get this man away from me.
My skin bristles beneath his electric touch. Those sparks that used to feel so
divine now feel like spikes cutting through my flesh.
“Every single man that laid eyes on you while in that house will die slow fucking deaths. I’ve killed so many already… and it’s still not enough.”
He pulls me into him, and I tense as he wraps himself around me.
So many men have done the same. Sweat soaking my skin as they take my
body, their skin sliding against my own. Sliding inside of me. Over me. Around
me.
How can he feel like home, feel so safe, yet make me feel like I’m being buried alive?
His lips whisper across my cheekbone, and panic sparks. My breath falls
shorter, and my lungs constrict as his other hand reaches up to touch me. I tremble as memories flash through my eyes. Faces, so many faces. Smiling at me as they take from me.
Whispering filthy words from their fucking rotten mouths.
Such a pretty girl.
You’re going to look so good with those lips wrapped around my cock.
Fuck, I could come from just touching you.
These tits are perfect, how much did you pay for these?
I can’t control myself. I need you now.
I can’t control myself.
I can’t control my…
“Let me go,” I whisper.
He stills, his mouth poised over my cheek.
“Stop… stop fucking touching me.”
I hear him swallow. “That’s like asking me to cut out my own fucking heart.”
“If I can live without one, so can you,” I snap.
He’s solid stone as he processes my words. And all I want to do is fucking break it. Make him crumble beneath my fists.
Slowly, he pulls away, his mismatched eyes catching hold of mine.
What does he see when he looks at me?
Does he see the anger churning beneath the surface? Like looking down into
the mouth of a volcano to see what the insides look like. Red. So much fucking
red.
That’s what the inside of every human looks like—but I’m no longer full of
blood. Only fire.
“Do you think of them when I touch you?” he asks, his voice turning hard.
That fire rises, building in the pit of my stomach and ascending up my chest
like lava.
Who gave him the right to touch me? Who gives anybody the fucking right
to?
The trembling increases until my bones are rattling and my teeth chatter.
Fire.
I move without thinking, my hand wrapping around the gun tucked in the
waistband of his jeans and yanking it out. The second he realizes what I’ve done,
he backs away, raising his hands in surrender.
I point the gun right at his fucking head, and all I want to do is blow it off. All
I want to see is his brain explode beneath the bullet.
Because I’m not looking into the face of the man I love.
I don’t see him at all.
All I see is a faceless man trying to take what he wants from me without my
permission.
And I want him to fucking burn for it.
Tears build in my eyes, my vision blurring. The gun is vibrating from how hard my hand trembles, but he’s close enough that I’d strike true. Whether the bullet hits his head, his throat, or his chest, I don’t care.
“Little mouse,” he whispers. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the sweet
whisper out of my head. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want it to mix with the
other voices.
So many of them.
Fuck, you’re so tight. You sure you’ve been fucked before?
Shh, don’t cry diamond, it’ll only hurt for a second.
I can’t wait to hear you scream.
Let me see that blood, baby. Show me how hard I tear you apart with my cock.
“You’re no different, right?” I bite out, my voice cracking. “You’ve forced yourself on me before, remember? Taken from me— stolen from me. What makes you so different, huh?”
My eyes burn from the tears welling up. And within seconds, they spill,
running down my cheeks.
“Do those memories keep you up at night?” he asks, his voice soft. “Do they
torment you?”
He bares his teeth, his own ire flashing in his eyes. “Do you think about my
touch as anything other than a fucking godsend?”
“I do now!” I shout, thrusting the gun at him. I suck in a sharp breath as a sob
crawls up my throat.
He nods slowly, the anger dimming in his eyes. Deep down, I know better. I
know he’s not angry with me.
He’s angry because he’s helpless.
Hopeless.
A goddamn lost cause.
Because I will never be the same. And he knows that.
But what he doesn’t know is what that means for him. For us.
The sob escapes, but the rage persists.
Slowly, he steps towards me like approaching a scared animal with vicious teeth. His eyes don’t stray from mine as he advances, and I’m so close to slipping back into that paralyzing hold he has on me. And then he’s right before me again, pressing his forehead into the barrel of the gun.
“Does this make you feel powerful?” he murmurs.
Another sob breaks free, but I don’t lower the weapon.
“Does this make you feel alive again?”
I scowl but can’t muster the courage to respond. I can’t articulate what it makes me feel—I just know that it makes me feel something.
“What you’ve forgotten is that the heart beating inside your chest isn’t
fucking yours,” he snarls. “It’s mine. And if my heart has stopped working, then pull that trigger, little mouse. Kill the rest of me. I’m nothing if I’m not the reason you breathe.”
I break, and screw my eyes shut against the flood of tears, but it’s like putting
a piece of paper over a bursting pipe.
My face contorts as pure agony consumes me.
“I don’t want to feel anymore,” I choke out, barely getting the words out before a gut-wrenching sob bursts past my lips.
“Let me— fuck Addie, just let me fucking hold you,” he bites, his voice breaking.
He tears the gun from my grip and tosses it on the bed, and then I’m being swooped up into his arms, weightless as he lifts me up against his solid chest.
I open my mouth, and I scream. I scream and scream until my voice cracks beneath the pressure. Until I fear my throat will shred from the force.
I want to crawl outside of my body so desperately. Just so I can escape this
feeling.