What did he want from me? Did he want me to admit that I liked it? What was the point of that? We both knew how this ended. I was a means to an end with a guy like this. I was the cheating whore who dated the wrong guy, got mixed up in dark shit, and now had to pay off my shitty boyfriend’s debt to a guy who probably had some affiliation to the goddamn mafia.
I know that every ounce of shit I learned about gangs, serial killers, and the mafia all came from television and books, but there had to be some truth to that. Enough truth. At least 57% of the truth.
And what I learned from that 57% was that if the evil bastards said you were going to pay off a debt by fucking, that’s how you would pay off the debt. There were no ifs, ands, or buts.
I guess it was lucky for me that part of me did enjoy it, but I hated that I did. I loathed that I did. I shouldn’t like this. There were actual people out there going through this exact same thing against their wills, and they hated it. They were being raped and tortured and mutilated.
I should hate it too.
Because wasn’t I being raped and tortured?
Or was it not considered that because I wanted it? I actually wanted it. It was against my will, and Istill wanted it. What classification did that fall under?
A ‘definitely needs to be admitted’ classification?
He wrapped his hand into my hair and jerked my head back, releasing the gag with a flick of his finger.
I choked back on the spit as he carefully lifted it from my jaw, lines of drool stretching between my mouth and it.
I swallowed over and over again, running my tongue over my lips, my throat sore. “Laying your claim again?” I asked, my voice husky and hoarse.
His eyes flared before they hardened. “I know how much it turns you on, feeling my tongue on yours. Too bad for you, I’m not in the giving mood. Don’t ever use that word again.”
He grabbed my jaw, forcing my mouth open and bent over me, spitting into my mouth and slamming it shut, his icy blue eyes finding mine. “If you keep allowing him to leave his taste on your tongue, I must do the same.”
He straightened and stepped up to me, releasing my hair and forcing my head back against his chest, his other hand still covering my mouth, forcing me to swallow his spit.
A second later, a sharp prick pained the right side of my neck, and my panic skyrocketed.
He leaned down until his lips dusted the shell of my ear. “That’s another payment finished, little writer. See you soon.”
16
Olivia
May 21st, 2022
Ifelt like I was one of those drug addicts lining certain streets in the poorest districts of The Springs.
I was itching for another fix. Forsomethingto alleviate this constantneedunder my skin. I was paranoid that I was being watched everywhere I went.
He had been watching me at the park waiting for him the other day. Didn’t that mean that he was watching me wherever I went? The café, the park, a run to the warehouse district and back, he was everywhere. Every car with tinted windows, every guy with a hood too low, every pair of sunglasses, every face I couldn’t see, it was him.
And I wanted it to be him.
I wanted…
I wanted him to make his move as much as I wanted someone to lobotomize me, erasing every ounce of him from ever existing in the first place.
I wanted him gone.
And I wanted more of him. I needed more of him, because I felt like I was suffocating in this oxygen that didn’t taste of rain and pine.
My phone chimed, pulling me out of my trance. I shook my head and reached across the couch for it.
I had decided that today was a day of movies, wine, and some cheesecake.
It was 2 0’ clock, and I had had my fair share of wine and cheesecake, but this was the third time I had restarted this movie. I couldn’t focus.
