I stared at my phone, and the words “call ended” flashed in front of me.
She had hung up on me.
My mother had put my life in danger, and not only did she not check on me, I had to chase her down myself and even then, she didn't console me. She called me dramatic and emotional and hung up on me.
For a second I wondered if she was right.
Was I overreacting?
I leaned forward to pull the quilt over me, the heavy necklace shifting on my neck, reminding me of the danger I was in.
With a scream of frustration, I threw my phone across the room, and I didn't even care when I heard the glass screen crack.
The sound felt good. Felt right.
I ran into the bathroom and stared into the mirror, looking at the deadly necklace. It was beautiful. It wasn't too gaudy; the diamonds captured the light and glittered, just big enough to be eye-catching but understated.
It was classy, more Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O than Elizabeth Taylor.
I caressed the diamonds, feeling the cold, smooth ridges, and then the underside of the large stones.
Where its true purpose became undeniable. Something was different under those stones. Still cold, but metallic, mechanical, rather than the glass-like texture of the diamonds themselves.
Then I remembered what it felt like to have his hands on me, the way his fingers gripped my throat under the necklace. The contrast of the cold metal versus the hot flesh of his hand was still fresh in my mind.
My eyes closed at the memory of his hands around my throat, of the way they moved down to my breasts. He touched me in a way no one else ever had. With a confidence and prowess that only came from men with confidence and true power, not arrogance.
Darius stirred my body to react in ways I didn't know it could.
He made me want to?—
I cut off those thoughts immediately.
What he did to me was not okay. I didn't ask for it. I didn't say no, but I didn't have the chance or the ability to tell him no.
He wasn't the kind of man someone said no to.
Tears spilled down my face as I relived every moment, shame building in me at how much I liked the way he touched me, the filthy things he whispered in my ear, and the way he kissed me.
Even thinking about it, heat built in my core as shame grew in my heart and my stomach turned.
All of it—shame, guilt, confusion—spiraled inside of me. I let him touch me. No, I didn't just let him use me, I responded. My body and my resistance melted at his touch, and I begged for it. I begged him to touch me, and I begged for his cock.
In one night, he had turned me from a good girl, one who was doing her best to earn her mother's approval, into nothing more than a slut. And I liked it.
My knees weakened, and I gripped the edge of my bathroom sink. It would have been so easy to drop to my knees and let all of this overwhelm me. I could cry and scream until my throat was raw.
The urge to fall apart was so strong, but I couldn't. There wasn't time.
There would be time later. I needed to deal with this, work through my emotions and come out on the other side. Now was not the time to go to pieces.
Now was the time to fight for my survival. That was the only thing that mattered.
The first step was to get this necklace off. Then I'd reclaim my life. I slowly spun the necklace, looking in the mirror, trying to find the latch.
There was nothing. It was one sleek eternity band. I couldn't find a dent or hinge. There wasn't a single seam in the metal.
How did he even get this around my neck?
