I didn’t know when I lost consciousness. But I was grateful I did.
I ceased to be a person and became something else entirely. A plaything. A possession. A body without a soul.
The sheets were soft against my skin, velvety and warm like a cocoon. But the wreckage inside me was anything but. There was something else, something foreign against my body.
That felt like lace.
The moment my fingers brushed over the delicate fabric, a cold rage settled in my chest. My jaw clenched so tightly I swore my teeth would crack.
Soft pink lace lingerie.
I breathed in through my nose, out through my mouth, fighting the scream clawing up my throat. So he had the decency to clean me up? To wash away the evidence of his sins and dress me like a doll, ready for display again? Or was it Elena? Did she pull the ruined sheets from beneath my body, wipe the dried tears from my cheeks and whisper apologies I didn’t want to hear?
I didn’t care. I hated everyone, including her.
My stomach churned, nausea curling at the back of my throat. It wasn’t kindness. It was control. He didn’t leave me in my filth because he wanted to remind me I wasn’t even allowed to carry my own shame. He stripped me even of that.
My fingers curled into fists and I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, but the moment my feet touched the cold floor, a sharp pain shot through my core, tearing through my thighs, my abdomen and then my chest. My knees buckled.
A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
Look at me.
A woman dragging herself across the floor, she did not recognise because this wasn’t my room.
No.
This was his.
I could tell by the oppressive weight of darkness from every corner. Black sheets matched the darkness outside. Dark walls. Minimalist space stripped of warmth, stripped of life, much likethe man who owned it. Cold. Gloomy and devoid of anything soft, anything human.
Like his ugly fucking soul.
He wasn’t here.
I exhaled. I didn’t even realise I was holding it in, as relief and resentment warred within me. He was gone. But he’d be back. That was the problem with monsters. You couldn’t wish them away. They always returned to finish what they started.
With slow agonising steps, I dragged myself to what appeared to be the bathroom. The pain worsened as I pressed my hand to my lower stomach as though I could hold myself together, and keep my insides from unravelling completely.
The bathroom was magnificent. Marbled floors, sleek counters, and a sprawling Jacuzzi that could drown me with ease. Wealth. Power. Luxury.
But luxury meant nothing when you were drowning.
And then I saw her.
The girl in the mirror.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
Bruises bloomed across her skin like ink bleeding through parchment, smudges along her throat, her collarbones, and her wrists. Lips swollen, parted in a silent plea, a scream never released. Hair tangled around her shoulders, and the soft pink lace mocked her.
A breath shuddered from my lips.
It was me.
He did this.
He took away everything. Ruined me, not just for anyone else, but for myself.
