5. Leila
CHAPTER 5
LEILA
R ebellion leads nowhere, I learned that the hard way. I tried to play by their rules, to be the good girl they wanted me to be, but it was never enough. No matter how hard I tried to earn their trust, the violence only seemed to escalate. It's like they revel in using me, in exploiting my vulnerability for their own sick pleasure. I'm trapped in a nightmare with no way out.
With each passing day, a dark thought creeps into my mind, whispering that maybe there's no other way to escape. I know Mom would be disappointed, but what choice do I have? Even breathing feels like a struggle, a constant ache in my chest I can't shake. I want to scream, to shout out my frustration to the world, but I know the consequences. The last time I spoke up, I ended up with broken ribs and a punctured lung. The week in the hospital was a reprieve, a brief respite from the hell of the Bonetti mansion. Sleeping in a real bed felt like a dream, a luxury I hadn't experienced in far too long. But now, I've grown accustomed to the cold, hard floor of my prison. It's become my bed, my only safe place in this house of horrors.
The hair on my neck stands on end, and my hands tremble as the footsteps draw nearer to the door. Please, just walk by. Please. My heart pounds in my chest as Nicholas enters the room, and I hold my breath, hoping he won't notice me. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, he'll forget I'm even here. He moves toward the bathroom, and I exhale a silent sigh of relief when I hear the shower start running.
Huddled in the corner, I pull my knees to my chest and close my eyes, trying to block out the fear and anxiety that churn in my stomach. Nicholas never cared about whether I ate, slept, or felt good. To him, I was nothing more than a pawn to fulfill his desires. A mere object for his pleasure.
The sound of the shower turning off only tightens the knot in my stomach, knowing he's getting closer. I can sense his presence as he steps onto the marble floor, the scent of his shower gel filling the air. He bends down and releases my ankle, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Get ready, we have a party tonight.”
I nod silently, my heart sinking as I force myself to stand and make my way to the shower. The routine is always the same: shower, lotion, perfume, makeup, and a dazzling dress. Playing the role of the happy fiancée has become my job, but the truth behind the facade is far from what others see.
It's been two days since he laid a hand on me, and with his dad out of town, I can finally breathe a little easier. Usually, it's him who loves to play the most—almost on a daily basis, making sure to break me a little more each time.
After my shower, I walk back into the bedroom wrapped in my towel. On the bed, every piece of clothing I'm supposed to wear is laid out neatly, from the underwear and dress to the jewelry and heels. There's even a picture of the makeup look Nicholas wants me to replicate. It's become routine for me now, to expertly cover bruises and cuts with makeup.
I glance at myself in the mirror and let out a sigh at the reflection staring back at me. I've lost weight, not that I needed to, but my meals are always uncertain. For some sick reason, Marco insists on me sitting with them during mealtimes, staring at me while he eats. I've quickly learned to wait for his permission to eat, but it's rarely granted. Thankfully, Viola sneaks into the room to bring me food, and I couldn't be more grateful for her kindness.
Nicholas inspects the final result with a nod, then steps aside to let me pass. The car ride is silent, save for the sound of his incessant tapping on his phone and the occasional sniffling as he indulges in his vice. I silently pray that he won't offer me any of it because the mere thought of it makes my stomach churn. Viola, bless her, has been making me drink all sorts of vile concoctions to cleanse my system of that poison. Sometimes I wonder if I should hope they work, or if I should just pray for that venom to take me away from all of this.
“It'll be a great night.” He cleans his nostrils in a gesture that makes my skin crawl. “Be a good girl, and you'll be rewarded.”
I force myself to nod, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “Is there something I need to know?”
“Make sure to stick close to me and be the best version of yourself.” He smirks, his tone dripping with thinly veiled menace.
As the car comes to a stop, I take a deep breath and summon all my strength to put on a fake smile. The club looks fancy from the outside, a far cry from the places I'm used to. After presenting our invitation, Nicholas leads me inside. The waiter offers us champagne, and I take a sip as we enter the ballroom. The décor is opulent, with crystals, mirrors, and dark gold accents, but the mismatched dress code leaves me feeling even more out of place.
We mingle with the other guests, and Nicholas puts a possessive hand on my back whenever he senses someone's gaze lingering on me for too long. It's a silent reminder that I belong to him, a possession to be flaunted.
As the party kicks into full swing, I try to maintain a facade of normalcy, engaging in polite conversation and plastering on a fake smile. But inside, I'm counting down the seconds until I can escape this charade and return home.
Nicholas rises abruptly, and I reluctantly follow him toward the backstage. “Come with me.”
“Non ho fatto nulla.” I haven't done anything. I kept my gaze fixed on my glass or the woman I was conversing with. The unspoken rule dictates that if a man tries to approach me, my eyes should remain on the ground. No exceptions, especially if he's a friend of Nicholas or his father. “Please, Nicholas.”
“I know, but I'm bored.” His voice is colder than ice and that means trouble. “I've had numerous requests for an hour with you. Let's see how serious they are.”
