4

Blue

I stand in front of the mirror, my hands resting loosely by my sides. My figure staring back at me with indifference in her eyes is one I’ve seen countless times, same as tonight. The room behind me is quiet,each object in its place.

The bed, with its neatly tucked sheets, sits close to the wall behind me. The dark wood of the wardrobe standing a little closer to my left. Its doors are slightly ajar, a glimpse of clothes hanging inside.

To my right, my nightstand sits beside the bed, a small lamp casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

The red lingerie I’m wearing hugs my body, the net material makes me feel naked underneath which I was, my stomach churns in disarray.

It’s his choice, a perfect outfit for the perfect job, I can see the smirk on his face as I stare at the mirror.

The delicate ribbon at the back is tied in a neat bow, two smaller bows adorn the front of my thighs, sitting perfectly atop the garters that hold up the sheer stockings. They’re small, seemingly insignificant details, but to me, they’re symbols of the things I’ll be forced to endure tonight. I stare at the black heels on my feet, they would be more in the air than on the ground.

I run my hands down my sides, feeling the smooth fabric beneath my fingertips, trying to find something—anything—that makes me feel like I have control over this moment. But it’s no use.

I can’t even fathom the things I’ll be put through tonight, the acts I’ll have to perform, the mask I’ll have to wear.

Mike looms behind me, “You look stunning” he states. His lips curve into a smile as he spoke. My stomach curled inside, its one of the days I dreaded, a day where I would wish for more than anything but to disappear. I wanted to be left alone but here I am standing.

My hair is tied into a neat ponytail, he claims it would be easier to be pulled.

It was a beautiful sight for him, his face revealing with reward. My fears were his biggest happiness. I would I could say “Fuck you” to his face, stab his eyes with a fork for making me feel this way. For making hate myself every single day, I look at the mirror and its no longer myself that I see, the girl I knew four years ago is long gone. All that’s left is shattered pieces put together in places that didn't matter. I’m on the verge of breaking down, the weight of everything threatening to crush me. But each time I catch a glimpse of myself, standing tall, unyielding, I wonder how I manage to hold it all together. It’s not confidence that keeps me upright anymore—at least, not in the way it used to be. It’s something darker, more primal. It’s my survival instinct kicking in, the need to stay alive and watch this life all pan out.

There’s a part of me that wants to crumble, to let go of this relentless strength that I’ve been forced to rely on.

I don’t have the luxury of falling apart. I’ve learned that the hard way. The moment I let myself break, everything will come crashing down, and there won’t be anyone to pick up the pieces.

I hate him.

I hate all men.

They are animals, predators who take whatever they want.

He grabs me by the shoulders, his grip firm as he spins me around to face him. His eyes bore into mine.

“Now listen,” he says, his voice low, almost not audible even though he wants to take heed of every word that comes out of his mouth, “these men are very important to me. It took me a while to get what I wanted from them. All you have to do is say thank you and then come back home immediately to me.” His lips brush against my ear as he speaks, his eyes heavy with expectation.

“Men?” I echo, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. It’s strange, uneasy, that it’s more than one. Two was always the limit, the unspoken rule, fit for each hole, but something in his tone makes me scared, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I can sense that this time, it’s different.

“Four,” he replies, his breath warm against my skin as he kisses my neck. The number hits me like a punch to the gut. Four. My mind races, trying to process the implications. He pulls back slightly, his hands still on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine as if daring me to protest.

“This will be just as usual,” he continues, trying to be as reassuring as possible, the way it always is when he’s trying to manipulate me. “Nothing is going to change. I will have my men there with you, to protect you at all times and bring you back home to me.”

Lies.

The word echoes in my mind, as bitter as bile. I’ve heard this line before, the promises of safety, the assurances. But I know better.

The truth is, I’m nothing more than a pawn in his game, a tool to be used to secure whatever deal he’s brokered with these men. He’ll dress it up in pretty words, kiss me tenderly as if I’m someone he cherishes, but I know what this really is. Another transaction, another night where I’m expected to play my part and then return to him, like a good little puppet.

