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That kind of combination is one of a kind.
My look of recognition may have triggered his response as he hastily muttered, "Go ahead, but don't suck her dry. She’s gotta look decent enough to sell to the pack."
Sell to the pack? Don't suck me dry?! What do they mean? What's going on?
Fear shot through my senses as my boyfriend chuckled and looked over at me. I was afraid to peer to my left side - to see those eyes that should have shown me compassion be filled with a sort of hunger that wasn't human in the slightest.
His eyes that always gave me the impression of moss green were a striking red that I'd never witnessed before. They surely couldn't be contacts, especially when his eyes were normal just seconds ago. Maybe I was hallucinating - that would maybe make this situation feel more like a dream than my unfolding reality.
"Wren," he sweetly said, like my name was his favorite dessert. It was crazy how he was now using my nickname when the entirety of our relationship he'd called me Gwenivere -or Gwen when he was harsh and controlling.
I'd liked Wren because Kyle enjoyed calling me that. He'd learned in school that a wren was a small bird, and I guessed I sometimes felt like that -a little bird in the vast world.Theonly difference was that I'd yet to figure out how to fly.
My wings were clipped together by anyone who wanted to take advantage of the circumstances.
The use of it now made me feel like a helpless ant awaiting the death of being squished with the rest of its home, my body wracked with trembles that only encouraged my boyfriend to smile brilliantly.
"Don't be afraid, babe," he assured me as if he weren't the ultimate culprit of my fright and situation. "It'll all be over soon."
He leaned in as if he were going to kiss me, the tightness in my chest only further growing as dark memories fought to cut through the surface of my frantic mind. I couldn't handle this or I'd suffocate without any outside assistance.
A panic attack now would be a better ending than what these guys were planning for me.
I wished to tell him to get away from me. To stop what he was aiming to do, even with this taut, thick fabric over my mouth. But the words always got stuck in my tight throat - a repetition of forced silence on my own accord versus the outside sources that wished for me to be mute.
No matter the physical suffering plaguing me.
I wasn't expecting the sharp pain that dove into my flesh at the side of my neck, leaving me to whimper as pain rushed through my body like a venomous poison. I tried to jerk away as the pain intensified, making a grunting sound against my boyfriend's throat as he purposely took his seatbelt off to make sure I stayed still.
His grip was harsh - painful - to the point that I was sure even my tanned, tatted skin would be bruised and the marks of his digging fingertips would be left behind. I had to figure out what was happening, my mind fighting to put one and two together, but as this man sucked, my brain felt like a fog was rolling through it.
My eyes grew weak as the world spun, but my strike of delusion still didn't rub off those familiar eyes in the rearview mirror that watched in disgust. A flash of those orbs told me he disliked what was happening, and yet he continued to drive while his expression went blank.
I tried to plead with him to make this all stop with just my eyes - begging for a change of heart, but my attempt was futile.
His eyes dismissed me like he had the majority of our lives.
I had no doubt in my mind now. The driver was my older brother, Hendrick.
A part of me wished to be in a state of disbelief. That was the normal circumstance, was it not? But then again, as much as the world deemed me a stupid fool, I was done trying to act like my brother was a saint.
Our suffering, Kyle's death, my struggle through the years, and my battles with all the fucked-up shit I dealt with were all thanks to him.
He ruined me when I was but an innocent little girl in a big, dark world, and now he was going to be one of my murderers. He didn't need to place a hand on me to contribute to the approaching deed, but what hurt more was that I couldn't do anything to stop all of this.
Why am I so pathetic? Even with death knocking on my door?
Wasn't this the moment I had to suddenly become a badass bitch and find a way out? That was what happened in the books I'd come to enjoy. They reflected beings I wished to become.
Strong women. Ones who didn't take bullshit from the men around them who manipulated their situations to benefit themselves in the best way while leaving them victims of "wrong place, wrong time".
Those stories always held a heroine who embodied perseverance, beauty, power at their fingertips, and they knew exactly what to do to dominate the man's world they lived in. I wished for that, begged to be a woman who lifted her head up high and would fuck anyone over sideways if they fought to steal my shine.
But that wasn't me.
No matter how many times I stepped forward to walk down that path I admired so much, something would happen. A situation as simple as a slap to my ass against my will or the worst-case scenario where I have no choice but to remain still as my boyfriend enjoyed this body of mine to please his own needs instead of my own made me freeze up.
No matter the tattoos I got to hide the scars that never really faded away or the massive butterfly tattoo on my chest I used to hide the wound scars of an attack I endured the same night as Kyle's kidnapping, I couldn't run away from being weak.
