The motherfucker even had the audacity to tell me he loved me.
I stand on shaky legs and scrub that vile man from my body. I can’t help but think of War and our time together, as I fervently scour away every particle from my flesh, to the point of pain. Every smear of his saliva. Every drop of his cum. Any lingering scent of the devil himself. All of it burned from my body by my vicious scrubbing and drained away into the depths of hell, where it belongs.
“Baylee…”
I flinch at hearing his voice, low and menacing, and I drop the rag onto the floor. Gritting my teeth, I prepare to shred his face if he so much as thinks about entering this shower with me.
“What?” I snap.
He chuckles, the darkness in it a threat itself. “There’s my girl. Thought I’d lost you there for a spell when you went all catatonic.”
His shadow behind the curtain moves over to the mirror and I hear him turn on the sink. He sets to brushing his teeth as if we’re some stupid married couple getting ready for bed.
I hate how comfortable he is with what he’s done.
Absolutely hate him.
“You developed feelings for him.” His words aren’t a question but instead an accusation. Silent tears roll down my cheeks as I think about War. “Baby, they have a name for that. It’s called Stockholm syndrome. It’s a psychological disorder. You only think you have feelings for him because he was your captor. It’s not uncommon.”
My blood boils and I want to charge through the curtain and beat his face against the mirror. To smash his flesh against the glass and revel in the way his blood smears the reflection.
If only I knew for sure that I could take him. In my angered state, I imagine I almost could.
“I’ll never feel anything for you but hate. I’ll never fall in love with you,” I hiss back at him.
The shower curtain is suddenly yanked open and I shriek in surprise. His gaze drags over my naked flesh before those evil eyes bore into mine. “You won’t have to fall in love, sweetheart, because I’ll drag your ass into it with me.”
We glare at one another for several long seconds. When he reaches for me, I go wild. I claw at him and scream. He manages to grab onto one of my arms and jerks me out of the shower into his firm grasp.
His bare skin against mine nauseates me and I wiggle to free myself.
“Let go of me, you asshole!”
I’ve lost it. I can’t remain calm for the sake of my maybe baby. I can’t even get myself under control and use my head long enough to determine an escape plan. All I can do is think about murdering this man with my bare hands.
“Baylee,” he snarls, squeezing me hard enough to nearly break my ribs, “calm your shit or I’ll knock your ass out.”
Ignoring him, I lean back before slamming my forehead against his chin—hoping to hurt him more than myself.
“Fuck!”
We continue to scuffle—me like a live wire in his arms—back into the bedroom. My body is slippery and wet, but he still manages to hold on to me. When I get a glimpse of blood dripping from his lip, I’m overcome with joy. So much so that I cackle with glee.
“Calm the fuck down, woman!”
Only when he wrenches my arm behind me and twists it painfully do I stop my movement, giving in to loud, defeated sobs. The adrenaline seeps out of my body with every passing breath and all strength leaves with it.
“Take this,” he orders, prying open my mouth. “It’ll calm your ass down.”
I gag as his fingers force the acrid pill past my tongue and into my throat. My teeth clamp down but he manages to free his hand before I can do any real harm. His strong palm presses my chin up to keep me from trying to spit it out. I can feel the mysterious pill slowly make its way down my dry throat.
“Baylee, I’m sorry.”
I stiffen in his arms as his palm rubs innocently over my belly. Recoiling away from it would only give him suspicion to what I’m protecting, so instead, I bite my lip and breathe as normally as I can. My stomach roils as the pill settles and begins to do its job. I pray to God that if I am pregnant, it won’t harm the fetus. “You’re not sorry. You killed him. I loved him.”
He stays silent for a long time and I wonder if he was even listening. Or if he’s planning his retaliation for what I’m sure he interpreted as defiance. His grip on me finally loosens, but I’m too exhausted to fight and I’m already feeling numb from whatever it is he gave me. “Shhh, let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’ve been too rough with you, I think. Expected too much, too soon. You’re a good little girl, and I don’t want to treat you like a prisoner.”
He manages to climb into bed with me in his arms. When he drags the warm blanket up over us, I nearly moan in relief. His heavy arm holds my body against his—my back to his front. Even though my hair is soaked, he buries his nose in it and kisses my skull.
Every muscle in my body is on fire. My brain is fried. And my heart is gone.
I’m helpless to his forced cuddling.