For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

12. Making you mine - II

(Improvised version)

The fever was gone. The relentless body aches, the suffocating heat, and the bone-deep discomfort that had tormented me for days were finally lifted.

But even though the physical symptoms had disappeared, exhaustion still clung to me like a heavy weight, a result of the countless times he'd woken me up last night, demanding more.

My body was spent, sore in places I didn't want to think about, yet strangely... I felt fine. Physically, at least.

But mentally? That was a different story.

The memories of last night clung to me, haunting and vivid, and I hated myself for the small, treacherous part of me that missed the warmth of his body against mine.

How could I? How could I even think like that after everything?

I lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, forcing my mind to go numb, pushing away every thought that threatened to break me.

If I let myself dwell on it, I'd shatter completely. And I couldn't afford that now. I needed to be strong. I needed to find a way out of this nightmare.

He had left about half an hour ago, promising to bring breakfast. His words still echoed in my mind, his voice dripping with a mixture of warning and possessiveness: "If you try to run away, I'll hunt you down. I can trace your scent anywhere... so I hope you'll behave, mate."

My lips still ached from his rough kisses, raw from his nibbling and sucking. I could still feel the ghost of his touch, and it made my skin crawl.

I looked at the broken phone lying on the floor—a casualty of his rage. Shattered beyond repair, it was my last hope of reaching out for help, now lying there useless.

The bedroom door, hanging off its hinges, was scarred with deep claw marks—a chilling reminder of the monster lurking beneath his skin. Every time I looked at it, a cold dread seeped into my veins.

I felt trapped, suffocated by the barred windows that once served as protection. My dad had them installed to keep us safe while he was away, but now they felt like the iron bars of a cage.

With him downstairs, guarding the main door like a predator watching its prey, escape seemed impossible. What would he do if I tried to run? I didn't want to find out.

So, I sank back into the bed, my body aching with fatigue, every muscle screaming from last night's ordeal.

How had I become this pathetic? I wasn't even fighting anymore. The thought gnawed at me, sinking its teeth deep into my resolve.

I hated myself for it—for giving up so easily, for not having the strength to resist. And yet, here I was, lying helplessly, anger and frustration consuming me from the inside out.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, cutting through the silence, and my heart leapt into my throat. A spark of hope flared within me, wild and desperate.

Maybe, just maybe, someone was here to save me. Uncle George? Ashley?

I dashed out of the bedroom, my feet barely touching the floor as I hurried downstairs. My pulse raced with the hope that this was my chance, a slim window of escape.

But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was surprised to find the space empty. Where was he? My breath came in ragged gasps as I took the final steps toward the door, the urgency nearly choking me.

With a trembling hand, I yanked the door open, and for a split second, my heart soared with hope. But it all came crashing down when I saw who was standing there—a food delivery guy, barely out of his teens, wearing a wide, clueless smile.