You awoke with a start, gasping for breath, your heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, you couldn't quite place where you were, or what had happened. The room was still dark, the air heavy with the scent of blood and the tang of sex.
Your body ached in places you hadn't even known existed, and when you tried to sit up, you found yourself too weak to move. You looked down and saw the marks on your skin, the angry red welts that crisscrossed your body, reminders of the night before, of the monster who had claimed you as his own.
Your days were spent in a haze of exhaustion and pain, your body aching from the brutal punishments he meted out whenever you displeased him. Sometimes he would beat you, leaving your body bruised and battered; other times he would choke you until you passed out, your vision spinning and your lungs burning for air. But through it all, you could feel his love, his obsession with you, burning bright.
He was a monster, you knew that, but he was your monster, and there was no escaping him. You tried to find solace in your memories of the life you had before, but they seemed to grow fainter with each passing day. All that mattered now was his touch, his kiss, his bite. You lived for the moments when he would look at you with those eyes, those eyes that were filled with both rage and desire, and you would forget about everything else.
You began to dress differently, adopting the style he preferred, wearing less and less clothing, revealing more and more of your skin to him. It was as if you were trying to become one with him, to disappear into his twisted version of love. You changed your hairstyle, dyed it the color he liked best, and you would watch him as he stared at you, drinking in your appearance, and you felt a small thrill inside.
As the weeks turned into months, you found yourself looking forward to his visits, anticipating the pain and pleasure he would bring to you. You knew that it was wrong, that you should fight against him, but you couldn't help but feel a strange sort of comfort in the twisted relationship you had with him. You had become addicted to the high of his possession, to the feeling of being wanted, of being needed. And as much as it hurt, as much as it terrified you, you couldn't bring yourself to give it up.
You began to change in other ways too. You became more submissive, more docile. You found yourself craving his touch even when he wasn't there, your body aching for the weight of his hand on your skin. You started dressing in a way that would please him, wearing revealing clothing that showed off your curves, your skin. You would stand before the mirror, practicing the way you would move when he was with you, the way you would arch your back, the way you would meet his gaze.
When he was finally with you, you no longer resisted him. You gave yourself over to him completely, welcoming the pain and the pleasure he brought. You would cry out his name as he took you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. And when he was done, when you were both spent, he would collapse beside you, his breath ragged and uneven, his fingers trailing lightly across your skin.
You knew that this was not love, not the way it was supposed to be, but it was all you had. It was your life now, and you had accepted it. As the years passed, you found yourself becoming more and more like him, losing yourself in the darkness of your obsession with each other. But somehow, amidst the madness, there was a strange sort of beauty in the way you fit together, in the way you completed each other.
And so you continued, trapped in a twisted game of love and possession, unable to escape the monster that had claimed you as his own. You lived for the moments when he was with you, when you could lose yourself in the depths of his obsession, and forget about the world outside your little bubble of darkness and desire.
