Cruel Saints

He darts forward, and grabbing hold of my neck, he shoves me backward until my calfs hit the side of the tub, and I fall into it. Water splashes over the edge as Dante’s vicious gaze rake over me.

“I said bathe yourself, Principessa!” He steps closer to the tub. “Or do you want me to bathe you?”

God, no.

Shame burns through me like hot coals, searing holes into my still traumatized psyche.

Not wanting Dante to touch me, I cling to the soaked towel with one hand while I draw my legs into the tub. With a trembling hand, I reach for my loofah.

“Drop the towel,” Dante instructs.

My eyes snap to him, and horror floods me when he begins to unbuckle his belt.

Please, no. Not again.

My chin quivers, and I start to shake my head.

“We can always take this to your bedroom where I’ll fuck you raw, Principessa. Drop the towel.”

A heavy darkness falls over me as I force my fingers to let go of the wet towel. Ashamed and feeling horribly exposed, I bite back the hopeless sob building in my throat.

“Wash yourself,” Dante orders again. “Start with your tits.”

God.

Oh, God.

Help me out of this nightmare.

I’m shaking so much I almost drop the body wash as I squirt some onto the loofah. I used to love the smell of it. But now, it will forever remind me of this day.

The bathroom used to be a safe place for me, but that all changes as the sounds of Dante stroking his dick fill the air.

A tear sneaks out of my left eye, and I quickly splash water on my face, not wanting him to see it.

“Your tits at so fucking perky,” he groans disgustingly.

I somehow manage to keep washing my body. I feel… dirty. I begin to scrub my skin harder as Dante’s strokes pick up pace, and then he orgasms, and it hits the side of my face and shoulder in spurts.

I cringe away from him as a strangled sob escapes.

I should feel relieved when he zips himself up, but I don’t.

“Soon, Principessa. Soon.” With the ominous words hanging heavy in the air, he finally leaves.

A sob rips achingly from my chest as I begin to wash his orgasm off of me. Frantically, I let out the water, and I scramble out of the tub. I dry myself as I rush into my room, and grabbing clothes from the closet, I pull them on as quickly as I can.

Only when I’m dressed do I give in to my despair, hoping the tears will be able to wash me clean.

I shoot up into a sitting position, my breaths exploding over my dry lips as the remnants of the nightmare of the past shudder through me.

It’s been happening more and more since I came to St. Monarch’s, wreaking havoc with my psyche and emotions.

My skin crawls, and I feel sick to my stomach as I climb out of bed. Needing to get out of the confined space of my room, I strip out of my shorts and camisole. I tug on a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, along with comfy sneakers. After pulling a brush through my hair, I leave my private suite in a hurry.

The hallways are quiet, and I keep my eyes down as I walk as quickly as I can to the side doors.

I’ve already been at St. Monarch’s for almost two weeks, and the peace and quiet I find in the garden helps, but the nightmares keep ripping me out of the safety I feel here.

Once I’m outside, I don’t slow down, and I begin to jog, just needing to get to the fountain.

Reaching the secret garden, I sink down to my knees by the marble edging. My eyes lock on the statue's face as I beg for mercy, “Please help me. Don’t make me go back to Dante. Save me from him. I don’t care how. Just save me from him. You can even take my life because I’d rather die than marry him. Please…” my voice grows strained as I force the last words out, “have mercy on me.”

Desperation mixes with the all-consuming shame Dante has imprinted on my soul over the past four years.

It’s just a statue, Elena. There’s no God to listen to your prayer.

Feeling trapped in this never-ending nightmare, I lower my eyes, and then all the blood drains from my face when I see Lucian sitting on the bench to the left of me.

He’s leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands clasped tightly together. Our eyes lock, and the grim expression on his face makes a chill sweep through me. Knowing he heard my prayer makes me wish the ground would swallow me whole.

After Lucian showed me how to shoot, I haven’t spoken to him again. Whenever we run into each other, he only nods his head at me. It suits me just fine because I still consider him a threat. Just because he gave a shooting lesson doesn’t mean I trust him.