Heโd warned you once.
But you didnโt listen.
And he knew you wouldnโt. You never really did, did you?
He watched you kneel in the dirt, trembling as you cradled the lifeless kitten to your chest, your breath catching in your throat like it always did when you tried not to cry. But the sound came anyway. Quiet. Pathetic. A soft, broken mewl, just like the one the cat made when he crushed its spine with one twist of his foot.
You didnโt even scream.
You just looked at him with those wide, disbelieving eyesโas if you still couldnโt fathom how easily he could destroy everything you cared about. As if you still didnโt understand that he was the one who decided what you were allowed to love.
“Told you not to get attached,” he muttered, his voice light, almost sing-song, like he was trying not to laugh. “But you never learn, do you, little freak?”
You flinched when he stepped forward.
Not because you were afraid.
Because you knew it made him happy.
His fingers closed around your hair, yanking your head back so your eyes met his. Blue like glaciers. Blue like staring down the barrel of an unloaded gun. Cold, but not dead. Amused.
“You like pretending, huh?” he whispered, dragging you up by the roots. “Playing house with your little stray, acting like youโre normal. Like you could ever be normal.”
You didnโt answer.
He liked that more.
He threw you to the ground and stepped over your body like trash on the sidewalk. There was no heat in the room. No light, save the thin glow slipping through the blinds, dust swimming in it like dying stars. He didnโt need light to hurt you. Heโd memorized you already.
Your wrists hit the floor with a dull slap. Still raw. Still healing. The last time heโd tied you too tight.
The cuffs were already in his hand before you could even think of crawling away.
“Donโt start crying now,” he said, dragging your limp body across the floor like a sack of meat. You werenโt crying. Not yet. He would fix that.
“This is what happens when you try to keep secrets from me.”
You hadnโt. Not really. But he didnโt care about the truth. The truth was whatever made him harder.
“A little rat. Thought I wouldnโt find it.”
You blinked up at him from the mattress, breathless. The mattress smelled like sex and mold and blood and something worse. Something feral. Heโd ripped the sheets off days ago. Said you didnโt need comfort.
He only let you have softness when you were good.
You hadnโt been good.
His shirt came off. He dropped it to the side like it was something alive. Then the belt.
He didnโt take his pants off. Not yet. Not until you begged. Not until your voice cracked from the strain of it, and your thighs glistened with fear and spit and slick. Not until you proved you understood what happened when you disobeyed.
He leaned over you, one hand braced beside your face, the other dragging along the inside of your thigh. Slowly. Tenderly. Like he loved you. Like he was going to be gentle.
“I should chain you to the fucking radiator,” he whispered. “You like pets so much, yeah? Maybe I should make you one.”
You swallowed hard. Your breath came in shallow little gasps. Not fear. Not anticipation.
Shame.
You werenโt supposed to like it when he said things like that.
He grinned.
“There it is. That little look on your face.”
His fingers dug into your throat. Just enough to make you still.
“So dirty. So filthy. Bet you liked it when I killed it.”
You shook your head.
“Nah,” he chuckled. “You did. Because it meant I was paying attention to you again.”
Your cheeks burned.
He shoved your legs open and spat between them.
“Youโre sick.”
You were.
And he fed it.
He didnโt even prep you. He didnโt need to. You were always ready when he got like this. His anger made you weak. His jealousy made you wet. And he knew it.
His fingers dragged down your chest, pressing bruises into your skin that would last days. He liked leaving reminders. Like a dog pissing on something to say: mine.
He slapped you.
You flinched.
Your thighs closed.
He forced them open again.
“You know what your problem is?” he said, voice low, rough, more animal than man. “You keep trying to fill the void. With animals. With little hobbies. With anything that isn’t me.“
He slapped you again. Harder.
You gasped. Tears welled up but didnโt fall.
“You donโt need any of that shit,” he growled. “You just need me.”
He was hard. You could feel it, the weight of it against your thigh, hot and pulsing through the rough denim of his jeans.
He made you beg.
He made you say his name over and over, like a prayer. Like he was the only god in your world.
And then he took you.
Hard. Brutal. Like punishment. Like vengeance. Like he wanted to carve himself into your skin.
The bedframe slammed against the wall again and again. You clutched the sheets. Cried out. Bit your lip until it bled.
He didnโt stop. Didnโt slow. Not even when your voice broke. Not even when your eyes rolled back.
“Mine.”
He said it like a death sentence.
“Say it.”
You choked on the word.
He fucked it out of you.
He didn’t stop until you said it like you meant it. Until you sobbed it. Screamed it. Believed it.
When it was over, he didnโt leave.
He never left.
He curled around you like a wolf around a carcass, breath hot against your neck.
“Youโre never gonna learn, huh?”
You didnโt answer.
He kissed your temple like a promise.
“Good.”
His hand curled around your throat. Not tight. Not yet.
“I like breaking you.”
You didnโt flinch this time.
And that made him smile.
โฆโงโฆโง
The next morning, he made you step over the dead kitten again. Just to remind you.
You didnโt cry this time, either.
That made you smile.
๐๐จ๐'๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ญ๐๐ ๐จ๐ง๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ 