"I hate you." My voice cracks as I tell him.
His feet stop at the door.
I clutch the bedsheet tightly around my chest as he turns around with an emotionless face.
"Then there will be a lot of hate fucking between us." A smirk curve his lips as his g...
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Today, I woke up without an alarm.
Because I hardly slept.
The pillow beneath my face remains wet, soaked with all tears I shed throughout the night.
My eyes sting with every blink, and my body aches with every breath I take.
I have no motivation in me to get up, except that today I am going home.
After seven days of pure torture, degradation, mental and physical abuse, I can finally escape this living hell hole.
Reluctantly, I drag myself up.
The first ray of sunlight filters through the window and falls on me, yet couldn't breach the darkness percolating within me.
I feel dead from inside.
No heartbeat, no pulse, not even a flicker of movement.
It's all silent and destroyed, like the aftermath of a tornado.
With a sense of melancholy, I peel the black velvet dress that once draped me in a beauty beyond compare. And now, it is tainted with the worst memory I ever experienced.
Stepping into the shower, cold water rushes down my body, pricking my skin, but from inside, I feel nothing.
The chill against my flesh couldn't penetrate the numbness inside of me, as if I have cried myself dry, leaving nothing but a hollow used shell behind.
Today, I do not play with soap foam, or talk to the bottles, instead plainly stand still under the running water, until I could no longer bear the cold.
Walking out, I slip into the peach frock, the dress Dakota had given me as a reward for being his personal whore.
I grab the hidden sixty dollars from the brand new flip-flops, before wearing them and existing his walk-in-closet for the last time.
I reach for the plushie sloth toy, the one Dakota let me chose on our fun-arcade outing. I never had so much fun with him before, it almost felt like a date.
But I guess, it was all in my head too.
I leave the soft toy on the bed as the last tie to cut. I can't bear to carry the weight of these memories with me.
Grabbing my phone, I give a final glance around, scanning the room one last time, ensuring not to leave anything behind, other than my dignity and those haunting moments.
I despise this room, this bed, everything which has witnessed my humiliation. No matter how luxurious the room is, it feels equal to a gruesome hell I never want to return ever.
I keep my head low while descending the stairs, unable to look at the paintings, as I myself feel more filthy than them.
The sound of my footsteps echoes through the living room as I enter. It is too quiet and empty down here.
