Page 15 of Cryptic Dreams
And to be honest, I need the money.
Orion wasn’t wrong when he referenced my inheritance, but I have to pretend like that money doesn’t exist because I’m going to need it when I move out of that house of horrors. Living in New Orleans isn’t cheap and since I want to buy my own house, something small and quaint in a quiet part of town close to the library, then I need to make sure I never touch those funds unless it’s dire straits.
My cousin would tell me it is, but I disagree.
My current living situation isn’t exactly ideal but I don’t have to pay rent, don’t have to pay for utilities or property tax. The only expenses I have come in the form of food, clothes, and textbooks, and I can manage those things alright with what I make at the library.
Unfortunately, I’ve also gotten used to the abuse.
It’s become a pretty normal part of my routine. I get up, go to work, get home before sunrise so I can clean the house and makehismeals for the day, lay out his clean clothes then go up to my room to study and rest. When that routine is thrown, whether by my horrible time keeping or some other unforeseen event, I’m beaten within inches of recovery and left to my own devices afterward. Typically that turns into a few days of surprise attacks—on schedule or not—and then he seemingly lets it go until the next time I screw up.
We don’t see each other because of our schedules, we don't communicate over anything at all. Just the occasional confrontation and punishment when Ian’s not pleased with me in some way, and after almost thirty years of enduring it, it’s all normal.
Orion would tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’ve been conditioned into thinking this is normal or anything other than horrible and cruel. And while he’s not wrong about that, I don’t really have much of a choice, and I’ve accepted it.
Hisliver really is failing and judging by the stench, he should be gone in a couple years, three tops, and then I’ll be free. I’ll walk away from that house and never look back. He’s the last of his line and his demise will be the only way for me to be truly free.
Which is a little scary on its own.
I turn down my street and instantly have an awful feeling of deja vu—the uneasiness that comes with a repeated event—one that took place in this exact same spot just a few days ago. One that I desperately do not want to relive, but probably will anyway because I’m never wrong about this sort of thing.
I’mneverwrong.
A body slams into me from the side and sends me to my hands and knees, my purse exploding over the sidewalk before spilling into the street and when black Nikes enter into my vision, I know for a fact I was right.
“Well look who we have here.” He kicks my wallet then stomps on my phone. “Fancy meeting you here, leech.”
I cower on all fours, my body shaking so hard my teeth chatter, my knees are scraped and hands torn despite my gloves. I can barely breathe let alone move, and just when I close my eyes and begin to pray for them to go away, a pair of arms wrap around my waist and yank me back into an unwelcome embrace. One that pins my arms to my sides, smells like beer and feels like death.
“You’re kinda pretty for a fanger,” black Nikes sneers as he reaches out and fingers a few strands of my hair. “Got a nice rack anyway.”
His hands move to my blouse and roughly grip onto either side of the rows of buttons. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as he rips open my shirt, the tiny fake pearls scattering all over the concrete before I feel the tip of his finger trace the cup of my bra.
“You ever been with a human before, fanger? Ever been fucked by a real man in a dark alley?”
My heart is racing, pounding so hard it might crack a rib but I still don’t speak, still don’t open my eyes.
His finger dips just under the satin and runs along the swell of my breast. “What about you, Kyle? Ever been with a fanger?”
The man holding me in place chuckles in my ear, his breath so close to my face I nearly gag. “Nope.”
“Me either.” Black Nikes steps closer. “Wonder if her pussy is cold like her blood?”
This is it.
This is the day I’m finally violated in the only way I’ve managed to avoid for over two hundred years.
Even drunk and angry, Ian has never once even suggested doing something like this, mainly because my kind as a whole disgusts him, but more specifically, I do. And now I’m going to be assaulted in the streets of the French Quarter just before sunrise, and if I make it out of this without burning to a crisp, then I will most definitely get my ass beat when I get to the house.
Hopefully it’ll be the last time because I don’t think I’m going to want to live after this.
Black Nikes’ finger slips down between my breasts then drags it over my stomach until it hits the top of my skirt, quickly tugging the tweed up my thighs until my cotton panties are exposed. My stomach rolls, the bile bubbling over the possibility thatthisis going to be my only sexual encounter. I knew love and intimacy were off the table for me but to think that I’ll lose my virginity to a drunk, human male rapist, that makes me sick to my stomach and has my fear reaching new heights, and will surely send me blacking out faster than Ian ever has.Only if I’m lucky.
Every movement, every touch. My skin crawls as this horrible man gropes my breasts, as he slides one of his disgusting hands up my thigh and leans in to smell my hair. I keep my eyes closed tightly, rolling my lips between my teeth as he slips his nasty fingers under the bottom of my panties, my heart hammering in my ears as they move closer to my core.
I don’t want this.
Please, stop. Stop touching me. Leave me alone.
