Chapter 5 Royce
ROYCE
The day is done, and the night is dark.
My feet crunch on top of dried fall leaves clustered on the old dirt path through the woods.
The air is chilled, but I don’t wear a cardigan. As someone who hates feeling, this is how I torture myself, by feeling everything.
I feel him, his eyes and presence. He is always lurking.
It started years ago, the fascination, the fixation.
No efforts are ever made to hide it, as Prince has no shame and respects no boundaries.
A feeling that once brought me extreme anxiety and stress now leaves me feeling exhausted.
He isn’t hurting me; if that’s his goal, I hurt myself enough every fucking day for the both of us.
Long strides bring me to an all-too-familiar place, my bare leg exposed through the slit in my thin silk nightdress, and goosebumps form as I get closer.
I deserve everything I put myself through.
Because I killed them.
They should be here, living freely at my childhood home.
It’s an old log cabin surrounded by beautiful, lush trees; in the spring and summer it’s the most beautiful spot in all of Hollows Grove, as that’s when our home would truly blossom.
I would play in the large garden where they would grow and collect flowers and herbs for their projects; they built our home when they found out I was coming.
And now, as I stand before it, its life is gone. The wood is rotten, windows smashed in, and the garden is overgrown and dead. I walk to the front door, gently pushing it open. As I do, the hinges creak, followed by owls hooting. It spooks me, and my breath hitches as I continue to step inside.
The smells that once comforted me are gone, the eclectic decor is now rotted, and parts of the floor caved in from the explosion in their lab below.
A heel clicks behind me, but I don’t turn.
It’s Prince.
Ignoring him, I step closer to the gaping hole. I peer down, then squeeze my eyes shut. Everything floods back to me, even the smells from that day, including the smoke.
A scream erupts from my throat, and my body feels like I am being sucked backward, with images of days and years from the past flying swiftly by.
Then it stops, the screaming, the moving, and my body sways as I find my balance.
As I open my eyes, they shift slowly, and I am no longer looking down through the floor. My head tilts up and the hole is closed. A stark white ceiling looks back at me with bright fluorescent lighting.
It’s all so sterile, the tile floor cold against my bare feet.
A smashing of glass catches my attention, and my head jolts toward the sound.
Trembling fingers cover my mouth as a gasp exits. My moms are here.
They are just as they were on that fateful day, perfectly beautiful and captivated by their craft.
Both are wearing black lab coats. Mom is barefoot like me, with her toes sticking out from under her long black dress.
Mommy is wearing lounge pants and a tee, and she is giggling at something Mom must have said.
Looking down, the vial that smashed to the ground appears to be empty. A wave of relief strikes me.
“Darling, should we try for another? Give Royce a friend to play with?” Mom asks, looking up adoringly at Mommy.
She is quick to reply. “Absolutely.”
My shock transforms to grief for the sibling who never was.
They stay silent, looking at one another as two true soulmates would. Their love could fill a room with a single look, just as it is now.
I’m jolted forward, my breath taken from me as life speeds by; time is fast-forwarding.
Nausea ripples through me, and just as I think I am going to get sick, it all abruptly stops. My heart races as my eyes adjust and my body shakes. The room is unchanged, but my moms are now in the middle of an experiment, and my heart immediately sinks into my stomach.
With plastic safety goggles covering their eyes, Mom is bent over, her long black hair hanging over her shoulders as she steadily clamps a glass flask with purple liquid bubbling inside.
Mommy is whispering a mantra repetitively with her hands over it.
Her voice becomes more commanding with each word, and I watch eagerly in anticipation. What are they brewing?
As I wait for it to be revealed, tiny footsteps echo in my ear. They are getting closer and closer. My eyes move to the stairs, and a little girl with half white and black hair hops off the bottom step with excitement nearly bursting out of her. Following behind is her familiar, my familiar.
My head turns, and dread creeps up my body. I’ve seen this story before.
The pads of my feet against the tile break my moms’ concentration, and the spell is interrupted as mom’s hand loses its grip on the tongs that are holding the flask, and in slow motion it falls to the ground.
No, no, no.
I am being forced to watch my younger self watch my parents die.
Purple flames take over, flickering violently and engulfing my moms. As quickly as it appeared, it evaporates as if it were never here at all, and calmness enters.
Squinting my eyes out of confusion, I see both of my moms are frozen still. Why aren’t they moving?
Looking over to my younger self, I see her screaming, and she is fucking scared.
My body tries to move. I want to protect her from what’s to come, but I am stuck in place.
No, no, no.
A faded voice, one I don’t recognize, enters the room. A slight wind follows, and my brow wrinkles in confusion. I don’t remember this.
“And your time here is done,” is whispered, and all the air feels like it is being sucked out of the room as I watch them turn to ashes, then dust floating away one more time.
Time fast-forwards; my body travels through the many vortexes and lives, bringing me back to the present and standing before the open floor, looking down.
“What did you do?” I shout, unable to move.
His heels click once more behind me. A deep voice murmurs, “Nothing.”
And I believe him. He would never lie about torturing a soul. It’s been his primary objective since arriving in my life all those years ago, because he openly tortures mine daily and fucking loves it.
Their headstones stand in the graveyard, but no remains lie under the earth. Their ashes blew away, leaving me with only memories and regret, with the tiniest bit of hope that my moms will one day visit me.
Was this them? After all the years I have come here, why now?
