Beauty in the Broken

It’s over.

My senses separate. The fleeting pleasure flees. Pain returns. It leaves tears in its wake, and agony in my heart. Wetness dribbles from my ass, between my legs. Kneeling, I’m an epitome of punished humiliation. I wish for the floor to open and swallow the bed with me tied to it.

Damian works fast to free me. First my hands, then my mouth. My tongue is thick. My mouth is too dry to swallow. I look at him as he throws the ropes aside. He didn’t even undress. He took me like this, fully clothed. He’s already zipped himself up. When he disappears into the bathroom, I collapse to my knees. I roll onto my side, huddling on the floor, facing the wall. I can’t look at him.

“Lina.”

He’s standing close, speaking softly.

“No,” I manage to croak out, “don’t.”

He crouches next to me, a wet rag in his hand. “Let me take care of you.”

“Get out,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Lina.” He reaches for me.

“Don’t you dare touch me.”

“You’re not yourself.”

Anger floods me, white and bright. It clears my vision and eats up my pain. My body pulls tight and straight. My nails cut into my palms. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. “Get away from me. Leave me alone.”

He straightens abruptly, hovering next to me.

“Go away. Get out. Leave.” I choke on a sob, barely able to catch it on time. He can’t see me break down. I won’t give him that, too. “Now, you son of a bitch. I hate you.”

Soft footsteps retreat to the far side of the room. The door opens, then closes. I lie dead still in the silence that follows. I’ve never felt lonelier. I’m shaking with sobs and pain.

What he did to me, I can never forgive him. I didn’t think there could be anything worse than a whipping. How wrong I was. How much worse can he do? What comes after the cane? He’s just shown me how dangerous it is to trust a monster, how stupid to forget a monster is not made of kindness.

Rolling onto my stomach, I push to my knees. I have to use the bed to pull myself up. My legs are quaking so much I can’t make it to the bathroom without the aid of the wall. For the first time since I married Jack, I lock a door behind me. I turn the key and feel the welcoming safety enveloping me. Gripping the edge of the vanity, I heave as a wave of nausea sets in. Aftershock. Adrenaline. I wait for it to pass before I open the faucet and wet my face. I cup my hand and take a sip of water. Turning, I look at my backside in the mirror. Nine red welts run across my ass. The tenth is bleeding. At least he only broke skin once. I study the new marks and imprint them in my mind.

With a shaking hand, I turn on the water in the shower and wait for it to run warm. I wash myself as much as I can endure, everywhere I can. I force my legs to comply until I’ve stepped out of the shower, and then I sink down on the rug. I take the time I need, enough to feel emotionally more stable, before I dress and put on my shoes. I take a bag from the closet and throw in a few changes of clothes. Draping the sling over my shoulder, I open the door.

Silence greets me.

The grandfather clock strikes. It’s five in the afternoon.

I walk down the stairs, softly. I pass every room. Empty. He left.

In the entrance, I retrieve my handbag. I take out my phone and leave it on the table with the keys. The phone will be tracked.

Brink doesn’t bat an eyelash when I open the door. He didn’t hear what happened upstairs. He goes to the car and opens the door. I get into the back, wincing at the pain as I sit.

“Where to, Mrs. Hart?” he asks when he takes the driver’s seat.

“To the supermarket, please.” I don’t have a plan. I’ll figure things out from there.

His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. “You have a bag.”

“I’m going to the gym afterward,” I lie.

“Yes, ma’am.”

We pull off slowly. The car rolls by the bat boxes and the new Acacia trees. We pass the gates and take the off-ramp to the highway. As we hit the traffic, I make myself a promise.

No one will ever hurt me like this again.

Chapter 19

Damian

Slamming the steering wheel, I turn the car around. Everything inside me protests at the distance I put between Lina and me. I don’t even know where the fuck I was heading. There’s an urgency in my gut to be with her, something gnawing, something disturbing. Everything feels wrong. Upside down. I’m a fucking mess. My head screams I shouldn’t be near her right now, but my heart doesn’t want to listen. If I hadn’t left the house, I wouldn’t have been able to respect her wish for time alone. Fuck time alone. Fuck the fact that right now I’m emotionally about as stable as a ticking bomb.