The Locket

“See, I told you that you love me,” he hummed in my ear. My insides vibrated, fire ignited under my skin, burning with anger.

His face hovered over mine. I was still frozen.

Move, Goddammit.

Fear was holding me firmly in place while my thoughts wrestled with how to diffuse him. He took my mouth in his and forcefully bit on my bottom lip. I tasted metal and knew my lip was bleeding. Feeling his hand slide into my underwear, stroking my most intimate spot skin to skin brought my blood to a boil. Like a raging fire, my reaction was unleashed.

The hell with how pissed he gets.

Protesting, I forcefully pushed my palms into his chest which only moved him an inch or so. He was caught by surprise and removed his hands from me.

“You disgusting pig. Don’t touch me!” I screamed, pounding my fist repeatedly into his chest.

Logan let out an explosive laugh. “Ah, come on, you want me too.”

“No! I don’t. You repulse me, Logan,” I stormed.

His face hardened. The dark demon was back in control and I was terrified.

“I really wish you hadn’t said that,” he snarled.

Crap!

Requiring a little space between us, I wiggled free from the sleeping bag and stood up, taking as many steps back as possible since my leg was still shackled. The length of the rope allowed me only five steps backward before Logan grabbed it and tugged. I attempted to keep my balance, but fell forward on the floor in front of him. I somehow summoned the strength to stand back up, refusing to let him dominate me.

He stared at me heatedly, still holding onto the rope. His face was red and blotchy. Maybe it was rage boiling under his skin, or maybe it was the alcohol. This Logan was definitely not the one who left me hours before. This was the Logan I was deathly afraid of. This was the Logan that could snap at any minute.

“Take it back, Claire,” he ordered, yanking on the rope once again, pulling me close to him. Anger was seeping out of him. I could smell the alcohol in his sweat.

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t struggle, try to run, or scream. I stood firmly in place, while angry tears streamed down my face. Maybe I should’ve said it to calm the beast in front of me, but I didn’t. The feeling of him violating me was still thick on my skin. I met his stare with the same heatedness.

“I won’t take it back, Logan!” I spit. “You disgust me!”

That was a big mistake.

The back of his hand struck my cheek with so much force that it knocked my feet out from under me. I landed on my tail bone, shrieking loudly, as the pain shot up my spine. Logan was on top of me, straddling me. He wrapped his hands around my throat and just like in my dream, he began stealing each breath I took.

“You can’t speak to me like that, you bitch. Not ever…you got that?”

I managed one big gulp of air, finding my voice long enough to shout back at him. “I hate you. Do you hear me, Logan? I hate you.”

Logan’s hands went limp and fell from my throat. Sliding off my body, slumping against the wall, he folded his arms over his knees and buried his head. I turned to my side in a fetal position, coughing violently between inhales, greedily trying to pull air in my lungs. I shuddered when I felt his fingers on my leg, but I was too weak to move. He inserted a key into the shackle and tossed it aside. Unlatching the shackle, he peered at me through red, glassy eyes.

“Go,” he screamed, his voice hoarse. Guilt, shame, regret – the emotions were written all over his face. I had finally caged the beast, now it was time to throw away the key.

“Logan.”

“Just go, Claire,” he commanded, standing and leaving the room.

My ankle was sore where the shackle had been. A purple bruise had begun to form, circling my leg. I changed my clothes hurriedly, and placed my things in the bag Logan had given me earlier.

I heard Logan in the other room, although he sounded more like a small child hiccupping than a grown man.

“God, please help me,” he repeated over and over until it sounded like he was chanting.

Regret had a firm grip on my emotions. Even as repulsive as Logan was, I felt sick for him, wishing I could have been stronger and controlled my anger long enough so the night would have concluded differently. He obviously didn’t want to be this angry, confused young man that he was, yet he failed to have control over the things that haunted him. His ending should be different than his fathers, not exactly the same.

Not all endings are happy ones, Claire, my subconscious reminded me.