Shattered Vows

The unbearable

Since moving into Marco's room, each night felt like an ordeal. The bed, once a symbol of the opulent life I was forced into, now felt like a trap. The nights were the worst, a time when the terror of my reality seemed to close in on me. Marco's presence, though physically close, was a constant reminder of my helplessness.

Every morning, Marco left early for work, his routine offering a brief respite from his domineering presence. But the nights were different. I never knew what to expect when he returned. His moods were unpredictable, and his behavior often unsettling.

One night, Marco came home late, his movements unsteady and his voice slurred. I could tell he was drunk from the way he stumbled into the room, his eyes glazed and unfocused. My heart raced with a familiar fear. I had seen glimpses of his darker side, but tonight, the danger felt closer.

I tried to steady myself, attempting to calm him. "Marco, you should rest," I said gently, hoping to de-escalate the situation. "You've had a long day."

But he barely registered my words. His gaze was unfocused, and he mumbled incoherently about ownership and control. "You're my wife," he said with a growl. "No one can have you but me."

The fear that gripped me was overpowering. I attempted to reason with him, but he was too far gone. His movements were aggressive, and before I could fully process what was happening, he pinned me against the bed. His strength was overwhelming, and despite my desperate attempts to push him away, he was unrelenting.

My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to shield myself. Tears streamed down my face as I begged him to stop, but he continued, his words a mix of nonsensical claims and threats. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice a low, while removing my clothes. I tried to stop him but he's just too strong. I cry as I just except my fate. As I always do.

In my terror, I felt completely powerless. The more I struggled, the more helpless I became. The night was filled with a sense of utter violation and despair. I lay there, feeling the weight of what had happened pressing down on me.

As the night wore on, I was left in the cold silence of the room, the once-familiar surroundings now feeling alien and hostile. The fear of what might come next hung heavy in the air, leaving me feeling more isolated and trapped than ever. He's gonna r@pe me...

--- A Shattered Reflection

The morning light filtered through the curtains, but it did nothing to dispel the fog of despair that enveloped me. Marco was gone, and I was left alone in this cold, empty mansion. My body felt heavy and numb, weighed down by exhaustion and the emotional trauma of the night before. I couldn't stand the sight of myself, and every touch of my skin felt like a reminder of what had happened.

I stumbled to the mirror, barely able to look at my reflection. The marks from last night were stark against my pale skin—scratches and bruises that told a story I wished I could erase. My ribs were painfully visible, a stark contrast to the hollow, gaunt look of my face. My eyes were red and puffy, reflecting the sleepless night and the tears I had shed.

Shaking and tearful, I moved to the bathroom. The chill of the tiles against my feet was jarring, but I barely registered it as I turned on the shower. I hoped the water would somehow wash away the pain, the shame, the marks of last night. As I stepped under the stream, the water mixed with my tears, but it offered no comfort. I sank to the floor of the shower, clutching my knees to my chest, my sobs growing louder.

The emptiness of the house seemed to swallow my cries. No one would hear me, not even in this vast space. The silence outside the bathroom door was deafening, amplifying my loneliness. I was alone, and the walls of this mansion felt like they were closing in on me.

My mind raced with all the things that had happened in my life—the pain of my mother's death, the betrayal of my father, the dread of being sold to Marco, and the horror of the past night. Each thought compounded the weight I carried, leaving me gasping for relief.

I wished my mother were here to hold me, to make me feel safe. But she was gone, and her absence felt even more pronounced now. The memories of her comfort were overshadowed by the harsh reality of my situation. The mansion, once a symbol of a new beginning, now felt like a cage, a prison of my own making.

I wished that someone would save me from this hell, someone who could truly love me and give me the affection I had never known. I longed for the warmth and care that had been so cruelly stripped away from me. The thought of someone who might cherish me, who might offer the love I had been deprived of, was a distant dream I clung to in the midst of my suffering.

But deep down, I knew that this was nothing more than a fleeting hope. I felt cursed, doomed to be at the mercy of Marco. The idea of escape seemed as distant as ever, and the belief that I might ever find real happiness felt like a cruel joke. I was trapped in this life, bound by a fate I could not escape. The thought that I was condemned to endure Marco's cruelty, to live out the rest of my days in this nightmarish reality, was more than I could bear.

As the water continued to fall, I felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. I tried to pull myself together, but it seemed like every effort to find some semblance of normalcy only dragged me further into despair. The house, the water, the tears—they were all a part of the emptiness that now defined my life. I wished for escape, for comfort, for anything that could bring me back to a time when I wasn't so lost and broken.

My cries echoed off the bathroom walls, blending with the sound of the shower. No one could hear me, and the thought of my isolation was almost too much to bear. In that moment, I was utterly alone, my pleas swallowed by the silence, knowing I was forever cursed to live under Marco's rule.