Page 617 of Cheaters: A Dark Romance Anthology

Pulling my knees up, I hug my legs. I stay that way the entire ninety-minute trip. It feels longer, every minute an hour. As we draw nearer to the volcanic island, dread fills my stomach, sinking in the empty pit where my breakfast had been. As we reach Maalaea Harbor, I keep my chin up, refusing to weep for the past I can never forget.

While the crew docks the boat, I untangle my legs. I try to stand up but fall back to the seat. My palms sweat. Scanning the coastline, my vision darkens. A few palm trees dot the sloped coast up to the island. With every slight burst of wind, their fronds sway, taunting me.

Dirty. Whore.

I can hear the echoes everywhere in the breeze, bouncing off the sails. Her voice taunts me, reminding me why I fled so long ago.

As a single tear slides down my cheek, the darkness crashing back. The memory of my last night here takes over.

* * *

“Hold still.”

I close my eyes, wishing it was all a dream, but the pain sears higher inside my stomach. I cry out.

He slaps my face, drawing more tears. “I said hold still.” He rams the coat hook up inside me farther, twisting it.

I scream, clawing off the bed. Like my body has been ripped in two, blinding, white pain floods through my veins and muscles. Everything hurts, even down to my fingertips.

He slaps my face harder, blood spurting from my nose. “Stupid bitch, I said shut up. If you weren’t such a bad girl, I wouldn’t have to fix this.”

I try to sniffle. A metallic taste fills my nose and mouth. Blood. There's blood everywhere. I refuse to look between my spread legs. If I don't look, it's not real.

“Dere,” he pulls out the metal rod and leans up, “dat should fix it. Make sure it never happens again.” Grabbing a towel, he wipes off his hands, then tosses the bloody scrap of cloth at me. “Clean youself up.”

I blink, trying to clear my eyes. I need to wipe them off. But I don’t want to rub my face on the bloody towel. I could use my nightgown, at least it's still on me, but it's coated in the sticky mess, too. I sniffle again, rubbing my eyes and nose with the back of my arm. I need to quit crying. Daddy fixed it. He fixed me. That's his job. Everything will be better now.

Gradually, I lean up. Pain shoots from between my legs up to my back and stomach. Sweat coats my spine and neck. I cringe but sit up enough that I can balance on one of my elbows.

One quick glance down there and I almost gag. I clench my mouth shut and cover it with the hand holding the towel. My chest constricts as more pain floods everywhere.

There's blood. Lots of blood. And other stuff, bits of me pooling on the threadbare towel laid under me.

My head spins. My palms sweat. My breath comes in short bursts. Tears fall down my face no matter how hard I try to stop them.

Swack.

He hits me over the head. “Hurry up.”

I jerk to the side from the force, almost falling off the bed. With a shaking hand, I reach down, then cover myself with the towel, trying to stop the bleeding. It burns, a dull, achy pain usurping the previous knife-like stinging. Somehow, this hurts worse. But Daddy fixed it. Now, it's my job to clean up. It's always my job to clean up because I'm dirty.

I glance up at him, hoping he can see I'm trying to be a good girl, even though it hurts.

But, he’s not smiling. He still has that gleam in his eyes. That look that tells me I’m still a bad girl. That all too familiar tenting in his shorts.

No. No.

He sneers.

“Please, no,” I plead, crying again.

But I'm dirty. I know I'm all dirty. It's my fault. I try to push my legs together and scoot back away from him on the bed.

He grabs the hair near my scalp and pulls my head toward him. I cry out, sharp pain searing through my insides. He rips his shorts down and takes advantage of my open mouth, shoving his dick inside.That’s what it is. He told me the name of it four years ago.

It tastes bad and smells worse. The pain inside my stomach and between my legs hurts even more.

I choke, gagging. I try to pull up, but he holds my head steady. I try to breathe but only choke more on the bad taste of him and blood from my cut lip.

---