“Don’t do this, please.” Begging does nothing to stop him, but I ask anyway, hoping he’ll see the error of his ways.
Rough, calloused hands stroke my legs and I want to crawl inside myself. I want to hide from him, from my mother, from the world. “Open your fu*king legs.” Without waiting for me to move, he forces my thighs apart. His heavy bulk now presses my body into the mattress. My eyes are shut so tight I can see white behind my lids. “That’s it, you feel that? Feel how happy you make me.” His erection painfully presses against my core.
The pain is coming. The pain is coming. The pain is coming.
I get a small reprieve when he sits up to pull my shorts down along with my panties. Then suddenly I’m pinned down and he’s driving into my body. His big, rough hand over my mouth muffles my scream at the searing pain that shoots through me as he takes my body. The same way he did the first night when he took the one thing I held onto—my innocence.
I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.
There are memories that bind us, memories that free us, and memories that destroy us.
I’ve been destroyed for too long.
I severed myself from friends, family, and even love because I couldn’t be near anyone. I couldn’t bring myself to smile and act like life was perfect when it so clearly wasn’t. When my soul was carved out, held in the hand of a man I grew to love.
A man I grew to trust.
Ella
My attention is dragged from the rows of people queuing to the young man in front of me when he clears his throat. “Miss, can I see your passport, please?”
Handing over my little blue book, I watch the customs officer stare at my photo a little too long. It’s always the same reaction. When I was growing up, it was my white-blond hair and gray eyes that used to capture unwanted attention. Now, my mocha color waves and the color contacts that give me a slightly amethyst shade to my irises garner me quizzical looks.
With my pale skin, it was easy to change my appearance when I ran. I didn’t want him to find me. I did it to reinvent myself. My dark hair helped me forget the nickname he gave me. I was no longer Snowflake.
“Is something wrong?” I question, annoyed that he’s been ogling my photo for far too long.
His head jolts up and he offers me a grin. “No, ma’am.” Finally, he stamps the page and hands my passport back to me with a smile. “Enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” I respond with a tight smile and shove the damn thing into my bag. Luggage retrieval is easy since I don’t have much. I never settled anywhere for too long and it made moving easy. Not getting attached to things, only needing the basics to survive.
On my eighteenth birthday, I ran as far away from him as I could, spending the first two years on the move, and I learned to never look back. I promised myself I’d never get caught, and now that I’m a thousands of miles away, I can finally breathe. But as much as freedom is within reach, I can’t let my guard down. The man I ran from is a villain. I’ll never be safe as long as he’s still alive.
But running is second nature to me now. As long as I can keep two steps ahead, I’ll be okay. At least, I pray I will. I’ve survived all this time, I’m sure I’ll be able to keep doing it.
For so long, that’s all I focused on.
Surviving.
Now, I hope a new city will give me a life and I’ll be able to live.
When I landed my first job as an assistant to a real estate broker, it didn’t take me long to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. My boss offered to pay for my studies in exchange for my long hours and a minimum of four years of servitude. It was a challenge, one I accepted. That’s what brought me to one of Europe’s busiest cities. London.
Now at twenty-four, I’m finally starting fresh in another city on the other side of the world where he can’t find me. The job offer was one I couldn’t refuse and when I packed my bags and walked out of the apartment in Brooklyn, a weight lifted off my shoulders.
Leaving the States has been a godsend because I’m far from what happened. At least, as far as my nightmares allow me to be because I still see him in my sleep. As soon as I close my eyes, he’s there, haunting me.
Once my luggage is on the trolley, I glance around and find the arrivals terminal bustling with people. I hate airports. Emotion always seems to spill from every corner. It’s too much for me to handle. I love traveling, but watching others’ happiness when they’re reunited with their families saddens me, knowing I’ve never had that, perhaps never will.
There are instances I wish there were someone eagerly waiting at the entrance for me. Someone I can run up to and throw my arms around. But I’ve become detached from others. Pushing rather than pulling.
My relationships, as short-lived as they’ve been over the years, have always ended up with me running for the hills. I keep my relationships with men strictly professional. It’s been years since I’ve dated or allowed a man in my apartment, or even been to his. I don’t do one-night stands. The initial reaction for me is fear rather than desire.
Pushing my way through the crowd, I take stock of where the exits are and head that way, hoping to find a cab rather than having to wait. Unexpectedly, heat sears me from the throng of people as if there’s a flame licking its way up my body—from my black trainers, over my skintight jeans, up to my soft woolen jumper. Turning my head, I dart my gaze around, trying to find the pair of eyes burning a hole through me.
Normally, fear would be creeping up along my spine, but this is different. The stare pinning me to the spot is so much more. Turning to the large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the runway, I cast my gaze left and right.
When I find them, my heart stutters. I swear it stops.
I find the deep blue pools shimmering through the hordes. They’re almost reflective in the sunlight streaming through the window behind him, effectively blinding me to their beauty. Swallowing the lump in my throat, my gaze drags itself over the man as he in turn watches me.
He regards me like a predator ready to pounce.
Deep in my gut, I realize I’d let him.
His immaculate suit is fitted to his body as if it was tailored specifically for him. I’m sure it was. A chiseled jaw is free of stubble. As if he’s been molded from granite, his angular face is that of a Greek god. He stands taut and composed. Oozing confidence, sexuality, and dominance like a cologne that wafts around him, hypnotizing me.
His silky, jet-black hair is perfectly tousled, as if he’s run his fingers through it, and my hands tingle, wanting to feel if it’s as soft as it looks. One stray lock falls down the middle of his forehead and into his left eye. I haven’t been ensnared by a man like this before, especially one like him—he looks like the ultimate specimen of the male species.
Unbidden desire coils deep in my gut, as if a noose is being tightened around my neck and he’s the one controlling it—tugging me toward him.