Page 63 of Tyrant

When I try to get out of the bed, Tyrant scoops me up and carries me to the bathroom. I’m naked. He’s not. There’s something scary, primitive, and sexy about it though.

He turns on the shower and stands there with me as I shower, making sure I don’t lose my balance. I keep looking at him, wanting him. Craving and needing him. My body is sore and tired but there’s not an ounce of confusion. In fact, the idea of him not being here bothers me. I don’t know where he’s going or why. And I’m not allowed to ask him. On top of that, I’m going to be, what, babysat by someone else?

I look at Tyrant once more, my lips trembling, tempting to ask and demand and—

Tyrant grabs my throat with his left hand. His left arm gets soaked from the shower. He doesn’t care. I stare at him. He stares at me. It gets harder to breathe. Second after second ticks by. Panic wants to take control but I don’t allow it.

When he releases his grasp at my throat, his hands moves down, over my right breast. He pinches my nipple and twists and pulls. I suck in a breath and put my head back.

His hand slides down my body some more until he reaches my pussy once more. Four fingers stroke between my legs. Only once. He takes his hand away from my body and he curls his fingers up into a fist.

I watch him walk out of the bathroom.

I have no clue why… but I burst into tears.

I’min sweatpants and a hoodie, sitting on the massive bed, sorting through some books. Books for courses that I don’t even know if they actually matter or not. I’m flipping through huge books of photography and art. Then there are two books ofpoems. None of this will benefit me in life, but it sort of feels like a dream. Sitting around like this, a cup of hot tea with honey next to me. It feels safe and homey even though my body would mildly disagree. My wrists hurt. My body is rubbery and tender.

My pussy aches.

Both with need and from use. I blush when my mind throws that at me.

… from use…

But it’s the truth. The way Tyrant just takes me, I’ve never felt that before. His size and shape. The way hefucks. He moves with no regard for me, which I enjoy. He uses me.Which I enjoy…

There’s a knock at the bedroom door and it opens. Demo’s massive frame steps into the bedroom. This guy is gigantic. I’m pretty sure he was one of the guys that kidnapped me too. I can’t prove it and it doesn’t really matter right now.

“Need anything?”

Demo’s voice is deep enough to cause an earthquake.

“I’m okay,” I say in an almost meek voice.

Like I’m captive. Like I’m a prisoner.

“What are you studying?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just looking at pictures and seeing words.”

“Isn’t that studying?”

“Not when a single thing doesn’t make sense right now. Books. Or life.”

“Clever,” Demo says. “Cute, but nothing will work on me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Close the books and go back to sleep. You’re better off.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Demo chuckles and shuts the door.

What an asshole.

I look down at a painting of a woman sitting on a park bench in the rain.

Fuck her.

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