15. Her

15

HER

I slammed my palms against the ice-cold walls, searching for something. A door. A way out. A goddamn window. Anything. And all I found was more concrete. Leaving me no choice but to spin on my heels, pressing my back to the closest surface, and face the pitch-blackness of the room.

It was sheer stupidity. To think anything the man did was a mistake or an error in judgment. But that was the fucked-up thing about hope. It struck you dumb. Let you believe in childish ideas like chance, luck, fate, and love. And there was no room for any of that shit in the real world.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. But I could finally make out different shapes. Four walls. A low ceiling and a cot. Nothing else. If I thought the last spot was a prison, this was a veritable jail cell—a steel door where the bars should be. There wasn't even a light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

I'd run from the comforts of a dungeon straight into my grave. My heavy breaths thickened the air as I awaited whatever would greet me on the other side of that door. I knew it was only a matter of time.

When your senses were hindered by a lack of light and an eerie soundlessness, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. But the creaking of the heavy door was both fear-inducing and a welcomed reprieve from the stifling silence. I could smell him before I could see him. Not to say it was a bad odor. Just one I'd grown accustomed to over the last few days. Something akin to cedar-scented soap, mint from chewing gum, and a hint of cigarette smoke.

I remained glued to the wall, even as his boots squeaked across the floor with each step he took in my direction. It wasn't like there was anywhere to go anyway. I mean, I could try to run past him. But that would only lead me back to where I started…

"Did you enjoy your little bit of freedom, pet?" He grinned. I couldn't see it but I could hear it in his voice as it bounced around the small room before sending a shiver down my spine.

His fingertips brushed against my cheek, and then panic had me ducking under his outstretched arm and sprinting for the door. He gripped my wrist and slammed me into the far wall. My head snapped back with the impact and I felt a sharp chill and a slight dampness that likely meant I was bleeding. The adrenaline kept the pain at bay as I struggled beneath his grip.

This had all been part of his game. Foreplay for a man who got off on breaking me. If my brief time in captivity hadn't told me as much, the way his dick pressed into my stomach certainly did. He restricted my breathing with the webbing between his thumb and forefinger while his free hand shredded my hospital gown down the middle in his urgency to take what he wanted.

The moment he had unrestricted access, he spit into his hand. Slapped the saliva between my thighs and penetrated me. I hadn't even heard him loosen his zipper before the bare skin of his pubic bone was grinding into me like some beast during mating season. The force of his thrusts had my spine scraping against concrete, while layers of flesh peeled away with each back-and-forth motion.

I had no choice but to lean into him, clawing at his shirt with both hands to relieve some of the pressure from my raw skin. His animalistic grunts warmed my ear, and before I knew what I was doing, I was slamming my mouth on his and shoving my tongue down his throat to muffle the sound. He tried to pull away and I sank my teeth into his bottom lip deep enough to taste copper.

"Emily," he hissed in warning. Though I didn't know what about. Whatever it was, he seemed to change his mind, or lose his conviction as he dropped me onto the cot, spreading my thighs as far as they could go as he pressed between them and continued to drive forward.

This was the point where consent and the complete lack of it blurred. I didn't want this or him. To be caged against my will or be treated like an animal. What I wanted was to be human. Feel human. Escape the pain for a moment and make the best of a terrible situation. Which I understood didn't make much sense. But neither did being imprisoned by a stranger who swore he knew me better than myself. If he did, this would be a good time for him to explain a thing or two about why I was so broken.

My back was on fire, but the stiff canvas material was far more forgiving than the wall, and if it weren't for the friction burns and the fact I fucking hated him, the experience would almost be pleasant. His rhythm decreased from frenzied to impassioned, which eased the strain on my tired muscles.

I closed my eyes and imagined I was somewhere else. With someone else. But this man had imprinted himself on my brain. And his beautifully grotesque features were the only thing I could conjure up. So I decided to work with what I was given and deal with how fucked up I was later.

If there was a later…

I skimmed a hand down his face, over the thick scars that marred his skin, and pressed my mouth to his again, offering myself like a sacrificial lamb to this monster, who at his core was just a man. At least that's what I wanted to believe.

He hummed my name, breathing in the scent of my hair as he finally came undone. And put an end to his brutal assault on my body.

I should have felt dirty. Used. Disgusted with myself. But all I felt was relief that it was over and I was still breathing.