Chapter 14 Royce
ROYCE
My face is buried in the comfort of my pillow while the soft comforter surrounds me, keeping me protected.
It took three washes to get the remnants of Agatha off me, but the phantom feeling of her blood coating my body remains.
This feeling is tragically familiar; this is how my body aches after he uses me.
The lingering touches and warm breath across my skin, and the thought sends chills up my spine.
The memory from only hours ago replays in my mind vividly, regardless of whether my eyes are open or closed, and the smell lingers over me. In the moment, as it was occurring, it was as if it were toxic waste, and as he poured it on me, I thought surely I was being burnt alive by a deadly chemical.
Sniffling, my pillowcase soaked in sadness, exhaustion looms as my eyes become heavy, but my mind fights it because it’s too dangerous to sleep.
Who am I kidding? It’s too fucking dangerous to be awake or even be in this house.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, my mind wanders to impossible possibilities, such as, could I escape? Surely he can’t see all or know all.
Already I know I’m dumb for such thoughts, but I continue to humor myself, rationalizing the irrational.
I’m not familiar with his abilities, his powers, and how he is able to grab ahold of me or the others so easily.
How he can manipulate our minds to bend to his will.
Agatha never allowed us to learn about any magic, just that it exists in our world and that ours was taken from us because we were bad, bad kids unworthy of such gifts.
If only I could find his blind spot.
Frustrated, I think back to our childhood.
The crisp air tickled my skin as I skipped down the cobblestone sidewalks as we explored the town with extreme limitations.
Seeing the shops would help expose us to a life our dreams were made of, witches' brew, spell-casting books, and potions. I recall pressing my face against the pane of glass, envying the smiling children with their parents inside. And always thinking, that should have been me with my moms, but as those thoughts occurred, Agatha would pull on the collar of my shirt and remind us we were not the victims because we did this to ourselves. We weren’t allowed to argue with her; punishments would be implemented at home if we did.
Therefore, I quickly learned to grin and bear it; that was the only technique to keep the peace.
Also, thinking back, Agatha never let me wear my dresses into town. I don’t know how I didn’t see it then. The manipulation, gaslighting, and suppression had already begun all those years ago, and I was completely fucking blind to it.
I justified it as stern, a strict hand, but it was anything but.
Annoyance festers within me as I shake my head against the pillow, staring at the stark wall.
I’ve been like this for hours, unmoving. And anytime my eyes attempt to drift closed, all I see is Beckham’s dead body in the garden. As the distinct image flashes before me, my body jolts and my eyes shoot open, only to cry some more.
The psychological torture of years past to now, is impacting me to a degree I have never felt before. Sending my mind and body into autopilot just to survive.
As my brain tingles, exhaustion strikes once more, and I allow it, tired of fighting. I hope it will take me away… far fucking away. Please, make this all end. I’ll sit through the memory dump and flooding images of my mate being taken from me if you just allow me to fall into an abyss once done.
Dazed, I continue staring at the bleak wall.
Could this be grief?
I recall being broken when my moms died, but to allow myself time to grieve them properly was never a gift I was given. And now, perhaps, I am grieving all three… or four if we include my childhood, all at once, now.
Then, in a state of unconscious behavior, I feel my heavy, lifeless body roll over.
A sharp pain from my ribs begs for me to stop, but I don’t, as pain is nothing new to me.
Perching myself on the edge of the bed, I take a deep breath in through my nose, waiting for my ribs to calm themselves before glancing over to the wall.
And what I focus on is the single most important thing in this room, the fucking window.
It’s my only way to salvation.
Pushing myself up, I rise to steady feet, which heavily move my body across the floor.
A sliver of worry attempts to enter me as the loud thuds from the balls of my feet echo, but I push the worry away, deciding if he’s going to hear me, he will.
There is nothing I can do to stop that now because regardless, I am getting to that window.
My arms wrap around my body as I walk, and I find myself favoring my right side. Feeling around, I try to gauge if my ribs are broken or simply bruised. It’s hard to tell, and pushing on them causes me to wince in pain.
The sun still hides behind the dark, swirling clouds. What I would do to just have a taste of sun before it all ended, but I have learned quickly at Agatha Manor that we never get what we want here.