I turn back to the mirror, I’m reminded of HIM. It’s been two week since his fingers pried my delicate walls.

The first truth I have ever heard in years, he said he wasnt going to hurt me and he didn't.

I hate that I found solace in his words, it’s been a while since I have had tender hands worship my body instead of forcing me into doing things like a slut. He was different from the others, and that unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.

That little feeling of safety, knowing that I was away from Mike and he could never find me. I saw the darkness in his eyes.

If only he was there for Mike, probably finish him off, I would gladly give my whole life to him. Rather than remain a prisoner stuck in Mike’s web.

I still have constant nightmares of him, his ghost mask shines brightly under the moonlight, red paint bleeds from the right eye, a crack in the middle of the head which runs down to the nose. The black lips had white stitches on it, In those dreams, he’s always there, sitting quietly in the corner of my room, just watching me sleep, But when I open my eyes, he’s never there. The corner is empty, the shadows undisturbed, and I’m left feeling both relieved and disappointed.

It’s better that way, I tell myself. Better that he’s just a ghost in my mind rather than a real threat in my life. But the disappointment is harder to push away. Part of me wanted to see him there, to know that he hadn’t just been a dream, that the truth he offered was real.

Funny how four words from him made me believe that he was better than Mike and could save me from him.

Mike walks towards the wardrobe, and pulls out a long black coat made of fur. The coat feels heavy as he drapes it over my shoulders. He steps behind me, his hands slipping into his pockets as he watches my reflection in the mirror. I can feel his eyes on me, studying the expression on my face, hoping for a reaction he can manipulate.

“Blue,” he calls my name, pulling me out of my thoughts. I meet his gaze in the mirror, my eyes fixed with his.

“You know I care about you, right?” he asks, and I nod, the word “yeah” slipping from my lips automatically, though it feels hollow.

“I would do anything to keep you out of harm’s way, right?” His tone is calm, almost gentle, yet it makes my skin crawl.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice barely more than a sigh.

“Then don’t mess this up for me,” he continues, coming off as a threat,sharp and cutting. “I’d hate to have to punish you for it. Do you understand?”

I swallow hard and nod again, more out of habit than belief, but my mind is elsewhere, trapped in the memories of the things he’s done, the things he’s forced me to endure. Those memories are seared into my mind, impossible to forget, shaping me into who I am now.

A girl who has lost faith in the world.

“Now my dear wife, I want you to go there and give it your best, remember that you are doing this for us, for the empire that we built together” he says pulling something out of his pocket,

“Come closer” he commands and I take a few steps towards him.

“I love you,” he utters, wishing that would sound affectionate. Before I can react, he pushes a syringe into my neck, the needle piercing my skin with a sharp sting. My body tenses as he presses the handle down, injecting the unknown substance into my bloodstream then he pulls the syringe out. I can feel the cold liquid spreading inside me, its presence familiar but unwelcome.

“The drug takes effect in an hour,” he informs me with a calmness that feels almost cruel, as if this is just another routine part of his control. “You have 50 minutes to arrive there. Just relax and you will be fine.”

He leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss, my shoulders sink as I feel suffocated.

He grabs my hand and leads me towards the car.

My fingers clutch the railing as I descend the stairs, I can barely get the tears out of my eyes, I could never cry in front of Mike, he would gloat in it and make me feel worthless. I focus more on the clanging of my heels. It’s all I can hear, just as I’ve learned to drown out everything else. A useless talent, born from necessity, that has served me well over the years—turning off my senses, retreating into a space where I can almost forget who I am and what I’ve been through.

The driver is already waiting, and as I step out into the driveway, the night air greets me with a coolness that makes me shiver.

I sink into the seat, silent as usual. Another drowning night for me, a living nightmare I could not escape from.

Hell.