𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝟏𝟖+

6

I lie here in the dark, covers pulled up over my head like I'm a kid again hiding from monsters.

Except this time, the monsters are very real.

Two and a half weeks have passed, but inside, I'm still a mess. It all replays on a sickening loop in my mind, no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut. Part of me regrets ever leaving home in the first place. As messed up as my life was there, at least I knew what to expect. Doing whatever it takes for Penny includes staying alive...and that's proving very difficult. A big part of me wants to turn and run, to go back to the simplicity of my old life.

But of course, there's no going back.

No matter how hard I try to push it down, I can't shake the memory of that vile man's hands violating me, the cold press of his blade against my throat.

I haven't been out with Damien since and he's let me slide for a while, but I can tell his patience is wearing thin. But after what happened, the thought of putting on that fake smile and pretending everything is perfectly fine, it makes me want to vomit.

Damien has been dropping not-so-subtle hints about an upcoming event he has to make an appearance at. I know I can only deflect and make up excuses for so long before he gets fed up.

Sure enough, a rough knock at the door nearly makes me bolt upright.

"Get ready, we're heading out tonight, wear the white dress," Damien's voice carries through the wood, not waiting for a response before I hear his footsteps retreat.

I flop back with a frustrated huff. "Yeah, okay..." I mumble, rolling my eyes as I angrily kick off the covers.

I stare at the white dress Damien picked out for me. It's pretty, I guess - all flowy and soft, but it falls just below the knee. Not too long ago, I would've been thrilled to wear something like this instead of the skimpy outfits Damien had me wear.

But now, as I hold it up, I feel a twinge of something different—anger. Now he wants me to cover up. Like he's suddenly decided my body is something that needs to be hidden away. Does he think that just because I was wearing a short dress, I somehow welcomed being violated like that?

I rifle through the closet until I find a tight black lace dress that looks like it belongs on a stripper. The material is nearly see-through, showing almost as much as it covers. Perfect for the foul, defiant mood I'm in.

I tug on the tiny dress, admiring how it clings and shows off every dip and curve, the hemline barely skimming my upper thighs. Next, I slip on some sparkling black stilettos. I pause when my gaze lands on the diamond "Damien" necklace still sitting on the dresser.

Part of me wants to leave the brand behind, a symbolic rejection of his claim over me. But something stops me from doing it.  Like it or not, the necklace is a symbol that I'm not just another nameless girl for people to mess with. With that mentality, I refasten the chain around my neck, letting the diamonds sit proudly against my cleavage.

I line my eyes in thick, smudgy rings of dark eyeliner and coat my lips in a rich, dark berry shade. When I finally descend the sweeping staircase, Damien is waiting in the foyer as usual- looking like a million bucks in an expertly tailored charcoal suit.

His eyes nearly pop out of his head when they land on me and my see-through getup.

"God damn..." he rasps under his breath, raking a hungry gaze up and down and lingering on all the skin on display. "Why aren't you wearing what I set out for you?"

I just shrug, giving a small turn to really show it all off.

I head for the door, feeling Damien's heated gaze burning a hole through the flimsy lace clinging to my backside. Suddenly, his iron grip is clamping down around my upper arm, spinning me back around to face him.