He curls his lips into a devilish smile. “I think it’s time to play, little Graycie.”
My body goes cold and fear chokes me. I whimper and shake my head, but the way he looks at me tells me that he doesn’t care what I want.
The whip unfurls at his side, and I realize it was already in his hand. He was already planning on how this was going to end. He already knew about the pain he wanted to inflict.
It was always going to end this way. Why does it matter if I try? Why do I have to pretend to be the prefect girlfriend, perfect fiancé? It always ends with my body enduring the painand the hateful words which lick along my skin with a different kind of fire than his whip inflicts on me.
My mind is screaming at me to run. But my feet won’t move.
I’m paralyzed by fear, and the one true thing he always comes back too—I’m hard to love.
My parents didn’t love me. They didn’t want anything to do with me. I was an inconvenience; one they wanted taken off their hands. Never mind that I was an adult with a career of my own that I was building; it wasn’t secure enough for them. Not if they wanted to be able to walk away without looking back.
Which is howhecame into my life.
He has never loved me beyond loving to hear me cry and begging for him to stop. His favorite pastime is finding all the soft parts of me, the places where I tried to still be me, and twisting the knife to destroy them. If it weren’t my heart and soul that he’s been shattering, I would almost admire his focus and single-mindedness when it comes to me.
But, since it is, I’ll just call him a cruel bastard in my head.
Only ever in my head.
He flicks his wrist and the sound of the whip against the floor is loud in the space. Everything is loud in the basement room where he likes to inflict the kind of pain that makes me scream. He loves it and soaks up every single one of my pain-filled moans and whimpers.
My eyes slide closed as I search myself for some kind of strength.
Out of nowhere, gray eyes filled with an intensity which has nothing to do with pain are staring back at me.
I open my eyes and it’s only him. He’s looking at me with his lip curled in a snarl. If only I could shrink back, but it would only make this worse.
My throat is already dry, and I know by the end of this, it’ll feel like I’ve swallowed glass. Hopefully, I’ll still be able to drag my battered body to get some water when he’s done with me.
“Tonight I have two special guests with us.”
The door swings open and my parents walk in. I pause because their presence makes me wonder whether this is real or not. It feels so real, but they wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere I am. Not anymore. Not when they don’t have to, for the sake of appearances, of course.
“We always knew she was weak,” my father says to my mother.
Disappointment is written all over their faces and it makes my heart pound in my chest.
I hear the impact before I feel the sting of his whip against my skin. As the burning starts, I bite my lip so hard it breaks the skin. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. The next whip impact has me crying out.
The third has me screaming his name. All he does is laugh, a cackling sound that is soon joined by my parents. As if they are just as much the architect of my pain as he is, as if they take pleasure in it. I would never have looked twice at him if my parents hadn’t encouraged it.
If only I knew then what I know now.
By the time his whip sings through the air for the tenth time, it feels like my skin has been flayed open. I’m a mess of tears, blood, pain, and fear.
“That’s better,” my mother’s voice is lazy, “now she’s sniveling on the floor while looking like a mess. It’s how she should be.”
I look up at her, hoping she reaches out to me, hoping for a little love shining in her eyes. Something. Anything.
“No more,” I whisper.
His laughter, which sounds like smoke, surrounds me. It stings against the lashes on my skin.
“One more.”
I can tell by the way he moves his body that this one is going to hurt the most. He’s putting as much power and force behind it as he can.