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My ability to touch and be touched without wanting to slit my throat open.
My dignity, self-esteem, and the comfort within my body.
My fucking worth.
All meaningless.
Because what he really wants is every broken piece of my soul, and for me to cherish every broken piece of his.
But my soul is already spoken for—already claimed by a wicked man with every intention to keep it to himself. And I suppose he’s given me his in return.
I’m just not sure what the fuck to do with it now.
“You’ll say it one day, diamond. You have the rest of your life with me,” he promises.
My legs clench around his hips as he fucks me harder, bending down to drag his tongue across my nipple. I grit my teeth, the bile rising in my throat.
“This is mine,” he groans. “All of this is mine.”
His teeth close over the abused peak, biting until my vision blackens with agony, and a scream is tearing from my throat. Even then, he doesn’t relent. Not until blood leaks through the cracks of his teeth, and I’m begging for the knife instead.
What a tragedy.
Finally, he releases me, a smear of crimson staining his bottom lip. His eyes are dilated as he pumps his hips faster, his ministrations on my clit quickening.
Gradually, it pulls me away from the fire lancing through the peak of my breast. I inhale sharply—a staccato breath full of sorrow.
The orgasm ravages my body, and oh look—there it goes. Another piece of my sanity.
“I’m getting really tired of looking at fucking Neosporin,” Rio says from behind me.
Xavier just left for the night. He was particularly brutal, slicing over the healed scars on my back and all across my breasts and stomach. He pushes it a little farther every time.
They said the Culling is designed to weed out those who have endurance—who can survive anything. But I’m not sure I’ll survive another night with him.
“Sorry,” I mumble, too exhausted to snap at him. My eyes are pinned on the dozens of tally marks carved into the nightstand, and it’s only depressing me more.
“You’re giving up, princesa,” he sighs, dropping the first aid kit on the bed. He started calling me that after the Culling, now sounding more like an endearment than an insult.
Francesca never did relieve him of taking care of me, and neither of us have bothered to stop it. It will never be said aloud, but I think we both find solace in one another.
“What do you care?” I grouse, training my eyes on the wall. He grabs a few paper towels and lightly pads the wounds on my back, soaking up the blood. They just started to scab over from the last time.
Turns out, Francesca didn’t need to be worried about my scars from the car accident. I got lucky enough to find someone who happens to enjoy the sight of them, and then some.
I’m still completely nude, but I’ve grown accustomed to being naked in front of men considering it happens all the fucking time now. All because I live with a psycho bitch.
Sydney was particularly pissed about me knocking her out the night of the Culling, so she attempted to cut off my hair with scissors in retaliation. Luckily, Jillian stepped in, and she only earned herself a punishment.
Since then, she has made it her personal mission to frame me for the stupidest shit any chance she gets—drawing on the walls like a toddler, breaking dishes, dropping food, and ruining clothing in the beauty room.
Most of the time, I think Francesca knows it wasn’t me, but she’s grown tired of the incessant squabbling and takes it out on both of us now. Sydney is happy to accept her fate as long as I’m suffering, too.
I’ve accepted the punishments, though—which always result in a night with Rocco and his friends. I tried to defend myself at first, but it never made a difference.
“Lucky for you, these have to heal, so no more nights with him until he’s officially paid for you.”
I glance at him, surprised by that. Francesca hadn’t told me, but I’m relieved anyway. Sometimes he gives me information he’s not supposed to. I’ve never questioned why, too scared he’ll stop if I do. After he told me about his sister, we’ve fallen into an easy camaraderie. Both of us chained to our woes and accepting that neither of us can help one another get out of the metal confines wrapped around our wrists.
