under the air condition.

Van pressed the button to open the car and held her door open for her, "Getting in?"

Hazel rolled her eyes, "No, I want to stand out here like a lawn gnome." She muttered. Hazel strutted pass him, ducking to get into the car. Van goth watched her sit and tried not to slam the door in frustration.

He went back to the driver's side and slid in. It was obvious that they were both out of sorts when the doors were closed and they had neglected to put on their seatbelts. Hazel had her left arm up, resting against the door, her fist pressed into her temple. Van twisted in his seat to look at her.

"Have you calmed down now, hell-cat?"

"Remember that silence rule?" Hazel muttered, not rising to his bait for a fight.

"Why, in the name of all things sane, did you have to throw a temper at my father?"

"Why, in the name of all things sane," Hazel mocked, still not looking at him, "Is your father trying to dictate our se–, my life to me?"

Van scoffed, muttering under his breath, "The better question is why are you grabbing for money with no plans to work for it?"

Hazel flinched away from him, thoroughly stunned. She had not planned on taking off but she somehow found herself flinging the door open and turning down the street. She ignored his shouts, and continued stomping down the street until she got to a bus stop. Hazel briefly considered going to a hotel to stay but the obvious lack of prior planning meant she nothing packed with her. Nor did she have enough money. Her much needed retreat from humanity – after barely two days, mind you – was out of the question. Huffing, Hazel took the first bus that passed. It would take her to a nearby park she remembered from her childhood.

On the ride there Hazel refused to allow her brain to dwell on the voice in her head that was telling her that she was behaving like an idiot. None of her self-proclaimed level-headedness nor her cool intellect could be found. She wanted to hold on to her anger and frustration for as long as she could. And therefore she was behaving irrationally; allowing her emotions to wreak havoc on her temper.

But if she let that go then she would just be giving in. It would be as if she had no qualms with the situation; as if she were allowing three strange men to make all the decisions of her life.

And damnit, she refused to be her mother!

Reprimanding herself for acting like a child, Hazel slummed back in the hard bus seat. She had thought she had resolved herself to look at the situation as her securing future but here she was, playing the fool.

Hazel walked from the drop off point to the opening of the green space. She picked her way through the gates and down the winding path that led to the playground. Nothing had changed there. The swings were still rusting, the grass was still greener on the left of the sandbox and the trees were still heavy with leaves that never seemed to change colors. She could see herself playing on the swing set as a toddler, could see herself sitting by her teenage lonesome self on the benches, sketching everything she saw. And her she was, a woman of twenty-five and still as alone as every; or worse.

Sighing, Hazel sat down on one of the swings, pushing off lightly. It creaked but was otherwise stable.

She allowed her brain to twist this and that way as she considered what she had gotten herself into. Back in Chicago, she had found a way to convince herself that she could and would have control of the situation. However, it was becoming startlingly clear that she did not. Atleast, not yet.

If it were up to her she and Van would live in separate houses, see each other when only absolutely necessary and never – ever – make any sort of physical contact. But his and her conniving fathers had other plans.

Her cell phone rang. She flipped it open, as she normally did, without checking the ID.

"Yes?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"Van?" she sighed, hanging her head to look at her shoes. She felt like a child. "Typically walking away means one needs space."

She heard him sigh on his end, "Tell me where you are."

"Text me your apartment address. I'm a grown woman; I'll come back when I want to."

Hazel hung up and stuffed her phone into her handbag. She pulled back unsteadily on the swing and took off at a slow pace. The sun was high in the sky, washing her skin in its heated rays and casting a glow to her already bright hair. The trees created a cocoon that prevented the heat from directly sizzling her already flushed skin. She leaned back, trying to settle her nerves.

*forced*

"What is a beautiful, redheaded cutie like you doing in a park on such a hot day? All by yourself."

Hazel's eyes flew open to meet the baby blues of a tall figure.

"Is it against the law?" Hazel bristled unintentionally, siting up straight on the swing.

Two hours, only two hours of piece, Hazel thought venomously.

The stranger, a guy with buzzed blond hair and a stocky, tall frame, put up his hands in surrender, "Oh snap; my bad. Lame line, I know, but I wanted to say something." He did not look as apologetic as he tried to sound. His eyes scanned her again even as he pretended to extend his hand politely for a handshake. "I'm Dean by the way."

Hazel looked him over then responded, "Hazel, I supposed."

She ignored his proffered hand and went back to swinging, hoping that he understand that she did not want to talk to him.

He did not take the hint.

Much to Hazel's distaste, Dean sat himself down in the swing next to her and continued to leer at her in what he thought to be polite appreciation. She observed him from the corner of her eye. Her irritation and anger from earlier made a heated return.

"So..." he smirked, "Do you come here a lot?"

Some inner part of her consciousness gave an exaggerated huff of annoyance and rolled its eyes all the way back.

Men.

"No." she answered scathingly, "And won't be in the future either it seems."

"That's too bad." He answered, still smiling, completely missing the meaning behind her words.

"Isn't it." Came Hazel's sarcastic reply.

"We can always meet up–" he began.

"Listen, it was nice meeting you and all, but I should go." Hazel stood suddenly. She took two long strides away from the swing set. He mimicked her movements in less than a second.

"Gimme' your number then. And lets do dinner tomorrow night."

Hazel was one second away from verbally slapping him silly. She cooled her temper and stopped, eyeing him square in the eyes with the fakest smile she had, "Nope. I'm engaged to be married."

She flashed him what she hoped to be a kindly smile and turned to go.

"I bet you're just saying that." He shouted from his spot. "Don't be shy."

"I wish I were." Hazel muttered to herself, and then shouted over her shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Ben."

*****FORCED*****

Update as promised! 

My thoughts on this chapter... more than a little lacking. I've been sitting on this chapter, hoping to fix it but  idek what to do about it.

Thanks for reading,

Love,