Page 3 of Blade

The door to my room slowly opens, creaking like nails going down a blackboard, going right through me as my tears fall.

Four years, and I feel like I’m dying every day inside.

The door shuts, the soft thud sounding like a gunshot, knowing what is about to happen and what happens every night unless the club brothers are away on business.

I hear the rustling of clothes before the tell-tale sign of a condom wrapper crinkles, and I try to swallow my sobs.

Four years and I still can’t harden myself to this. I can’t disappear into my own head until it's finished, and I still can’t escape, not until I’m eighteen, or that is what I keep telling myself despite what my family says.

“You are not leaving the club next year, Luna, and that is final!”

My mother’s words swim in my head. She thinks if I leave, then she’ll be burying me next to my father, but what she doesn’t realize is that will happen if I stay here. Besides, it's not like she even cares about me anyhow. If she did, she would notice that I'm dying on the inside.

I already tried killing myself once. I was fourteen, and I popped a load of my mother’s anxiety and sleep medication. Axe found me and rushed me to the hospital. Everyone thought it was an accident, and in their minds, I believed it was candy I was taking, but it wasn’t. It was a way to leave this world and myhorrors and not one person decided to think,‘hmm, why would she do that, she’s fourteen, she’s not stupid’.

I feel the bed dip as the sheets are moved off my body before a hand glides underneath my nightgown, going straight to my breast, thick fingers pinching my nipple, and I try not to flinch as bile rises and my stomach tightens, knowing this is my reality until I can find a way out.

Leaving town, or ending it all and right now, I’d prefer the latter…

An angry growl vibrates behind me when the hand goes down my body, and he feels my underwear, and he snaps, “I told you not to wear them!”

My bottom lip quivers, but I quickly bite it hard to stop my sobs from releasing when he moves his hand away suddenly and I try not to move, not wanting to anger him. Last time, he tied me up and then burned me with his lighter, five on my right lower hip, after shoving rolled-up socks in my mouth to quiet my screams.

He’s marking me as his every time he uses it, branding me.

A cold bit of metal touches my thigh, making me flinch, and he chuckles darkly before tearing echoes and the material is removed. My tears fall as he glides the sharp knife along my skin, ensuring to nip me, making me tense before he drops the knife on the floor, which lands with a thud, then he lifts my leg and blindly guides his member to my dry entrance and a burning sensation hits me hard.

Without thinking about me or my safety, like every night, he thrusts forward hard, tearing through my walls and my tears fall as my body protests, trying to expel him, and he groans, “Fuck, I can’t wait until I can go bare inside you, to fill you with my cum and put my child inside you…”

The urge to vomit climbs higher and higher, and nothing but pain fills me as I try to swallow my sobs.

He pulls his hips back and then thrusts forward as he grabs my breast roughly, pulling and pinching my nipple, causing more pain with every thrust. My body continues to expel him, to push him back out, but all that does is make him groan, and his hips begin to quicken.

I try to block everything out, but my body hurts so much, and the urge to grab his knife and stick it in my throat consumes me.

I could kill him, I could end his life instead of mine, giving me my freedom, but it won’t, will it? All that does is take him away physically. It doesn’t take away the four years of pain and fear, the four years of my horror.

It doesn’t take away the filth I feel every single day.

He groans and grunts as his thrusts become choppy before he stills and moans, squeezing my breast while putting his sweaty face into the crook of my neck, kissing my exposed skin and sending goosebumps all over me but not the good ones, no, these ones are full of disgust.

“I fucking love your cunt, treasure, and if I could stay in it all night, I would, but duty calls,” he whispers as he licks my neck, knowing he can’t bite it without leaving marks.

Can’t have the club seeing bite marks on my neck.

That said, he pulls out, causing me to bite my bottom lip again to stop the painful cry that I want to let out, and he stands. I don’t move, even when I hear the rustling of his clothes and the dark chuckle, knowing he’s most likely noticed the blood over his dick, the blood that always comes after he’s used me.

I even stay still as he kisses my head and whispers, “Be good, treasure.” then walks out, the sound of the door shutting, hitting my ears like a gunshot once again, while the creaking of the floorboards begins to disappear.

I allow myself to move only when I hear his bike rumble off into the distance.

Gingerly, I climb out of bed, wetness coating my thighs, wetness I know is blood and not my release because never orgasm, never get wet. I slowly walk to my en-suite bathroom, something my mother insisted every bedroom required in the house, a house built on club property behind the clubhouse, giving him access to me whenever he wants, and I turn the shower on as hot as it will go.

I don’t look in the mirror, knowing I’ll see a shell of myself, and instead, I climb into the shower, clothes and all, and slowly take a seat on the floor, allowing the steaming hot water to drench and burn me while I slowly wish I could die.

For four years, I have lived this nightmare. For four years, my brother’s best friend, Brock, who has grown up with us, his soon-to-be Vice President, has raped me, and no one cares to open their eyes to the evil they have within their club.

My bottom lip quivers, and I sob so hard that my body shakes. My screams echo in my bathroom, pain, terror, and fear all coming out of me before the bile I have tried so hard not to release comes up, and I quickly twist, vomiting on the shower floor, the water washing it down the drain.

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