His strong hand moved to my hair, his fingers entwining around my strands, reminding me of how his family had stolen the last thing I had—my subconscious action of comfort. And tainted it forever.
“Do you know why I’m doing this?”
I sniffled, trying hard to hold back my tears. He had already collected enough of them over the years to drown us both.
“Please, stop.” My words fogged the window. A desperate plea, created in the mist.
“I told you to stop. Do you remember?”
I nodded. I did remember. “You told me to stop when I was running away. I asked you to stop so many times before that.”
“And yet neither of us listened to the other. That word holds no power.” His words were close to my ear, carving into my brain. The kiss that followed, burned into my skin like the acid I’d previously been washed in. “You don’t deserve empathy.”
I did. . .I deserved empathy, freedom, and a life worth living. I deserved all the things that were snatched away when I first became his possession. But I didn’t argue over my worth. . . I knew there was no point, he’d never see it. He never had. He was blinded. . . by rage, by an upbringing that had brought out the worst in him.
“This is a punishment. One that I will only have to dish out once if you quickly learn how the fuck to behave! This is karma for what we went through while you weren’t around.”
“I’ve learned. I have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever you went through.” I prayed with every ounce of my being that he wouldn’t see through my lies. I prayed his eyes were as sightless to my fabrications, as his ears were deaf to my pleas.
“It’s too late to apologize.” He kissed the crook of my neck, and I shivered under the touch of his perfect lips, hating his sensual kiss.
“It’s not too late. God believes in forgiveness.” I tried in desperation to reach a deeper part of him. I’d have searched his eyes for a part of his soul yet to be tarnished if I could see through the thickness of my hair and if any innocence at all still lived within him.
“I’m not God.”
“You’re my God.” I tried to get into his head, the way his father used to, but the words—the lie—made me feel violently ill.
“You never believed that. You only saw the bad. . . in every fucking situation. Younever saw how much I craved you after one taste.”
“I will in the future. You said there were choices. I choose the easy way. You can be forgiven.” Another lie materialized.
“Is it not too late to change?”
“No. . .”
“Good. . . remember that!” His cold tone stabbed into my ear, loud and threatening; it promised my pain.
“Woodrow. . .” I shook my head, fear wrapping around me with his arms.
“Shut the fuck up; you know I don’t go by that name.” His tone altered, sharpened, ready to cause me more pain if I forced him to mouth more words.
His strong hand dropped from my hair, but like the perfect submissive, I didn’t fight him. My past had already proved I couldn’t. I was no match.
His mouth slipped away from my ear, but his sounds still echoed inside me, heavy above the music from the next room, proliferating all my attempts of building up my mental walls to shield him out.
He pulled his jacket up over my shoulders and forced my arms free. I fell away from him, my naked breasts pressing into the glass window.
He licked his hand, making me wonder what the fuck he was doing. “It’s not too late,” I repeated the words, over and over again, trying and failing to be something close to convincing. . . “It’s not too late.”
It was too late.
The licking sound stopped, only to be replaced by another sound. Low, rhythmic moans filled my ears, singing a somber melody–a perfect duet with my pounding heart. I hated the song.
My neck craned, allowing me to see him fisting himself.
Long fingers wrapped around the weapon between his legs. I heard the lick again, and I felt fear wash over me.
My body reverberated with nerves, causing my naked form to vibrate against the window. I wasn’t scared of the exposure; I was used to it. I was used to living in nothing but my abuse-damaged skin.
