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Bile rises in my throat as I remember that day in the bathroom. I wasn’t making it up, that thing I saw on his face four years ago. He got off on seeing me naked. On me being perfectly still because of how overwhelmed I was from his presence.
I played right into his psychotic hands. Stood there, an obedient sex toy that allowed him to do as he pleased.
Shame floods me as wetness pools between my thighs. My body admits to what my mind can’t.
The thought of him using me doesn’t repulse me. I’m turned on and I fucking hate that.
No, that’s another lie. This isn’t me.
The person I’d been up until yesterday is turned on by it. The naïve me. The girl Marcus fooled into believing he was a decent man.
Soon, I’ll forget all the ways I was attracted to him. Soon, I won’t get wet from this madman.
It’ll take my body a while to catch up, that’s all.
My heart too. I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but I don’t hate him. The love and obsession I’ve had for him won’t go away.
Fuckers.
This is crazy. Batshit motherfucking insane.
I need to forget everything I thought I knew about him, and fast. Forget the butterflies. The smoldering stern expressions I pined over. The small smirks. His hot body.
It’s nothing but a lie. A façade.
The monster at my side is the real him.
The monster at my side is unpredictable. Combustible.
I have to get out.
The only way to do it is to fight against my restraints. Time passes as I wrench and tug and pull my arms and legs against them. My skin chafes, breaks at the contact. My muscles reach the point of exhaustion.
“Was I unclear the first time, plaything?”
I shriek behind the gag, twisting to him. Marcus leans on his hand, glaring at me.
“You’re not getting away from me.” His black eyes are inky, liquid, wanting. His voice carries a threat that scares yet entices me. “Not in this lifetime. Not in the ones to follow. Never.”
I get wet from how he violates me with his piercing stare. He’s looking at my forcefully parted lips, my tits, my tiny bikini bottoms. I’m mortified when I feel my nipples react to his attention.
Traitorous body.
“Let me go!” I scream. Since he relaxed the mouth gag earlier, my words make sense. Even if I drool while I scream. “Let me go, you psycho.”
“Psycho is not a word you want to throw around.” Casually, he strokes me from my navel up between my breasts. Down again. I don’t flinch. Don’t let on that he scares me. “Especially when it’s not true.”
Liar. Only a psycho would lock a woman up and be this calm while explaining psychological terms to her.
I don’t say that. He’s clearly not in the mood to listen.
“Please,” I beg. Maybe that’d work on him. He’s always responded well to my manners. “Let me go. Please.”
“Never.” Darkness clouds Marcus’s expression. His cruel intentions are written all over his face. “Never.” Slower this time. Scarier.
Watching him is like observing a predator in the wild. The slightest movement on my part and he’ll pounce.
“You.” He straightens his arm and rises off the bed. The muscles of his bicep flex menacingly. “Are not.” Marcus moves on top of me, straddling the legs I’ve closed before. “Leaving me.”
