Page 18 of Beautiful Nightmare

Hope for her to save me, this one fucking time.

With a curt nod, her black leather trainers stepback, and she walks away, leaving me exposed to the demon.

He is her pet, but if he only knew how tight of a leash he was on.

I hate them both.

His warm cum coats my bare ass. Watching, I can see my lip trembling in the mirror. His teeth become exposed even more, satisfied by my response.

Shrieking, I can’t hold it in any further. “You’re a monster!”

Prince’s teeth graze my shoulder. “And your worst fucking nightmare, sweet Royce.”

This part is embedded in my memory, as humiliation riddles through me, and the memory plays out before me. Warm urine trickles on my feet. He’s released his bladder onto me. “You are nothing to no one. I own you. You are my fucking property, and I will do anything I fucking like with you.”

My foster brother’s words sting; tears prick my eyes, but that’s when a wave of clarity washes over me. This is what he wants, my pain, my fear, my embarrassment.

He will never fucking get it again.

As Prince tucks himself into his trousers, because this tool has always worn a suit, his dress shoes clickagainst the tile floor, and he leaves me defiled and degraded.

I watch as my fist slams against the mirrored glass. It shatters, cutting into the side of my hand. Unfazed, blood-coated fingers reach for a large, sharp piece which has fallen upon the countertop. Twisting my arm, I expose my upper inner arm; the sensitive, thin skin is pale and untouched. And without a second thought, I shove the tip of the sharp glass into my flesh. This is the first time I am cutting downward instead of diagonally. With purpose, but still cowering in fear, as no major artery will be touched. With no hesitation, I continue moving until I hit the crook of my elbow, blood dripping rapidly down, mixing with the urine at my feet. I am a fucking mess, but I couldn’t care less.

Once satisfied, I drop the bloodied, shattered mirror shard into the sink beside me and stare back at the reflection of myself.

I win.

He loses.

Because my inner strength is stronger than his fucking pompous asshole facade with those moronic teardrop tattoos by his eye.

Prince gets off on making me feel small, meanwhile I get off on never giving him what he wants.

Oh, foster brother, we can both play games, but little do you know I am better at them than you, and I will fucking win because I am in this for the long haul. Motherfucker.

Then before my eyes, my body turns to smoke, fading away.

The bath is ice cold now, and I am staring off into a blank space.

Tilting my head, my eyes take in the white, raised scar from that day years ago. Each scar represents a moment in my life of great significance. Positive or negative, I don’t discriminate. This one was a mixture of both.

Pulling my focus, my hand reaches forward, gripping the claw knob for the bath. Twisting, it squeaks, before releasing the warm water into the cool tub. I feel it first on my feet and legs; lying back, I revel in the relief it brings me. The pipes vibrate against the wall, muffled grumbles join, and I roll my eyes. I can’t wait for Jerry to fix them.

The balls of my feet rub against my legs, helping the warm water mix into the cold. I do this back and forth a few times before my face turns. The smell of metal begins to overwhelm my nostrils. Once thin, moving water between my toes feels thick and slimy.

Slanting my head to the side, I open my shuteyes, and the room is as it was when I first arrived. No one lurks in the doorway, no one waiting to torture me. Hesitantly, I shift back to the tub, glancing down at my exposed breasts with perky nipples; they are submerged in the water no more.

Blood.

So much fucking blood.

In a panic, my foot kicks up; my toes try to unplug the drain as I reach forward to turn the water off. Removing my toes, the flow of crimson subsides, yet I still hear the sound of dripping. I look around, confused.

An audible gasp leaves me. The once-scarred cuts decorating my arms have split open. A loud scream of terror follows.Why is this happening?

Jumping out of the porcelain tub, my feet slip and slide against the matching crimson tile floor. Reaching for my towel, I nearly go ass over head, latching onto the towel rack. It helps prevent my fall.

Once I’m somewhat calmed, I stand tall and begin to try and stop the bleeding by applying pressure on the wounds with the towel. Looking into the mirror, dark circles surround my purple eyes. My bones protrude; I look so incredibly frail. Vulnerable. Scared. Just howhelikes me.