Chapter 3
I lie curled on the shower floor, knees pulled tight against my naked chest, arms wrapped around my shins like they’re the only things still holding me together.
The water cascades over me in relentless streams, scorching my raw skin until it burns and wrinkles.
But no matter how long I stay here, it can’t cleanse the filthiness inside me. It can’t wash away the bruises blooming across my throat, the blood still crusting under my nose, or the shattered pieces of my sanity.
How long have I been here? Minutes? Hours?
The question feels distant, everything feels distant.
Was he right?
The thoughts continue to taunt me as fresh sobs wrack my body.
Was it all in my head? Every soft word, every time he kissed me, every promise… did I imagine it? Did I throw myself at him like the desperate girl he says I am?
Fuck, I trusted him too quickly.
Self-loathing coils tight inside me, squeezing until I can barely breathe.
God, I’m so pathetic. Just another woman always making excuses for the man who beats her.
Look at you, Blaire. Naked, broken, and cowering on the shower floor like a kicked dog still waiting for its owner to come back and fucking love it.
But even as the shame scalds hotter than the water, voices fight desperately against each other inside my fractured mind.
He needs help, something softer whispers, aching with hope. He’s sick, and he’s hurting. That wasn’t really him tonight. You saw the way he used to look at you, or you wouldn’t have married him.
He’s crying out for someone to save him. If you leave now, you’ll be abandoning the man you adored when he needs you most. You can fix this. You can love him through the darkness, just as he did you.
Another voice pierces through, colder and crueller, repeating Law’s words.
He meant every single word and blow of his fists.
Every time he called you disgusting, worthless, and daddy’s damaged goods.
You’re just fucking lying to yourself again, you stupid woman.
He hates you. He’s always hated you. And if you keep making excuses, if you keep crawling back like the stupid, broken cunt he says you are… he’s going to kill you, slowly.
And one day, you won’t wake up on this fucking floor. You’ll be in a casket next to your mother.
I press my forehead harder against my knees, rocking slightly as the war rages inside me.
But I love him, even after everything… I still fucking love him. I have no one else but him. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just despise him the way he despises me?
Another wave of quiet, devastating sniffles tear through me. I feel small, empty and utterly alone all over again.
He played me like it was his favorite game—something breakable and disposable he could mess with until it finally shattered.
Suddenly, the lights die with a sharp, electric pop, and the shower cuts off mid-stream, plunging the entire bathroom into complete, suffocating pitch-black darkness.
The warmth vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, bone-deep chill that slams into me like a living thing.
My heart stutters, panic surging through my veins as I sit up, knees still drawn to my chest, straining my eyes against the void.
But there’s nothing but the distant rumble of thunder rolling outside, vibrating through the walls like a warning, letting me know we must be experiencing a power cut.
My breathing turns shallow as I fumble blindly along the tiles until my shaky fingers finally brush against a towel. Then, I snatch it and wrap it tightly around my naked body.
I rise on unsteady legs, water dripping from my skin onto the cold floor as I fumble desperately toward the door.
My palms skim across slick tiles, every second in this darkness feels like I’m drowning.
Finally, I touch the wooden door, and my fingers find the cold metal lock, then the knob.
An eerie, instinctive of dread twists tight in the pit of my stomach, heavier than any bruise he left on me tonight.
Don’t open it.
The voice in my head is small and terrified, but I have no choice, I’m much more petrified of the dark. I turn the lock gently, the soft click sounding frustratingly loud in the silence.
Then, I turn the knob and pull the door open.
“Law…?” I whisper-shout, but there’s no answer.
I start creeping through the hallway with wet, bare feet, one hand touching the wall, so I don’t get lost.
“Law? Where are you?”
Once I’ve reach the top of the stairs, I start going down them, holding the banister tight, until halfway down, lightning flashes bright through the windows.
When I see a tall silhouette is standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring right up at me, A shriek escapes me, and I jump hard, falling back against the marble, my hand still tightly gripped on the banister.
“Law?”
As everything plunges into black again, I stay froze. But when another flash of lightning comes, nothing is there.
I shake my head with fear and doubt, knowing I must be just imagining things and clearly losing it because of how scared I am.
After pulling myself up by the railing, I continue going down the stairs, legs wobbly.
