His foot kicked my legs apart, ready for him to demand an entrance into my body. He wasn’t welcome. . . but he was never going to be the kind of person who would wait for an invitation that would never come.
He positioned himself, shifting himself between the flesh of my buttocks, while I continued to try and force myself into a space inside myself where this wasn’t happening.
I didn’t beg. I wanted to turn mute as he pushed inside me, ripping through me and causing a pain I’d never experienced. . . it was the trigger, firing me into the space I needed to go.
I couldn’t help it, I screamed, I thought loud enough to shatter glass, but unfortunately, I was wrong, and then I shut down. My safe space opened its doors and my mind escaped, leaving my body behind in this hotel room with the man who was violating it.
I closed my eyes and my reverie welcomed me. I pictured someone else, someone who looked like Hell but acted completely different. Someone who wasn’t adrift from humanity; someone still attached to their morals. Someone who took away the pains I felt, rather than inflicted more.
In my head, he held me softly.
Here and now, my lips pressed to the glass, kissing the imaginary skin of a person who didn’t exist in the real world. A person who I’d feel empty without the second Hell pulled his cock from inside me. A person who would drift away when I was able to ignore my trauma.
My kiss begged him—mydreamman—for help, pleaded for him to make me feel better.
And he did. . . just like always.
Imaginary hands kissed my body with the most arousing of touches, making me fall harder and deeper in love with a person who didn’t exist at this moment.
I was lost.
Lost to this world. Lost to a broken mentality, as the chimera continued feeding me his love.
I grew wet, without even thinking of how this would spur on the tragedy my body was suffering in the real world.
Pain shot through me as Hell filled me, his cock thrusting inside my ass, showing no mercy. And I snapped out of my trance.
My heart pounded at the glass, thumping as hard as my fists. My heavy breaths created a smog that my vision struggled to see through. I tried to focus on the distorted image ahead. Fountains. Water danced high in the air. Music I couldn’t hear—thanks to next door’s poor choice of overpoweringpop music—echoed through the splashes.
I closed my eyes again, not wanting to see anything but blackness, that I prayed would claim me forever. An eternal sleep, the only way for my nightmare to end.
But a permanent slumber didn’t claim me.
I couldn’t play sleeping beauty, not when I was no longer beautiful.
And the nightmare didn’t end. It worsened.
“Woodrow, please. . .” I begged, breaking the vow I’d just made to myself. A vow that said stop pleading with him to stop because I knew he wouldn’t. “It hurts.” My lower lip trembled, smearing the fog from the glass.
He ignored me, deeming me unworthy of even a reply.
I had to try again, “Please. . .” I winced through the pain, suddenly feeling it all.
A hand of strong fingers wrapped around my throat, his other hand wrapped around his own, adjusting the discomfort he was causing himself while forcing more upon me.
“You’ve had your warning. Don’t make me do this again. Don’t make it worse for yourself. Shut the fuck up. And stop fucking calling me that!”
I felt torn. Split, in more ways than one; my skin, where he was thrusting inside my only virginal space, finally claiming the final part of me. And my heart, half of it wished to cease beating; the other half, fighting to survive.
His hand moved from his throat to my vagina—the place he was familiar with violating. He pinched my clit, forcing me to hide away from the orgasm he was trying to call from my body. I couldn’t allow that to happen. He didn’t deserve that leverage over me. And I didn’t deserve any more pain, and the betrayal of my body caused aches I struggled to heal from.
His breathing rasped in my ear; his actions caused the restriction in his throat to amplify, granting him his own pains. Pains, I prayed were strong enough to fucking kill him because he didn’t deserve to live. He deserved a painful death, filled with suffering, but I could understand why the reaper hadn’t come for him yet. . . if God only took the best.
God didn’t want him. . . no one would want him. Not even the devil.
“You’re hurting us both.” The words fell out, hitting the glass before my head was slammed into their shadow.
His hand moved back to his throat, adjusting once more, just like he always would when his words were heavy or his body was too lethargic to transport them to his mouth. “Last warning,” he breathed the words into my ear. “I’ve already been more lenient than I care to be.”
