03| Get your hands off my girl

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He throws me into a new cell—this one cleaner than the others, with a single, perfectly made bed sitting in the corner like an omen

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He throws me into a new cell—this one cleaner than the others, with a single, perfectly made bed sitting in the corner like an omen. I know exactly what it's for. My body instinctively backs away, eyes darting around the room in search of something—anything—I can use for defense. I come up with nothing.

I wiggle against the cuffs, mind spiraling as my heart plummets, sinking deeper into fear with every second.

Sweat coats my hands. I lift them over my head, then bring them forward, angling one foot between the chains. I press hard with my foot and pull back with all my strength. The metal burns as it scrapes my skin, but eventually, the cuffs slip off. My wrists ache. Skin raw. But I don't care. I tuck my hands behind me, hiding the fact that I'm free, just as he finishes locking the door.

He turns and spots me in the corner, grinning with a cool confidence that makes my spine stiffen. His steps are slow and calculated, certain of his victory. But he's wrong. I won't go down without a fight. Especially not to him.

As soon as he's close enough, I strike. I lunge, yanking the cuffs around his neck and pulling them tight. I jump onto his back, tightening the chain with everything I have. His eyes widen in fury. He thrashes beneath me, but I don't let go.

"You dumb cunt," he growls between gasps, voice straining as he claws at the chain. "I thought maybe I'd go gentle your first time back. But now? I'm gonna fucking pound into you, rip you in half. You won't walk for weeks. And it's gonna happen every damn day."

I sob, but I'm laughing too—bitter and furious—as I hold the chain tighter, digging it deeper into his throat.

"Try your best, asshole. You made me this way. You built the monster, now you'll watch it bite back. This is your fault. It's your fault that I'm—"

"A beautiful monster who will fulfill her duties as my wife by letting me fuck her in our bed," he snarls. I spit in his face.

"No. I'm a raging bitch who'll put a bullet between your eyes since you can't seem to see how fucked up you are."

With a roar, he throws me off. I hit the floor hard, pain splintering through my body. My foot twists back unnaturally, a sickening angle that makes me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

I lie there, trying to breathe through it, but he grabs my legs and drags me across the floor. My shirt rides up; my bare skin scrapes against the rough ground. I gasp and struggle as his fingers wrap around the waistband of my shorts. He yanks them down. I flinch, scrambling backward.

He laughs. A low, sinister chuckle as he grabs my shirt and rips it down the middle. It falls like tissue to the floor. I wrap my arms around my chest, trying to cover myself.

This—this is exactly what he wanted. My body: thin, small, fragile. The perfect doll. Always the first phase. Now, he's moving to the next. Using this new version of me however he wants.

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