Her Own Rules Novels & Stories

"He knows everyone in this town and he says the police won't do anything because it is a family matter. He says I belong to him and I have to follow his rules." "He is wrong," I told her. I sat down right next to her and I put my hand on her shoulder so she could feel that I was real and that I wasn't going anywhere. "I know exactly how it feels to think that a monster owns you. I spent a long time thinking that I was just a toy for a man to break whenever he was bored. But the truth is that you belong to yourself and no one has the right to put their hands on you like that."

She looked down at the paper and continued reading out loud. “The Golden Rule is that I can’t be with anyone else.” She started. “The other rules are; I’m not allowed to tell anyone about us, I’m not allowed to demand for love, I need to be available to you when you need me and I need to have my hair down whenever we are together.” She looked up at me and I was eager to see what she thought about the rules. Her eyes just stared in to mine and I cursed in my mind about how pretty she was.

she told me softly. "No, you're probably right." "Doesn't matter if I'm wrong or right, those are your new rules. Can you accept that?" I nodded. "I just don't want to hurt Chris." "She's a big girl. She'll be fine. Now those are MY rules. For all I know, Debbie and/or Beth may have their own for you." "Fine. I get it. No more straying." "Poor baby. Has to settle for a handful of hotties and a damned Goddess. My heart breaks for you."

Ava’s POV There were only a few rules I lived by in college. Rule number one? Never fall for a jock. It wasn’t just a personal preference. It was survival; I had to avoid them in order to do well. I had seen too many smart girls throw away their GPA for a 6'0 something guy with biceps, a quarterback playboy and a bad attendance record. Not me, no way, I'll never do that, that's how I survived my first year in Westbridge University, and I'm not going to break that rule in my second year.

She flipped through it slowly, eyes scanning the rules again. Rule 3: Weakness is not tolerated. Rule 7: Personal disputes must be settled in the ring. Rule 9: Hierarchy is earned through combat, obedience, and demonstration of strength. Her heart beat steadily. Not fast. Not slow. Focused. She pressed a hand to her chest—bound flat—and closed her eyes.

Who knows? Left for dead by her own mother, now kidnapped and forced into a life of prostitution. My goodness, could this situation get any worse? It’s like a horror movie, and we’re the helpless victims. The only thing missing is a creepy soundtrack and some jump scares. And to think, I was upset about burning my toast this morning. Talk about first-world problems. Screw those stupid rules! “I don’t give a damn about their rules!” I growl, relishing in her surprise at my sudden outburst. “Those arrogant masters and their crappy rules can shove it wherever they want. I won’t subject you to this,” I declare, charging towards her.

To the direction she had run. She should have been dead. By every rule I lived by, she should have been. But she wasn’t. And that wasn't a mistake. It was a decision, which I allowed… For now.

“Yes. But you are chosen. Not for skill, but for what I want to have.” Her heart stutters. Have? She’s probably six years older than him; she shouldn’t feel this way. “You don’t call unless instructed. You don’t interrupt unless invited. You don’t lie. And when I give a directive, you follow it.” She nods. Heat pools low in her stomach, unwanted, undeniable. “If you break a rule, we handle it privately.” The single sheet he slides across the table is stark. Precise. Demanding. It doesn’t ask for her labor, it asks for her autonomy.