1. Harmony
Harmony
Present
Fire burns bright, radiating heat onto my skin. I stand close to it every week. He makes us. He doesn’t take “no” for an answer.
I know deep down, he could be a good person, but he struggles to find himself. The day the bullets punctured his skin—he changed.
He used to love me in his own sick, twisted way. I left him about a year before he was shot. I thought he was dead. So did everyone else.
They say, “A man who escapes death once believes he was meant to survive it.”
That’s precisely what Damien thinks.
He started having us call him “Midas”. He makes us show up every Sunday and bring an offering. We wear our black cloaks and gather around the fire, while our victim burns before us. I never thought of myself as a killer, but I’d rather kill than be killed.
He used to be a simple man. Yes, he sold drugs and sided with the rivals of his family… But he was always there for me when no one else was.
My friendships have always been superficial. Shallow. Not worth a phone call, but it’s not because I’m a bitch. It’s because I don’t know how to fit in. I need someone to guide me. I’ve never wanted to make my own decisions. Being given orders has always been my preference.
That’s precisely why I am standing around the fire, sacrificing a young woman. I don’t know how to say “no”. I will always say “yes”, even if it ends in death.
* * *
A lot has changed in the last one and a half years. I left Damien, went into hiding, he got killed, I came out of hiding, and he found me. Spoiler alert: He’s alive.
The thought weighed heavily on my heart for weeks after he started blackmailing me. It started with petty blackmail. Telling my boyfriends I had an STD. Or telling my parents I was on drugs. That was when it was simple. Easy.
Then the blackmail escalated… It got to a point of no return, and I succumbed to Damien. He won.
I don’t want to die. I never have. All I’ve ever wanted was to stick up for myself, but that’s the one thing I could never do. It can put me in dangerous situations. Situations like the altar, but what choice do I have anymore?
* * *
I stare at the cafe wall and think about how hungry I am.
I have timed outings by myself before I have to return.
I only have an hour before Damien’s right-hand man, Reese, comes to pick me up.
Damien doesn’t like to show himself in public, unless it’s as a threat or in his trusted circle.
He has to be that way, considering the entire world believes he is dead.
I tap my foot anxiously, waiting for the waitress to bring me my soup. I go to the same cafe every week. I like my routines. There’s rarely anyone else here, which is why it’s my favorite. I honestly hate people.
I open my phone and scroll through my pointless text messages. I read over a handful from Evelyn and Astra. I ignore them for their own good. They’re concerned for my well-being, but if I were them …. I would be scared for myself .
Damien isn’t a patient man. He’s out for blood.
Evelyn and Astra are the closest things I have to genuine friends. They still aren’t really friends, though. They don’t try to help me. Even if they did, it would be pointless.
My chicken noodle soup arrives, and my stomach rumbles in response to the savory aroma. It reminds me of childhood.
Cooking with my mom and dad. It was the best. Curling up on the couch with them, watching movies on snow days. It was a blissful time.
Now… now they hate my guts.
I refused to marry some piece of shit rich kid, and they shut me out.
I’ve been staying at an apartment in the city ever since.
I stayed at Astra’s until she went MIA. Then I packed up and moved back out.
It only took a week for Damien to find and capture me.
That was something I never want to relive.
I take a spoonful of soup and let the warmth soothe my core. I exhale deeply, letting myself enjoy the peace before the storm returns.
The music plays softly throughout the cafe. “Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. One of my favorite songs.
I tap my foot to the tune. This song always gives me goosebumps. It hits something deep in my core that stirs me to life. It’s relatable to say the least.
My phone vibrates on the table, causing it to buzz to the side slightly. I glan ce down and see that “My Midas” has sent me a text.
I roll my eyes unapologetically. Fuck him.
Ten minutes remaining. Then your ass is mine.
- Midas
He is actually fucking insane. He refers to himself as “Midas”, in the third person. Like a fucking creep. Hopefully, it’s an act, because if it’s not… I don’t want to be here for the escalation.
I finish my soup and leave a tip on the table. I know the server here suspects I am in a bad situation, but she doesn’t say anything when I tip her well. However, I know if I ever don’t tip her, she will know I need help.
That’s the kind of people I do like.
One’s that let me fight my own battles. I need to learn how to say “no” sooner or later. I just hope it is sooner rather than later.
* * *
I walk into Damien’s house. He has “Diamond Eyes” by Deftones blaring on the speakers. It’s so loud, you cannot even hear yourself think. He’s in a mood. Fuck.
I throw my bag down on the table and walk into the bedroom.
He smiles at me wickedly.
“I’ve missed you, my queen.”
I walk over to him slowly. His eyes rake over my curvy figure, pausing at my breasts that spill over my sports bra.
“Missed you, too.” Lie. I would never miss him. I just value my life.
He grabs the top of my ass, pulling me into his chest.
“I really fucking missed you,” he whispers against my neck. He rubs his erecti on into my stomach.
Even though I hate him, the sex is good. Like really fucking good.
“I fucking missed you, too,” I say in a sultry tone, pressing myself into him.
He has a skin fade and longer hair on top. Tattoos snake around his skull, and his jaw is chiseled. He appears to be the epitome of the alpha male. My wet dream, but I know how brutal this wet dream can be. I don’t actually want this forever. There’s no way it could ever work.
He sucks on my bottom lip, letting it pop when he releases it. A shiver racks my spine.
“What do you want to do…” I whisper.
“You know what I want to do.”
He quickly spins me around, forcing my face down onto his dresser. My head hits it with a thump. I feel pain exploding on my temple, but I don’t move. I can’t.
He pulls down my athletic shorts, exposing my bare ass to him. His hand kisses it with a violent slap. It echoes over the music.
“Fuck, baby.” He grabs onto my thick hips and squeezes tightly. He definitely is leaving marks on me today. Sometimes I don’t mind, I only care if they are on my face.
I feel my arousal gathering between my legs, just the way he likes.
He fists his cock, lining it up with my pussy, and he slams inside. I jump from the intense sensation. My face pressed into the cool wood of the dresser. I let him take me how he wants. It’s really not that bad. Like I said, he’s a good fuck.
He grips my hair, forcing my head up while he fucks me. Making me stare at myself in the mirror. His eyes are wild with desire. And mine? Mine are heavy. The intense warmth gathers in my core as he pounds into me.
“Don’t cum until I say you can,” he demands.
I whimper. I need to cum.
“P-please.”
My face gets slammed down into the dresser, and he pulls out of me. I feel warm liquid leaking onto my ass. Tears swell in my eyes.
I stand and turn around to see Damien standing there, looking triumphant.
“Next time, don’t be so fucking greedy,” he spits.
I nod, holding in the tears.
“Go clean yourself. You look like a fucking sad whore right now.”
He buckles his pants and exits the room. Leaving me standing there, covered in his cum. With nothing left, not even my fucking pride.
I take a deep breath and make my way to the bathroom. At least there I can cry in peace. It’s so fucking hard to keep my hard exterior when he chips away at it every day.
Why can’t I just leave?