“Law?” I call out again, louder now. “Law, please… just say something.”
As soon as I reach the bottom, that’s when I start hearing the whispers, and they come from all around me, quiet and fast, but I can’t tell where they’re coming from.
Then there’s footsteps, quick footsteps moving everywhere. Behind me, beside me, down the hall, completely circling me.
“Law?!” I cry out, voice breaking. “Stop it! Please stop messing with me!”
I slap my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut tight as I mumble to myself, “Stop, stop, stop. Please just stop.”
“Go to bed.”
Law’s firm voice cuts through the dark right behind me, and my whole body jumps hard before I spin around, pulse hammering
“It’s just a fucking power cut.” He finishes.
I stare at the tall outline of his frame, standing there in the blackness.
“But the whispers… the footsteps…” I murmur, a single tear sliding down my cheek. “I heard them. Is it really you?”
I reach out with trembling fingers, wanting to touch his face, to feel that it’s actually him and not another trick.
But lightening suddenly bursts through the glass panels of the front door, illuminating the foyer for a split second.
Law stands there, cold eyes locked on mine with no kindness or comfort. Just that empty, cruel stare that makes my stomach drop.
Then everything plummets back into darkness.
A small gasp escapes me, and I snatch my hand back like I've been burned. Within a second, his footsteps move past me without hesitation, heading toward the living room.
“Goodnight, Blaire,” he says distantly, like my panic means absolutely nothing to him, like he doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, how badly the dark destroys me after four years of being locked in that fucking box.
I stand frozen in the foyer, breathing hard, chest tight, and the silence around me now feels even crueller than the whispers.
After a few seconds, I finally find the courage to turn to sprint up the stairs, bare feet pounding against the marble, towel barely staying wrapped around me.
After reaching the double doors of the master bedroom, I push them open with a shaky hands and race across the room toward the small table where I know the candle sits.
Lightning keeps flashing erratically outside, throwing ghostly shadows across the walls that make my heart jump every single time.
I grab the matches with trembling fingers, then swipe one across the box. It sparks on the second try, the small flame catching, and I quickly burn the wick.
As the warm glow starts to fill the room, I flick my wrist, blowing out the match, then plant both hands flat on the table, head hanging low as I try to force my panting to slow down.
It’s okay. It’s just all in your head. Nothing’s going to get you.
The words feel weak even as I think them, my skin still crawling with terror.
I draw a deep breath and move over to the dresser, then pull out a pair of soft pj's shorts and a loose t-shirt. I drop the damp towel and quickly dry off what I can before slipping into the clothes.
Climbing into the huge bed, I pull the thick covers up to my chin. And whilst lying on my back, I blankly stare up at the tall ceiling, watching the candle toss soft light around the room.
A single tear slips from the corner of my eye, sliding down my temple and into my hair.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep bleeding love into a man who only drinks it down and spits out the bones.
It’s never going to get better.
This time, I can’t wait for the morning after. I can’t keep believing the whisper that says, ‘maybe he’ll change back.’
If I have to draw my escape route in blood, then so be it. If I have to crawl out of the grave this love dug for me with my fingernails raw and split, then I'll fucking crawl.
And… I’m going to stick to it. Because staying isn’t love anymore. It’s just a slow execution.
The decision sits heavy on my heart, choking me.
But after some time, my eyelids slowly grow heavier, and the exhaustion wins. I blink a few more times, then everything fades as sleep finally pulls me into the dark.
◆◆◆
I’m suddenly woken by crushing weight on top of me, my legs wrenched apart as something thick and brutal forces its way deep inside my dry pussy in one savage thrust.
The pain is immediate and blinding, like being torn apart from the inside. Another vicious thrust follows, then another, harder and faster, me and the bed slamming against the wall with every brutal snap of hips.
At first my sleepy, fucked-up mind thinks it’s Law, but this is far too violent. Each punishing stroke feels like it’s trying to tear me in half.
The cock inside me is brutally stretching and slamming against my cervix with cruel force, no mercy or warm-up, just pure aggression that fills me with discomfort. My body jolts violently with every drive, agony shooting up my spine.
“No…” I whimper, still half-delirious, trying to reach up, attempting to stop him, but my hand is snatched a pinned against the pillow.