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A harder smack. My lip split.
“You will not stray from what I like. Next week, you will get this fixed. And I do not want to see a strand of your hair resembling what it is now.”
Smack. Harder. Smack.
I remained frozen in place, unable to move. Both out of shock and out of fear.
I anticipated the next blow, but it didn’t come. But he wasn’t done yet.
His hands closed over my throat, and in the blink of an eye, he slammed me into the wall behind me, squeezing harder by the second.
He leaned his forehead against mine as he said, “Baby, you know I didn’t want to do that, right?” His grasp softened until he was just pinning me against the wall with barely any force. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ve just had a really bad day. You know I love you.”
As fast as it had all seemed to happen, it ended. And when his office door closed, the pain settled in. I immediately questioned if what had just happened was a figment of my imagination, if it was just a bad daydream.
My shaky hands found my tender face, and it was soaked. My fingers drifted to my throat, and when I swallowed, there was pain that burned like fire. With my lips quivering, I walked out of his house in silence. I listened for the slightest creak of a board or turn of a knob.
But thankfully, silence remained.
And by the following Friday, my hair was dark brown once again, courtesy of Trey making the appointment himself. I was also gifted flowers and a new diamond bracelet that I found on his kitchen counter when I let myself in that evening. Along with a note that read, I’m so sorry, honeybee. I didn’t mean to go as far as I did. I never want to hurt you. I love you. I hope you can see that. It will never happen again.
That was one of the many lies he told.
Because it did happen again. It happened when he hit me so hard that I went unconscious, when he kicked me so hard that it broke some of my ribs, when he grabbed my hair so hard that it ripped skin from my scalp, when he threw me down the stairs and I ended up in the hospital from the terrible “accident.”
Lie. Lie. Lie. Endless lies.
Which was why I had to get out, escape. And there was only one way he would let me leave.
His own words were, “You are mine. Always mine. No one else will love you or touch you. Till death do us part.”
So, I died in every sense that mattered.
My parents buried an empty coffin, but they didn’t know that. They thought I was inside, starting to rot away. They mourned me, as did Trey in his own sick, twisted way. My friends cried and then eventually moved on with their lives—I assume at least.
Everyone in my life thought I had died, everyone but me. No loose ends. That was the only way it would work. And it did. It worked.
But I can’t take a chance. One slipup, and he’ll find me. I know for a fact that if I had stayed or if he ever found out that I was alive, he would kill me.
The day they buried my coffin, Nikki Satinn was born, and Morgan Dove died.
And that is the way it will stay.
2
Cam
“Fuck,” my voice rasps into Stephanie’s ear as I thrust harder, her knuckles turning white as she wraps the sheets tighter around her hands.
“Ahh!” she cries out hysterically as another orgasm tears through her.
And I give her every inch she craves, faster and faster, harder and harder. Until I feel her clench around me once again. I grab her hips tighter, pulling her against me, and with one strategic thrust, she shouts, her screams muffled in the bed as she unravels around me.
Feeling my balls starting to tighten, I thrust rough and hard inside of her. She moans deliriously. With a few more smacks against her ass, I pull out and come all over her reddened ass.
I quickly grab a towel and clean myself up and throw on boxers and joggers while she comes down from her high.
She rolls over and stares at me. “Why do you always wear a shirt when we fuck?”
