Page 42 of Deliria

“Have some more, Scarlett, drink it all.”

“Nooo…” My screams are drowned out by more of his disgusting bodily fluids.

Evidently Alex is growing bored. This entire time I’ve felt his cock poking into me, hard as marble.

He tuts before pushing his father away and then he picks me up, pushes me face first onto the now soiled table and yanks my hips up.

Without a moment’s hesitation he pushes himself into me, letting out a low growl.

Vincent moves to my face, to where my head is being forced to stay in place by Alexander’s hand.

And as his son starts fucking me from behind, he drops to his knees so that his face is right up in mine.

“You feel that, Scarlett? You feel what my son is doing to you?”

My tears roll down my cheeks and though I know that it’s a logical response, a normal response, I curse them all the same. Tears won’t help me. Tears won’t save me.

Vincent grabs my face, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“He’s ruining you, Scarlett. That’s what he’s doing. That’s what we’re both doing.”

“Wwwwhy?”

I don’t know why I ask it, why it even matters. These men aren’t capable of reason, of conscience.

He grins, running his thumb over my lips in a manner that is far too fucking sensual.

“You’re enough of a fucking hassle, why shouldn’t we get some reward for it?”

“Then send me away.” I scream. Not that I want that, not that I’d be happy to go to a nuthouse, but surely even an asylum would be better than this horror?

“Away?” He repeats like I’m the one spouting nonsense. “Now, where would be the fun in that? How would we get our revenge then?”

Revenge? Revenge for what? What the fuck is he talking about?

He stands up, slapping my face hard as his son slides out of me.

“God, you’re stupid.” He says. “A stupid little whore. Shame your father didn’t raise you better. Shame you didn’t get his brains instead of your slut of a mother’s.”

I blink, feeling the sting linger. What the fuck is he talking about? What the fuck is going on here?

I can’t contemplate those words, can’t take them in. My husband’s assault is too much, too overwhelming. All I can do right now is just take each awful second, just survive each awful moment.

And pray to God that when I wake tomorrow, it’ll be different, that this will all be some horrific dream. That I’ll be home, my real home, that my brother will be there, he’ll be alive, and none of this will be real.

Scarlett

Icouldn’t do it.

I couldn’t wake up in that bed and pretend.

I don’t care what it costs me, what awful consequence there is, I had to get out.

My body trembles uncontrollably as I sit here, staring out across the water, at the land so far away. I know I tried to swim it once, I have some vague memory of the waves and the causeway, and of me almost drowning.

But despite that, despite how horribly wrong it went last time, I’m so tempted to just throw myself back in and if the water takes me, if I drown then so be it.

Because I can’t stay here.

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