Chapter 3: Broken... Until One Day

I frowned, searching his face and my memory. I came up blank, shaking my head.

“I’ll help you,” he said, settling back against the counter again. “We met at Sally’s. I spoke to you, and you looked at me like I was dirt. Called me a creep. You made my friends mock me.”

A cold wave crept up my spine. My heart began to race.

Sally’s.

The bar I used to drag my dad out of whenever he got drunk.

I’d met too many men there - loud, sloppy, reeking of liquor - whose hands wandered as I searched for my father. The faces were blurred together. I couldn’t remember his.

Brad reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering a second too long. “I told them I was going to make you my wife,” he murmured, smiling. “We… bet on it. On you.”

I blinked in shock.

“And saving you…” he added. “Well, that was a set-up too.” He smiled more now, clearly pleased with himself.

The words sliced through my chest like cold air. I stepped back before I could stop myself.

His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes hardened. “Don’t test me,” he said, the warmth that was never really there, gone completely.

Something in me snapped. “You're sick,” I said sharply, turning away, half-trembling.

Before I could take the third step, his hand clamped hard around my arm. I fought, but he was stronger.

“Let go!” I shouted, twisting, pushing, clawing at his arm.

He ignored me. Every movement was fueled by cold anger and desire for retribution.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he hissed. He lifted me off the floor, and flung me effortlessly on his shoulder heading for the stairs. I kicked and cried in desperation.

“Let me go! You don't owe me.” The house echoed with my protests, but that did nothing to stop him.

When he reached the landing, he kicked open a door, walked through it, and threw me on his bed like I was a bag of flour.

Before I could move, he was on top of me, ripping apart my dress. He smiled at the sight before him, his eyes gleaming with dark desires, heightening my dread.

I hugged my chest in an attempt to cover my nudity, my heart pounding heavily against my ribs.

“I am going to teach you some manners, little wife,” he said roughly. “Nobody makes a mockery of Brad Hawkins.”

And like a ravenous animal, his mouth descended on my lips, then down my neck and chest and then back to my face and lips. More biting than kissing.

All the while, I fought. And between the gasps for air, the disgust I felt, and the fight to be free, I exhausted myself.

Resorting to the only thing that might work in my favor, I swallowed my pride and apologized for a sin I couldn’t even remember committing.

“I’m sorry, Brad,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry I was rude to you. Please… don’t force me.”

My eyes burned with tears, but I held his gaze anyway, searching for a glint of mercy, a hint of the humanity I prayed still existed somewhere in him.

He paused as if weighing my words. His eyes searched my face intently. The only sounds were my pounding heart and his ragged breaths, circling each other in the stillness.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again.

His eyes narrowed for a moment. Then, the cruel smile returned slowly.

“Your eyes tell me different,” he murmured. “You’re disgusted, aren’t you? You think you’re too good for me.”

“No,” I said, shuddering.

The last trace of restraint slipped from his face; only darkness remained.

Oh God.

I shook my head frantically, my eyes pleading, but everything that happened next happened fast.

He pinned both my hands over my head with one of his, ripped off my panties, scooped up my leg, and began undoing his pants.

“No!” I cried, which made him smile even more, like he relished my helplessness.

He let me see the bulk of him fully aroused before he rammed into me with brutal force.

I screamed, but there was no sound because his mouth had covered mine again in kisses while he grunted like a wounded animal.

I felt fire where he entered. Fire and pain. Even with his weight on me, I trembled.

Another thrust. And then another. And yet another.

At some point, the sound left the room. His voice, my voice, the world, all of it went silent. The air thickened, and I felt myself slipping somewhere far away, to a place where pain couldn’t reach me.

The ceiling above me blurred and became distant. Soon, it felt like I was watching someone else’s body instead of living in mine.

I stopped fighting.

If I stayed still enough, maybe I’d wake up in Paris, and this would all be a bad dream.

But I wasn't dreaming.

He stopped the kissing and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.

I couldn't. I shut my eyes.

“Look at me,” he whispered. But I knew a command when I heard one.

My eyes fluttered open and met his eyes. He nodded.

“Good girl.”

He resumed thrusting, this time, slowly, taking in the look of humiliation and fear on my face. Tears slipped silently into my hair.

I hated my life.

I hated my father.

I hated the man who was doing this to me.

“I own you, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Your beautiful body, your life, your soul.

I shut my eyes again. There was no point being afraid now. He had broken me beyond repair.

When he was done, he got off me and off the bed. Seeing the blood-stained sheet, he arched his brows.

“You were a virgin?” he asked. “Damn. I didn't know. Should've taken my time.” He smiled and headed for the bathroom. “I will next time.”

The silence that followed was worse than his voice. I laid there, motionless, my body numb, my mind trying to crawl away from itself. It took a while before I could gather the sheets to cover myself.

The sound of water running from the shower soon filled the room, the same way a frightening realization now filled my head: if Brad paid off all my dad's debts, just so he could plant himself in my life and get back at me for being rude to him once, escaping him may not be as easy as I imagined.

Brad returned to the bed, but I kept my face buried in the sheets.

Soon, only the weight of his breath, the faint hum of the air conditioner, and the ache in my chest remained. I stayed curled up for a long time…

Until… nothing.

When I woke, sunlight cut through the blinds in pale slants, spilling across the floorboards. The house was too quiet, and the quiet pressed against my eardrums.

The clock on the nightstand ticked faintly. My body felt heavy, like I was run over by a bull. I blinked up at the ceiling, unsure how long I’d been lying there.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even think.

The sheets beneath me were cold now, the silence heavier than before.

Brad wasn’t in the room.

My hand drifted to my neck, to the necklace Mom gave me. I clutched the pendant until it dug into my palm.

He’d taken everything else, but this… this was mine.

And one day, when he least expected it, I would find a way out.

Though I had no idea how...

One day.