“Goodnight, Blaire,” he says distantly, like my panic means absolutely nothing to him, like he doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, how badly the dark destroys me after four years of being locked in that fucking box.
I stand frozen in the foyer, breathing hard, chest tight, and the silence around me now feels even crueller than the whispers.
After a few seconds, I finally find the courage to turn to sprint up the stairs, bare feet pounding against the marble, towel barely staying wrapped around me.
After reaching the double doors of the master bedroom, I push them open with a shaky hands and race across the room toward the small table where I know the candle sits.
Lightning keeps flashing erratically outside, throwing ghostly shadows across the walls that make my heart jump every single time.
I grab the matches with trembling fingers, then swipe one across the box. It sparks on the second try, the small flame catching, and I quickly burn the wick.
As the warm glow starts to fill the room, I flick my wrist, blowing out the match, then plant both hands flat on the table, head hanging low as I try to force my panting to slow down.
It’s okay. It’s just all in your head. Nothing’s going to get you.
The words feel weak even as I think them, my skin still crawling with terror.
I draw a deep breath and move over to the dresser, then pull out a pair of soft pj's shorts and a loose t-shirt. I drop the damp towel and quickly dry off what I can before slipping into the clothes.
Climbing into the huge bed, I pull the thick covers up to my chin. And whilst lying on my back, I blankly stare up at the tall ceiling, watching the candle toss soft light around the room.
A single tear slips from the corner of my eye, sliding down my temple and into my hair.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep bleeding love into a man who only drinks it down and spits out the bones.
It’s never going to get better.
This time, I can’t wait for the morning after. Ican’t keep believing the whisper that says,‘maybe he’ll change back.’
If I have to draw my escape route in blood, then so be it. If I have to crawl out of the grave this love dug for me with my fingernails raw and split, then I'll fucking crawl.
And… I’m going to stick to it. Because staying isn’t love anymore. It’s just a slow execution.
The decision sits heavy on my heart, choking me.
But after some time, my eyelids slowly grow heavier, and the exhaustion wins. I blink a few more times, then everything fades as sleep finally pulls me into the dark.
???
I’m suddenly woken by crushing weight on top of me, my legs wrenched apart as something thick and brutal forces its way deep inside my dry pussy in one savage thrust.
The pain is immediate and blinding, like being torn apart from the inside. Another vicious thrust follows, then another, harder and faster, me and the bed slamming against the wall with every brutal snap of hips.
At first my sleepy, fucked-up mind thinks it’s Law, but this is far too violent. Each punishing stroke feels like it’s trying to tear me in half.
The cock inside me is brutally stretching and slamming against my cervix with cruel force, no mercy or warm-up, just pure aggression that fills me with discomfort. My body jolts violently with every drive, agony shooting up my spine.
“No…” I whimper, still half-delirious, trying to reach up, attempting to stop him, but my hand is snatched a pinned against the pillow.
It hurts too fucking much, and it feels so fucking wrong.
Then, I realize… This isn’t Law inside me, and I don’t know who the hell this is.
Terror explodes through me, my eyes snapping wide to only see darkness. I start fighting and bucking hard, scratching at the chest above me, nails raking down fabric.
“Get off me! Stop! Get the fuck off me!”
The stranger above me doesn’t stop, if anything, my struggle seems to make him fuck me even harder and deeper, groaning as they roughly strike my aching pussy without missing a beat.
