His hand wrapped around my wrist and I flinched in fear. The wounds hadn’t I was still the beautiful painting of bruises, splattered across milky skin.
“My little ethereal girl.”
The raspy voice came close to my ear, his breath spreading across my cheek. Stronger than my trepidation was the stench of alcohol, drowning out all my other senses. Something cold pressed forcefully against my lips – I tried to dip backward but just pressed into a hard chest. As he tilted the bottle up the thick liquid I’d come to despise washed into my mouth burning my tongue.
“Come now,” he rumbled, delicately stroking the front of my neck. The abrupt tightening of his fist around my already-aching wrist was all the encouragement I needed. I started to gulp, face wincing at the tang as the alcohol washed down my throat.
“There’s a good girl.”
When he finally took the bottle away, I was swaying on my feet, blinking slowly. I could barely feel his hand around waist, slowly moving up under my loose shirt. My body began to tremble, remembering the last time all too well.
“Now, now.” he cooed, digging his thumb into one of my bruises. “Nothing to be afraid of.” I stifled a gasp of agony, my vision going blurry for a moment. A chuckle echoed through the air, the only sound in the empty house. “Let’s paint a picture, shall we? You do look so lovely in violet and blue.”
I couldn’t resist anymore. I was too busy erasing the memories about to be made.
He picked me up in his arms like a rag doll, and headed to the bedroom, eyeing me hungrily. I was so cold…but soon my senses faded. I no longer was myself and never would be again.