“W-what?” I try to pull away, but he clutches my hand with a grip so tight it hurts. “Nicholas, please.”
“What?” his eyes drills into me with a force that freezes me in place. “Are you planning to defy my order?”
“N-no,” my voice trembles as cold dread courses through my veins. It had happened once before. During a meeting with some of his associates, he had ordered me to suck off one of them. When I refused, he had unleashed his wrath upon me, leaving me bound and vulnerable for his associates to exploit. One of them had obeyed, while the others had thankfully shown some semblance of conscience and declined. Since then, I knew better than to defy him.
“That's what I thought.”
Onstage, I force myself to walk to the center as instructed, trying to maintain a facade of normalcy despite the churning anxiety in my gut.
“What about spicing things up a bit?” Nicholas jests, circling me like a vulture on the prowl. “One hour of her time, no restrictions.” He takes my hand and guides me in a pivot. “Bidding starts at 1000 euros.”
The calls erupt, a cacophony of voices clamoring for their chance.
“What if we split the time? Would that still pique your interest?” Nicholas' question tightens my stomach into knots, panic threatening to overwhelm me. I try to push it down as his inquiry is met with silence.
“I'm in.”
“Me too.”
“Count me in.”
As they agree, I feel like I'm drowning in despair. I struggle to silence their voices, but the urge grows stronger. Do it.
Nicholas drags me off the stage amid cheers from the bidders. As we enter a room, my feet freeze in place.
“Strip,” he commands, tossing his jacket aside and settling onto the couch. “Let me see you.”
I reach back to undo the strings of my dress, my hands trembling as my eyes dart around the room. Other than another door, a bar, a couch, and a bed, there's nothing else in sight. Nicholas adjusts himself as I put on a show for him. I never imagined myself as a stripper, but it seems fate has a great sense of humor.
“Tonight, you'll be my private show.” He grins at me, and the look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine.
“What do you mean?”
“Some people are waiting for me to finish with you.”
No. No. No.
“I can't do it.” I back off, terror washing over me.
He's on his feet in an instant, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I don't think I heard that right.”
Words fail me, but I shake my head in defiance.
The slap that lands across my face is a shockwave of pain, and I can't help but whimper. “You'll do what I want and with whomever I want, do you understand?”
“Yes,” I murmur, my eyes welling up with tears.
He forces me to my knees, and I brace myself for what's to come. After he's released his load down my throat, he moves back to the couch, leaving me feeling sick to my stomach.
“Such a good slut,” he sneers, grabbing a line of coke. “Make sure they enjoy it and leave them wanting more.”
As the first man walks in, followed by four others, I glance at Nicholas in shock, only to find him smirking back at me. There's no way out of this. I've never had sex with more than two people at once, and I'm terrified. How can I pretend to enjoy it? What if I don't? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I'm not sure I want to find out what would happen if I disappoint them.
Two of the men approach me, and I let them kiss me, trying to push down the rising panic. Their hands roam over my body, and I feel like I'm suffocating. I get on my knees, closing my eyes tightly as they use me in turn.
My mind drifts away, retreating to a safe place where I can escape the heavy breaths and grunts echoing in the room.
It's a sweltering summer day, and I'm strolling along the beach, the cool water lapping at my feet with each step. Suddenly, a ball comes hurtling toward me, spraying water in its wake.
“Sorry about that!” A guy sprints over, his broad, tattooed chest glistening in the sunlight as he approaches, forcing me to glance up at him.
“No problem,” I reply with a smile, taking a step back to stop the ball with my foot. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He flashes me a charming smile...
The searing agony rips through me, dragging me back into the nightmare I've been desperately trying to flee. My body is being stretched in ways I never thought possible—one of them invading my pussy, another claiming my ass, while a third forces his dick down my throat.
“Damn, she's a natural,” one of them grunts, increasing the intensity of his thrusts.
“Told ya,” Nicholas' voice slices through the haze, snapping me back to reality for good as I struggle for air. “Two minutes, break time.”
Every nerve screams in protest, every muscle aches beyond belief. I'm on the brink of collapse. This can't be real, it just can't be.
“You look spent.” He leads me to the bar, pressing water into my shaking hands while a line of coke beckons. “Show 'em what you're made of.”
“I can't...” I start to protest, but before I can finish, my face is slammed against the counter.
“Do it now!” His breath is hot against my ear.
I force myself to comply, inhaling sharply before pushing off the chair. I return to the waiting men, numb to whether Nicholas has given them permission to touch me. The pain fades into a fiery ecstasy as I surrender to their desires. One of them sprawls on the bed, guiding me to straddle his thick shaft. With practiced ease, I stroke two of them, while sucking off another, as the last one thrusts into me, stealing my breath away. Time blurs and suddenly, I'm back on the beach, the memory of agony and ecstasy intertwining in my mind.
The night wraps around us, the crackling bonfire casting dancing shadows across the beach, the rhythmic beat of music pulsating in the background. Amidst the laughter and the clinking of bottles, my eyes catch sight of the guy I crossed paths with earlier in the day. As he notices me, he makes his way over.
