Chapter Three
Camryn
My skin tingles with the pain of his touch. The soft caress of his fingers along my naked thigh. A touch that in another world, another life, I’d crave. One that I’d arch into, pleasure coursing along my over-sensitive skin.
Not here though. Not this life, and definitely not with him.
Eyes clamped shut, I fight for the control my mind so desperately seeks. I beg my strength to prevail. To show itself when I need it most.
Tears sting my eyes as I pray my body doesn’t shake. That the fear that quickens the already racing beat of my heart doesn’t make itself known. He likes that. My fear. It spurs him on. It excites him.
A calloused palm moves up to my breast-covered in only the tank I fell asleep in. Pinching my nipple, a growl of pleasure vibrates against my neck. Bile rushes up my throat. The power I was seeking flees, as it always does. Abandons me in my time of need. Leaving me nothing but a feeble pawn in the sick and twisted game he likes to play.
Straining through my panic, power having deserted me, I search for the next best thing.
Numbness.
I exhale heavily through my nose, pushing everything invading my subconscious away.
I’m not here.
He’s not here.
I am nothing.
I am no one.
I feel nothing.
I don’t exist.
My body relaxes into nothing as I repeat this silent mantra over and over again. Willing myself to believe, for it to overtake me. To deliver me into nothingness. If for no other reason than to let me survive another day. Because tomorrow, maybe tomorrow, I’ll find the strength to pull away.
He tsks softly against my ear, his quiet chuckle cutting into my search for detachment with a serrated blade of reality.
“Come back to me, Kitty Kat.”
A choked cry involuntarily breaks through my lips, forcing a wide grin to split along his face. I can’t see it, maybe that’s worse, the feel of his smirk dragging along the column of my neck.
“That’s better,” he praises, his hands moving roughly along my body.
Hovering over me, his dark eyes connect with mine. A promise of persecution staring back at me, the menace dancing within the black pools cutting off my ability to breathe. The fear in my eyes excites him. The evidence in that fact hardening against my thigh.
I shudder in revulsion.
The rough touch of his hands yanking at my sleep shorts. My thick stuttered sobs cracking into the shadows, begging him to stop. It infuriates him in the same way it turns him on.
“I own you, Camryn. Me,” he snarls. “So be a good little whore and open your fucking legs. Give me what belongs to me.”
I close my eyes, squeezing them shut as a mechanism to shut him out. But I do as he asks, hating myself more and more with every sickening second that passes.
He’s right. He owns me. I’m an object. Nothing but an empty shell of the person I used to be. I don’t exist in this world. Not without him. I’m his puppet. One he controls. One he manipulates. One he hurts.
I should leave. Run. But in the very depths of my shattered soul I know I’m not just scared, I’m petrified. He’ll kill me. He’s promised me that much.
It wasn’t always this way. I wasn’t the weak human he’s molded me into. Just like he wasn’t always the monster that now haunts me; both day and night. Not outwardly anyway. In hindsight, deep down he was likely always this person. He just managed to hide it well enough to make me fall in love with him. He loved me once. Treated me like a queen. The fall was hard. A slap to the face so forceful it left a bruise. It dropped me to my knees until I realized this is where he always wanted to stand. Over me.
“Open your fucking eyes.”
I hate this part the most. The violation of my body I can handle. I can shut myself off from the physicality of the damage he forces upon me. But the eye contact, the open window to my soul, he knows that fucks with me the most. He knows it breaks me apart. It violates my mind more than his body entering mine ever could. He pushes me to witness my own humiliation. He commands me to concede to his power, knowing that he’ll always have this over me. And I hate it.
I wake on a loud shout, my skin covered in the panic of my nightmare. The fiery, cold touch of sweat that clings to my skin in remembrance.
His eyes waver in front of my face and I shake my head, working to rid him from my life even in the harsh reality of consciousness. My room is dark, the ghosts of my past threatening me from every shadowed corner. Crawling across my bed in haste, my lamp crashes to the ground in my rush to turn it on. Discarding it, I jump from my bed, tripping on my way in search of the light switch. Swallowing against my want to be sick, my eyes race around my room for the demons I know won’t be there.
No. That would be too easy. I could fight then. Call the police. No, my monsters like to stay firmly trapped in my skull. Haunting me in sleep, in consciousness. They attack from all angles. Night or day. I can’t escape them. Not the way I would give my life to.
Convinced I’m alone in the physical space of my room, I focus on my breathing, settling the consistent sobs echoing around me, mocking my weakness. Scratching at my skin, I will the pain to stop. I can still feel his weight on top of me, his body inside mine. I dry retch, the tears that sting my skin like fire, coming on full force.
Rushing to my bathroom, I empty the limited contents of my stomach, heaving heavily with my need to expel him from my body. My body shakes with the incessant cries possessing me. I move to the shower, turning the faucet on as hot as I can manage without causing third-degree burns. I let the scalding water rush over me, burning away his touch. I scrub at my body, scouring away a layer of skin I could’ve sworn he’d touched, it was real enough.
It’s not enough. Not even close.
Wet, naked and my shower still running, I stumble toward the vanity, slipping as I go. I pull at the drawers roughly, in search of the only thing I know will bring me the seconds of reprieve I crave so badly.
The small gray blade shines in the dim light. Touching my thumb pad to the edge, I feel the sharp bite of its power. Dropping onto the toilet, the blade hits my upper thigh before my eyes do, and finally, after being choked with agony, I find my power. I take away the pain he caused by creating my own.
My warm, wet skin splits open with ease. The red pool of my blood falling along my leg, letting me take my first full breath since falling asleep last night.
Throwing two Tylenol down my throat, I swallow them with the warm bitterness of my coffee. My leg stings as I move around the kitchen, and I work to cover the pain without limping. It’s still dark out and Codi won’t be up for a few more hours, but I don’t need her asking any questions. It’s easier this way.
She knows about the nightmares, but not how I overcome them. She wouldn’t understand and I couldn’t stomach her judgment or pity. All that’s important is that I’ve pushed my nightmare down, at least for today. That knowledge courses relief through my body. The soft, pulsating pain I caused, letting me feel in control.
Adding another sugar to my coffee, I tidy the kitchen, wiping at the counter for likely the fourth time. I like cleanliness. I crave order. It helps with the Rubik’s Cube inside my head.
Satisfied the kitchen is as sterile as I can achieve, I move toward the living area. I’ve made it two steps when a soft moan filters out from the direction of Codi’s room.