Page 34 of Unholy

I miss my life, my bed… my home.

I want to be grateful that so many people care and love me. They are doing everything to protect me, but a part of me is still so fucking resentful.

All the families were destroyed because of The Exiled, including their own members. And they just continued to go along with it, until now. Why is it now such a big fucking deal?

Thoughts are frantic and my body still feels exhausted. Perhaps I’m overthinking everything.

Walking to the suitcase closest to me, I sit cross-legged and begin sorting through my things; it’s a mix of comfy casual and latex. They are neatly folded, ready to be put away. Taking a stack of tees out, the back of my hand rubs against something smooth and familiar. Lifting the shirts out, I see my baby. My flogger. Metal staples stare back at me, and I smile, finding comfort in seeing it.

I place the tees next to me and reach for the handle. Standing up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror and decide, this time I want to watch. Sliding my shirt off, my body is exposed. My breasts are round and full, my hips are curvy, which I’ve always been proud of, and a backside that I’ve recently learned how to clap. But I’ve lost weight. I can see it in my face and legs, and I don’t fucking like it. Just like I don’t like how weak I get around Nathaniel Sinclair.

Turning my body, I grip the leather handle of my flogger. With my other hand, I slide my hair off my shoulder so I can see my back in its entirety.

Old wounds are healing, scabs are forming. It’s time to reopen them. I must not give in to my own temptation and desires during sessions; he’s made me throw my discipline out the window multiple times, and I fucking hate myself for allowing it.

The sharp staples poke through my skin with the first whip; the sting of the leather tassels follows. But it doesn’t stop me from lashing myself again.

Get your head in the fucking game, Rylee, I tell myself as I crack my skin once more, this time opening an existing wound. A trickle of blood streams down my spine. It’s beautiful.

I keep going, not letting up. It even starts to feel good—so fucking good. More blood stains me, my teeth bite my lip, and my nipples harden. Call it what you want, but I’m starting to love it.

The last time I put all my power behind it, bringing the flogger forward then rapidly swinging it back onto my skin.

“Fuck,” I hiss. This one really hurt. The staples embed themselves into the shoulder blade. Lifting my hand, I pull at them, and my skin tries to lift and tear. I keep holding it this way for a couple minutes, applying more pressure once it starts to feel comfortable.

I don’t deserve to enjoy this pain.

My hand opens, letting go of the flogger, and it dislodges, falling to the ground behind me. Looking in the mirror, I admire my handiwork, all deserved, the old and the new.

Red droplets that were slowly moving down have stopped and are beginning to dry. Satisfied, I reach for my shirt and slide it back over my body.

The curtains are open, the clouds break, and daylight peeks through. I try to ignore the dozen bodies in Nathaniel’s yard, but it’s nearly impossible. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s still shocking as my eyes examine each body or appendage for the millionth time.

Behind me, the bedroom door swings open, startling me. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest.

Turning toward the intruder, it’s my silver fox, accompanied by an unforgiving odor. My nose turns up, and my face scowls.

“We are going to see your cousin, Cecilia. Be ready in twenty; I need to shower first.”

I nod, taking him in. This man has a way of making me feel shy and uncomfortable.

“May I join?” The question barely makes it out of my mouth. I fear rejection and hate myself for asking. Impulses are taking over. It’s clear I’m no longer rationally thinking. When I am with a client, no rejection, no vulnerability, but this is becoming more than just a transaction between Nathaniel and me. A wave of realization washes over me. Instinct tells me to keep fightingit, this man and what he had believed his entire life are fucking evil and he must pay. But the reality is, Nathaniel Sinclair is becoming my caretaker, keeping me safe, protected, and provided for. He doesn’t limit me or force things. And I think I like it. To not have to be strong all the time is something I didn’t know I needed.

Nathaniel’s words resonate with me.‘It feels nice to not think, to just be and do.’

Scratching his beard, his face contorts. “Maybe we should use yours? Elijah left a gift in my room.” I laugh, that motherfucker really is a psychopath. I suppose it’s a good thing he is on our side.

15

NATHANIEL

This seems all too familiar. Just the other day I was watchingherin my shower, now I can feel her watching me. Lathering my body with soap, I’m on a mission to remove any lingering pig shit smell from my body. This, by default, is also removing her phantom touch from my skin. The one thing that remains is the feeling left behind from the plug, a mixture of fullness and being stretched out is the only way I know how to describe it.

A cool breeze chills my back, the sound of the shower door closing follows. Turning around, I let the water fall over me as I take in her beauty.

The shower has multiple heads, two on the ceiling and a couple on the wall. Rylee steps in next to me, soaking her body and washing the day away. Her hair is pinned up so as not to wet it, a strand has fallen out, and it takes everything in me not to tuck it behind her ear.

“Does Darian and Cecilia know we are coming?”

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