Page 3 of Shattered In Darkness

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “You have no idea the trouble that brings, do you?”

I do.

I do.

He tells me I’m his world now. He tells me I belong to him, always.

I’m so fucking tired. Numb everywhere, even where it hurts. The darkness in the kitchen feels more real than the light. Muffled, underwater. My mother’s favorite mug glares at me from the sink.

Marcus holds a whiskey in one hand, the other hand loose on the table as he stares at me with hungry eyes. Starving. There is nothing left of him except want. He says he’s never wanted anything the way he wants me. Even my mother, in the coffin. He talks about her like she’s an afterthought. A mistake.

His hand drifts over my hair and my cheek.

I don’t breathe. I don’t blink.

He likes that.

He pours another glass of liquor and slides it across the table. “Drink.”

I swallow. It tastes like gasoline, burning all the way down.

He watches every swallow. He talks about the future. How we’re going to run the network now. The family business. How nobody will ever be able to hurt me, not so long as he owns me. Every word is a shackle.

“You know you’re special to me,” he murmurs, stroking my wrist, cold fingers leaving wet trails. “I knew it the moment I met you, baby. Even before your mother. She was… fine. But you. You’re different.”

I shake my head.

He laughs, flashing a hint of teeth. Like a creature in the dark. “You don’t believe me?”

His other hand lands on my thigh. I flinch but he holds me pinned. Squeezes. I look at his hands, at the wedding band, at his thick fingers pressing so hard my skin goes white.

“That’s enough,” I whisper. I’m dizzy. The world tilts.

“What did I say about talking back?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He stands, dragging me to my feet by the wrist. I stumble, knocking the glass over, and liquor pools across the table. He pulls me through the dark hallway, and my shoulder slams a doorframe. I try to jerk away, but his grip gets meaner.

We get to my room. The lamp glows soft and gold, delicate, maybe a trick of my memory. There’s nowhere to hide. He shoves me onto the bed, his hands moving fast. He yanks my dress up over my knees, and rips the waistband of my tights. The cheap fabric tears easily. He doesn’t even blink.

My scream gets caught in my throat. I want to run, to fight, to disappear into the sheets. None of it works. Marcus pins my hands above my head as his hot breath claws my throat. He tears off my panties, splitting them at the seams. There’s cold air everywhere. My dress is bunched at my waist, nothing else. I can feel my legs shaking, my cunt exposed. I want to die. He’s everywhere, like a menacing phantom latching onto my bones.

I wonder if I hold my breath, will I lose consciousness and join my mother?

His hands are bruising, digging deep into the meat of my thighs as he forces them wide. I sob. The sound is weak, curled up in my chest. He loves that, the weakness. The shame. “Please, stop…don’t do this.”

He doesn’t listen. He licks his thumb and rubs it over my pussy. He kneads the flesh until it bruises with cold hands, not even pretending to be soft. No hesitation, Marcus never had any to begin with.

I close my eyes. Maybe if I close them, I can disappear. Maybe if I hold still, I’ll fall through the mattress. Sink to the basement. All the way down, down, down.

He spreads my thighs wider. My own hands are useless, pinned at my wrists above my head.

His rough fingers push inside. Two, maybe three. I don’t count. He moves them fast, jerking them in and out. I clamp my teeth down hard, try not to scream.

He laughs, the sound vibrating through the bed. “You’re not fighting as much as I thought you would,” he says. “You must need this.”

Fear chokes every word. I want to say no, but the sound is lost. He takes my silence as permission. My vision turns icy white, and I tell myself to black out. I tell myself to float away. But my body just shakes.

He doesn’t even ask. Never a word as he rips his pants open, the zipper slicing the quiet. Roughly pushing my knees higher, my dress bunches around my ribs, my bare skin exposed to the air and his hands. The tip of his cock jams inside me. There’s no mercy, no waiting for anything to adjust except his own pleasure.