Sometimes when you can’t go back, the only way out is to descend into the darkness.
When I woke in that place, I just wanted to survive. But survival came at a cost, for which they demanded my will and body.
With pain came acceptance. Fully-dependent on the man who claimed me, I learned to appreciate what I had-life and relative safety.
I watched him spill blood and tend my injuries. With betrayal came a revelation.
The only way out was to bring them all down or die trying.
Warning: This isn't your rainbows and love sonnets kind of romance. This story explores topics of abduction and slavery, and contains explicit scenes of dubious consent, graphic violence and sex.
Through the haze of sleep, I felt hands on me. Cold and rough. I thought for a fleeting moment that it might have been Kyle. Then, I remembered our break up. It had happened weeks ago, but maybe that part was the dream. My memory was fucked and I couldn’t latch onto a thought long enough to ride it out of the fog. “Did you make a decision?” Kyle asked. I rolled over and pulled the comforter up to my neck. I had decided that I didn’t want to make a decision—mostly that I didn’t appreciate him trying to force me into a decision when I had told him time after time that I didn’t want him moving into my apartment even after six months together. “You can barely afford the place anyway since your sister moved out. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal unless you don’t want to be together.” I did, and yet, the threat of him leaving seemed like a relief…. Hands groped and pulled—rough against my skin and digging into muscle and bone. Too many hands. The bits of memory faded as I tried to retreat from the onslaught. My back pressed into a hard surface beneath me, and my nostrils filled with the smell of musk and damp stale air. I had no idea where I was, or how I’d gotten there. I kicked and gasped, trying to get back to the surface where reality lurked. It shimmered in the distance, just out of reach, like the sun on the surface of the water during a dive. A hand latched onto my hair and held my head back. My eyelids were finally freed from the sticky muck that held me in semi-consciousness, and I opened them to find myself staring up into unfamiliar eyes. I only held his gaze for a few seconds—if that—but it seemed like it lasted for hours as my brain fought to categorize the details. Its useless attempt to understand what was going on. The man clutching my hair had vivid green eyes, but they may as well have been black given the emotionless void they displayed. His hair was shaggy, brown with a mix of grey, the same colors that stood out in his unkempt stubble. As if he needed any help looking rough.
About The Author
Skye Callahan is an Ohio-girl who has spent a lifetime chained to the imaginary worlds of the characters who live in her head. Although it was her interest in paranormal that originally inspired her to pick up the pen, she has recently followed her interest in BDSM and dark romance to venture into other realms of fiction. She currently lives with her husband and two ferrets, who keep her plenty busy when she’s not writing or at the day job where she serves as a Jane-of-all-trades in a non-profit business outreach center.
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