Ellie
My mind raced all night as I paced my bedroom, chewing on the corners of my fingernails like I would when I was a child.
What had him rushing away so quickly without looking back?
Is he hurt?
Why is it 6:30 a.m., and I’ve not heard anything from him?
I glance at my ruffled bed sheets. There’s not been a day since me moving in here that we’ve not had time together in this bed. Our bed.
And now, with his wife around, he’s suddenly nowhere to be seen.
I try to stay out of my head, to ignore the war raging within me, telling me to run and stay away from Rafael, his wife, and son. That there’s only going to be more heartache and destruction at the end of it all, and the end will be me.
What else do I have?
I’ve dropped my college plans; I barely have any friends. Hell, even my own father doesn’t want me.
Here, I have Oliver and the man I love.
I have a home.
So with that in mind, I swing open my bedroom door, deciding it’s probably easier if I get up and start my day. Maybe baking fresh cookies for Oliver will take my mind off things.
There’s movement down the corridor, so I step back into my room. My heart thumps wildly as the sound fills my ears, and when Rafael emerges from his old bedroom, pain steals my breath. What the hell?
He tugs the collar of his shirt to his nose and sniffs at it. “Fuck,” he mutters, and glances around before disappearing into one of the spare rooms.
Nikita appears in the doorway only a moment later, her hair messy and her hand clutching her throat. I know the feeling well, so well.
The lacy suit she wears is see-through, leaving nothing to the imagination. “Go and wash away your sins, Rafael. Go and wash away my touch,” she spits in his direction, and his response is to slam the bedroom door closed.
My footing wavers as I stumble back into the room, pushing my bedroom door as quietly as possible until it clicks shut.
Vomit creeps up my throat as I rush toward the bathroom. I rush to the toilet barely in time to throw up into the bowl. I gag until there’s nothing left, only the sour burning in the back of my throat as my body quakes. Crumpling into a ball on the cold floor, I allow tears to spill freely, each one of them more bitter than the last as devastation racks through me.
He did it.
He made me his whore.
A strangled sob lodges in my throat as tears spill down my face.
He destroyed what we had.
I clutch my hands into my hair and pull. “Why?” I sniffle. “I loved you. I loved you so much, Daddy.”
My vision blurs, so I close my eyes, and yet all I see is her. Her words echo in my head. “Go and wash away your sins, Rafael. Go and wash away my touch.”
Why was I so blind to think this could work? That he was different, more of a man than my father.
And yet, deep down, I always knew I would get hurt. I just refused to accept it.
I’m nothing but his toy to break, and this time, he won’t piece me back together.