Fingers rise from my torso and grip the wooden windowsill.
Sliding it up, I realize it’s heavier than I recall, but through the tiniest of cracks, fresh air enters and hope is renewed.
I get it up just enough to slide my fingers under to leverage it better.
Pushing, the friction of the wood causes it to stick in some spots, making the opening uneven, but it’s fucking opening, and that’s what matters.
NO!
Prince’s voice surrounds me, and I freeze.
Please don’t come. Let me leave, I repeat to myself over and over, pleading for mercy. I am no longer above begging.
He doesn’t respond. Silence surrounds me, and I take the chance, continuing my efforts.
But those efforts are short-lived because in one rapid swoop, the window is thrust down swiftly on top of my fingers.
I burst out screaming, followed by a river of tears. The pain is throbbing, and it feels like with each second, they stay trapped. The temperature rises, and they burn red.
Again, my body goes into autopilot and pulls my trapped fingers out from under the thick wood and heavy glass window.
The throbbing intensifies, but there is absolutely nothing I can do to alleviate the pain.
I release another high-pitched scream; it nearly bursts my own eardrums, leaving them ringing once I am done.
My gaze then wanders to an all-familiar spot, my vanity, and more importantly, the mirror. Moving toward it, I have one goal in mind: it has to work. This is my Hail Mary, my last chance.
I don’t bother to make a fist. Instead, I slam my palm against the reflective glass, and a crack fills the room, but nothing breaks.
I try again, even harder, and I can feel it breaking under me.
On my last thrust, sharp pieces shatter around me to my delight.
Reaching for the closest piece, I line it up with a vein that has been taunting me for far too long and go to stab it.
But, before I am able to, the glass is quickly whisked out of my grip, and other pieces around me follow.
What? No! Why?
In a matter of seconds, the mirror is as it was, completely whole and unbroken.
“Why?!” I shout, tilting my head to the ceiling and tears flowing once more.
I just want to see my family again.
Instead of responding verbally, the door swings open, catching me off guard. Glancing over, I find the threshold is empty. Unease settles in my bones, and my body tenses.
Hastily, my body is thrown from the safety of my room and down the dimly lit hall.
From there, he tosses me down the stairs, ensuring I hit every step forcefully.
The edges of the steps jab into my sides and rattle my brain.
The pain is immense. Instinct pulls my hands to cover my head, but my hands are fucking useless, aching equally alongside the rest of me.
Reaching the ground on the main floor, my body trembles in shock. I relax into it, and just as I do, he throws me firmly against the front door, where I bounce off it effortlessly, yelping from the impact, before dropping back down to the ground.
Blinking, white spots flash, and stars dance in my vision. My stomach becomes nauseous, and I start vomiting. The human body can only take so much physical abuse and trauma before it revolts, and this is mine screaming for it to end.
The clicking of his dress shoes inch closer and closer. With my vision blurry, I am unable to focus and close my eyes once more. He chuckles. “Your bruises belong to me, as does your body.” My body reacts, vomiting more upon his polished shoes.
You will lie here and fucking take it.
I attempt to move my hands to rise, but the effort is wasted; he’s locked me in here. Trapped in a body that won’t respond to my brain. His trousers unzip, and dread follows suit. Spitting, I wait for it to land on me, but it doesn’t; instead, it’s followed by the sound of his cock being worked.
I seek out a distraction, anything, even the large clock ticking, but it’s silent.
My mind wanders. How long have I been trapped here?
His voice whispers into my mind, A while.
I’m never getting out of here. Forever trapped in a reality that reflects my worst fucking nightmare.
And isn’t it beautiful, my sweet girl?
Tears well in my eyes. Please just let me die, I plead shamelessly.
Now, where would the fun in that be?
Realization washes over me, and it hits like a ton of bricks. This is all just a game to him, and I am a toy he can do with as he pleases. My resistance toward him no longer matters now that his powers have returned. I am to do what he likes, at his will.
Ear-piercing grunts become louder and louder. His movements are more rapid as his hand
pumps his hard cock.
Your nightmare is by my design, and your tantalizing screams bring me peace. As I will never let you go.