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That was hard enough to fight.
But this isn’t.
It’s not Hannah he’s mistreating this time. It’s Aubrey, and she’s used to it.
My tongue darts out, and the metallic tang burns my tastebuds as I lick his blood off my lip.
“Good girl,” he purrs, but his voice is still cool, the praise given almost reluctantly, as if hedoesn’tthink I’m a good girl right now. He just needs to reclaim the control he lost for a moment.
Icy-cold fear slides down my spine thinking of it that way.
I hopehedoesn’t think of it that way.
This was an escalation after the blow job in the car failed.Thatwas in response to my resistance when he wanted me to delete the message from Hannah.
Dare isn’t one to accept failure. If he gets a no, he just keeps going until he gets a yes—or accomplishes his endgame despite any objections.
I haven’t let him win. Maybe I should, even if I can’t stomach the thought, just so this doesn’t go any further, but… I can’t. Not this time.
The debt will keep rising if I don’t pay it, but right now, I don’t care.
I feel differently toward him than I have in a long time. Disconnected. Clear-headed.
Hannah.
I spoke to Hannah.
Then he tried to use her against me, use me to hurt a pretend Hannah.
And I wouldn’t even let him harm animaginaryversion of her.
Foreboding creeps down my spine. I can’t shake the certainty that the more I fight him, the worse things will get, but no amount of dread for the future can melt my steely will about this right now. I am literally repulsed by the idea of rolling over for him in this bed tonight. It’s not going to happen. I don’t care what the cost is.
He’s not straddling me anymore, but he’s still observing me as I scoot over and sit up with my legs dangling over the side of the bed.
I don’t know what to say. Nothing needs to be said, really. I’m sure it’s as clear to him as it is to me what just happened—maybe clearer, since he can often look at things without emotion clouding his vision.
I can’t.
I feel numb right now, like I’m wrapped in a protective shell to insulate me from the cold realities all around me. I stand and rip the blond wig off my head, tossing it on the floor and pulling up my shorts.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m thirsty,” I murmur lowly.
But it’s a lie.
He knows it is, because I wouldn’t need my phone to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge, but I take it off charge and take it with me.
I walk downstairs, but I don’t go to the kitchen. I lace up my Harley boots and grab my red jacket. I pull it on and slip out the front door.
It’s raining, but I don’t care.
I’m so numb, I can hardly even feel the raindrops as they hit me.
I tuck my phone into my jacket pocket to keep it safe while I walk. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t think about it. I just need to get out of that house and away from him.
After a few minutes, I try to snap myself out of the numb haze and figure out where I’m at.
