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Part : 9
Tittle : Heartless monster...
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Quote : Love is unconstitutional, if it's true and if it's true, then it's love...
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Every movement was a fresh wave of agony. Somehow, drawing on a reserve of strength she didn't know she possessed, she managed to pull herself to a standing position. Her legs trembled violently beneath her, each step a painful reminder of the brutal violation. The journey to the bathroom felt like an endless trek, each inch gained a victory hard-won.
The lukewarm water offered a small measure of physical relief, washing away the blood and grime, but the invisible wounds remained, a deep ache that no amount of cleansing could erase. Dressing herself in the loose, comfortable clothes she found felt like a monumental task, each garment a heavy weight on her bruised and battered body.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, almost an hour having passed, she began her slow, careful descent down the grand staircase. Each step was a precarious balancing act, her body protesting with every slight movement. The once familiar surroundings of the castle now seemed alien and menacing, each shadow holding a potential threat.
The moment her foot touched the last step, a strong hand clamped around her arm, yanking her forward with brutal force. The sudden movement sent a jolt of searing pain through her already aching body. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat.
She was pulled roughly against his hard chest, the unexpected contact jarring her tender flesh. His voice, when it came, was low and menacing, sending a fresh wave of fear coursing through her. "Why did you take so long?" he growled, his grip tightening on her arm. "Were you enjoying testing my patience?"
He watched her, his expression cold and unforgiving. The sheer terror radiating from her was almost pathetic, a broken creature cowering before its tormentor. Yet, no flicker of sympathy, no hint of remorse, touched his hardened features. He simply stared, awaiting her response, his grip unwavering.
She couldn't reconcile the gentle hand that had held hers on their walk with the brutal grip that now bruised her arm. The image of the kind stranger, the angel she had mistakenly believed him to be, shattered into a million pieces, leaving behind only the terrifying reality of the demon before her.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice trembling, tears welling in her eyes once more. "Please... please let go."
His grip loosened fractionally, then released her entirely. "Bring me two bottles of wine. Now," he commanded, his voice still sharp and unforgiving.
Fear lent her a desperate surge of adrenaline. She tried to hurry, her legs shaky and unresponsive. But the pain was too intense. Her foot caught on the edge of the rug, and she stumbled, falling heavily to the cold stone floor. A sharp cry of agony escaped her lips as her bruised body made contact with the hard surface.
He watched her fall, his expression unchanged. Then, with a predatory grace, he walked towards her, crouching down until he was at her level. His hand shot out, his fingers clamping roughly onto her jaw, tilting her face up so he could look directly into her tear-filled eyes.
"You can't even walk properly," he sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "How are you supposed to take care of me for the rest of my life? Useless, pathetic shit..." His words, sharp and cruel, pierced her heart, adding another layer of pain to her already battered body. But his gaze remained cold, devoid of any empathy for her suffering.
He released her jaw with a dismissive jerk and stood, turning his back on her. But a cruel thought flickered in his mind, a petty need for retribution. He spun back around, his eyes narrowed.
"You hit me," he said, his voice low and dangerous, a barely suppressed growl. He punctuated his words with a sharp kick to her stomach, not enough to incapacitate, but enough to elicit a sharp cry of pain and steal her breath. Tears streamed down her face, a lament for her broken body and her shattered illusions.
He turned away again, striding towards the couch and sprawling across it, his legs spread wide in a blatant display of dominance. "The wine," he repeated, his voice impatient. "Bring it."
Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, but the fear of further reprisal spurred her into motion. She crawled towards the kitchen, the cold stone floor grating against her skin, and somehow managed to pull a bottle of wine from the refrigerator.
With a monumental effort, she wobbled to her feet, only to stumble and fall again just before reaching him, the bottle clattering on the floor near his shoes. She pushed it towards him.
He glanced at the single bottle, then back at her, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Only one?" he drawled. "I asked for two. But," his gaze raked over her trembling form, "it's fine. Since you're so... beautiful... I want you to massage my legs."
She knew resistance was futile. With a silent sob, she crawled closer and began to massage his legs with her small, trembling hands, each touch was a fresh wave of humiliation and pain.
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[No note] apologies...
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