Lost in thought, I don’t even realize Prince has gotten closer to me until I feel his breath dancing across my bare shoulder as he speaks. “They broke you for me; I should thank them.” His hand covers my mouth. It’s his hand with the scratchy mouth tattoo and XO eyes.
I don’t tremble or panic. This is something I am all too familiar with, sadly.
Fighting only gets him harder.
He’s lost his power. It happened after he killed his parents all those years ago, so this is the only power he can claim to have, but power is not what I give him.
Prince has been doing this since I turned of age.
He is a year older than me. Perhaps he also wishes to be commended for such restraint, waiting for as long as he did, but those words of praise will never leave my lips.
What he does is vile, and his reasons are invalid. He isn’t a man; he is a coward.
As a teen, I caught him many times peering in when I was relaxing in the bath or looking too deeply into my eyes. Lurking in the shadows if I was to go out, threatening anyone who dared to look at me for too long.
In his mind, this behavior is acceptable. It’s not.
His hips grind against me, and his cock hardens. “Forever mine, sweet, beautiful girl.”
I will never be his. But I grind my hips in return against him. Prince likes the fight, and I will never give him the satisfaction.
His soft, strong hand inches its way down my chin and around my neck. He squeezes, then hisses as I lean farther into him.
Next, I hear his belt unbuckle, and the unzipping of his trousers follows. His hips shimmy against my body, encouraging his trousers to fall and bunch around his feet.
At the same time, slowly, the delicate silk of my dress slides up my legs and over my backside. Prince holds it tightly, gathered at my hips. I don’t have panties on, leaving me exposed before him, vulnerable, just how he likes me.
The tip of his hard cock bobs against my skin. I feel the precum leaking from his tip before I bend over slightly, preparing for his intrusion.
There is no point in trying to stop him.
Prince pulls me tight against him, angling my hips higher and leaving me on tiptoes.
Looking down, my heart drops, and adrenaline kicks in. All it would take is his release, and I would be falling headfirst into my own demise.
What an ironic turn of events that would be.
My neck is freed, but his phantom touch stays as he lines himself up with my pussy.
He is not one to play with a meal before devouring it whole.
The vile sound of that man spitting, not once but twice, onto his cock sends chills up my spine. Prince wastes no time, forcibly thrusting into me. His movements are rough as his pelvis slaps against my bare ass. My pussy reacts, and I grip him instantly while my breath hitches.
Something I learned years ago is that I may as well make the most out of it and use him in return.
“Sweet girl, you always feel so fucking good,” he praises with his raspy voice. Both hands are now holding my hips, holding me still while he fucks me mercifully, dominating me.
His movements are hurried as he has one goal in mind: mark me, claim me, own me.
Loud grunts echo around us, and my own moans follow. Bringing my fingers to my clit, working myself and adding to my insatiable need to come.
I love coming. I love fucking. My preference is to fuck myself, but a helping cock will never be denied. But I hate that it’s his cock.
A part of me is convinced Prince also knows this, that he’s watched me before while I am alone in my room in the middle of the night.
But I have never caught him. And now he can bring his vile fantasies to life.
How he lurks in the dark, stalking me, prowling, then pouncing just as a predator would his prey in the wild.
Thrusting into me harder, his cock hits all the right places, damn him. My mind and body battle, but my body always wins.
My toes scrunch, sliding against the hardwood as the all-too-familiar tingling sensation builds.
With my thumb and forefinger, I squeeze my sensitive nub. Fuck, I am addicted.
I will always be an addict to this feeling.
Jolts of electricity flow freely through my limbs, and each breath taken has turned into panting breaths. The walls of my cunt grip him harder, and my orgasm ripples through me, causing my body to tremble, giving in to the sweet release.
It’s almost immediate; his cum begins to fill me, and his movements slow, relishing his victory.
Hair is falling around my face, some sticking to the beads of sweat that have decorated my skin. It doesn’t bother me as I rub my clit a few more times, milking every inch of this orgasm and his cock, taking everything I can from them both.
Prince purrs, “I fucking hate you. I will always destroy you because you are mine.” The muscles in my chest clench, refusing to let me feel the impact of his words, just before he pulls out of me.
I am not a possession. He does not own me. I simply tolerate him.
Breathlessly, I rise, not responding. My dress shimmies slowly back down my body, covering up what was just on display to him.
It doesn’t take long for me to feel our cum dripping down my inner thighs, and I do nothing to stop it.
Instead, I spin around on the tips of my toes and look into his dark eyes.
Teardrop tattoos stare back at me. White hair hangs, disheveled-looking, over his pale forehead.
Leaning forward, I place my hand onto his exposed bare chest, compliments of his unbuttoned dress shirt.
This is how he always dresses. Smart trousers and undone shirts paired with dress shoes. Sometimes he honors us with a suit vest.
Prince is one of the most pretentious twats I have ever met.
Leaning forward, our lips are only millimeters apart. His face is flushed, and his nostrils flare.
Grinding my pussy against his cock, he is aroused once more, and I couldn’t care less as I smirk to myself.
Whispering, I remind him where he stands with me, “Lock up when you’re done,” adding a cheeky wink before skipping past him.
An audible sigh follows when my back is turned, but I am unable to see his annoyance with me. How unfortunate.
Leaving my childhood home, memories remain of this evening, but I feel nothing.
He has managed to kill me once more.