Before him, Winter Cohen had everything - family, freedom and a future. She had dreams and aspirations of being an artist. To have her own gallery, to be a name people remember.
Then he came along, taking everything.
Roman Cross is a monster. A cold...
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Winter
~*~
Despite her name, Winter did not enjoy cold weather. She hated the cold, from autumn to the end of winter - it was always miserable. It dries out her skin, chaps her lips and makes her nose run, turning it an ugly red.
When the cold snakes up her leg, brushing the most private areas of her body and hardening her exposed nipples, Winter shivers and gasps for breath. Her eyes flies open and the ceiling of the basement stares back at her.
As the synapses in her brain awakens and reconnects, pain explodes through her core.
Winter winces and her hands instantly fall to her vagina. It feels bruised and raw like someone wiped her delicate parts with sandpaper. It hurts so fucking bad that she feels tears falling down her cheek.
Why does it hurt? Why does everything hurt? Her lips, her breasts and her neck - it all fucking hurts. Then she glances down and horror crosses her mind. There's blood between her thighs, crimson blood, dried and peeling off her skin.
No way. Did someone-? Winter shakes her head. It can't be the worst possible scenario can it?
Her mind pulses with a million thousand thoughts at once. She's naked and tied up. There couldn't be any other reason except she was raped by an intruder in their home.
At the sudden realisation, Winter shoots up so fast that her arm twists awkwardly against the restraints. She can't hide her exposed chest but thankfully, by some miracle, she's able to press her legs impossible close together to hide everything else.
Where is everyone? Is everyone okay? Those were the thoughts that flash in her head like a neon sign. Despite their distance, she still loved her family no matter how they felt about each other. Winter has no desire to see them suffer.
"You're awake."
She glances at Ryles, her younger brother, who's curled into a ball beside her. She takes in his appearance - no wounds or bruises. He's okay. But then he brushes his shaggy brown curls from his face revealing his boyish features, she notice how bloodshot his eyes are.
"Ryles," she stammers, "What happened?"
"They told us we're going to die." His voice is small and frighten and his eyes are darting around the room like someone's watching them.
"Shut up Ryles." Gregory sneers from her right. His back is turn to her but she knows he has that irritable look on his face.
It usually sits like that when he thinks someone isn't worth his time.
When her vision finally adjusts to the dim light, she realises they're in the basement bound to the wall next to the washing machine and drier. There's cobwebs and dust in the crevices and her toes curl inwards as she spots the little spiders hanging from their web.