“It seems you're following me,” he quips with a playful smirk.
“Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Or maybe it's the other way around?”
“Would it be such a terrible thing?”
My mouth drops open in mock shock.
“I'm kidding,” he chuckles, “but seeing you here definitely makes the night less dull.”
“Well, I'm glad I could rescue you from boredom.” I take a sip of my beer.
“I'm Christopher,” he introduces himself.
“Leila,” I offer with a smile.
As the scorching sensation of the hot springs jolts me awake from my reverie, I'm hit with a wave of exhaustion. It takes a moment for me to register that I'm sprawled out on the bed, surrounded by the five of them, each one jerking off over me. Once they finish, they rise, exchange nods with Nicholas, and file out of the room.
A shiver races down my spine as I curl into myself, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Nicholas approaches, his presence looming over me. “Get yourself cleaned up; you're fucking disgusting!”
Summoning the last shreds of strength I possess, I haul myself to my feet, every movement a struggle against the weight of despair. Staggering to the bathroom, I step into the shower and twist the faucet. The initial blast of icy water stings my skin before gradually warming up.
Gasping for air, tears mingling with the cascading water, I press my back against the slick tiles and let the sobs wrack my body. Tonight has stripped away what little dignity I had left, leaving me raw and exposed, a shell of who I once was.
As I scrub at my skin, desperate to rid myself of the filth that clings to me, a sense of futility washes over me. No amount of scrubbing can erase the stain of degradation. What, God? What have I ever done to You to deserve it?
The loud banging on the door startles me out of my daze. “Get moving!” Nicholas' voice cuts through the haze of despair.
I don't bother to respond. I'm beyond caring at this point.
When Nicholas barges in, his eyes ablaze with fury, I brace myself for the onslaught. “What the fuck have you done?”
Glancing down at my arms, I finally notice the angry red marks covering them, spreading like a venomous rash across my skin. My shoulders, neck, even my breasts, are marked with evidence of my feeble attempt to wash away the shame. “You told me to clean up,” I retort, my voice hollow. “So I did.”
“You worthless bitch!” Nicholas grabs a fistful of my hair and wrenches me out of the shower. “I won't lose money because of you.”
“The coke isn't cheap,” I mutter bitterly, earning a stinging slap across my face that sends me reeling. I drop to my knees, but he forces me back onto my feet, a wild look in his eyes. I struggle, clawing at his arm, but his grip only tightens as he slams me forcefully against the mirror.
The impact echoes through the room, my vision blurring as the glass cracks under the force. “You'll regret this, you fucking bitch!” he growls, his voice dripping with venom.
Despite the pain radiating through my skull, I can't help but giggle, a twisted mix of hysteria and defiance bubbling up within me. Nicholas bangs my head against the mirror again, each blow a perverse relief from the suffocating despair.
“Wrong night to push my buttons,” he snarls, his hands trembling as he produces a mound of coke on the counter. “You owe me your life.”
He forces my face down into the powder, my nostrils burning as blood mixes with the rest, choking me as I cough and gasp for air. “Good girl,” he sneers, a sickening smile twisting his lips. “Now get ready, they're waiting for you.”
My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. My vision flickers, coming and going like a distant memory. I shake my head in a futile attempt to clear the fog that clouds my mind, but it clings to me like a suffocating blanket.
Gripping the edge of the sink for support, I cast a frantic glance around the room, searching for an escape route. But with each step I take, the shards of broken mirror scattered at my feet remind me of the prison I'm trapped in. I let out a cry of pain as one cuts into my skin. Taking a deep breath, I try to push through the agony pulsating through my body. Slowly, the pain begins to ebb away, leaving behind a numbness that chills me to the bone. Peering into the fractured mirror, I'm greeted by a distorted reflection, a grotesque mockery of the person I once was.
The cracked images jeer at me, their laughter echoing in the empty room. “Poor little one, so desperate,” one taunts.
“ Fallo !” Do it! another urges, a twisted grin stretching across its face.
The voices swirl around me, their mocking tones suffocating me. “You're too much of a coward to even save yourself,” they sneer.
“Wait till Marco finds out about tonight,” another voice chimes in, sending a fresh wave of panic coursing through me.
“ Zitta! ” Shut up! I scream, my fist connecting with the mirror in a desperate attempt to silence them.
“What was that?” the voices taunt, their laughter growing louder with each passing moment.
“Courage?” one mocks.
“You're too weak,” another sneers.
“I'm not!” I protest, but my words are drowned out by their relentless laughter.
I want them to stop.
I want them to disappear.
But no matter how hard I try, they're always there, haunting me, mocking me, reminding me of the person I've become.
Grabbing a jagged shard of broken mirror, I hold it up to my face, the metallic tang of blood staining its surface as it drips from my cut fingers. With a bitter laugh, I drag the edge along my forearm, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside me. I repeat the motion on the other arm before letting the shard fall from my grasp.
I'm done.
Even death seems preferable to this endless torment.
I'm coming, Mom. A crimson river flows down my legs, pooling on the tiles at my feet, a tangible reminder of the pain that courses through me.