CHICAGO, ILLINOIS ∎
AUGUST 8, 2016 ∎
It had been a total of seven days, a week, since the two had seen each other again.
Unexpectedly, Nalia had been wondering whether Dayvon had thought of her in the long span of a week.
She had been wondering what he was doing at the moment.
She wondered if he was in danger and if he had came to her apartment while she was out.
Everytime she thought about him, she shut all the harmless thought down, not wanting to get attached.
Despite her habits and tactics she used to prevent things like that from happening, she got very easily attached to people, only if they had spent enough time together.
The only way that she could was if he came to her place.
That's wouldn't happen because she couldn't visit him, not knowing where he lived.
And he wasn't popping up at her home needing to get let in either.
They hadn't build a relationship with each other well enough to know where each other hung throughout the day or week.
She didn't want to reserve any place in her mind for him, though.
Which is why she continued to distract herself different almost each hour.
At the moment she hung off the side of her queen sized mattress, it was covered with white pillows, white sheets, and a soft white comforter.
Her headboard didn't match the bedding but was wood, coated with a deep brown shade.
She tightly held her cellphone in her hands, not wanting it to slip out of her hands and fall onto her face.
She always kept that scenario in her head, having it happen multiple times.
The pads of her fingers swiped across the screen as she was focused on the game at hand.
Subway Surfers.
It had helped her this week, it being a distraction she ran to most of the time.
"Fuck." She cursed, throwing her phone onto the wood floor, harshly without thinking.
Her eyes widened as she tried pushing herself up from the upside down position she was in.
Only resulting in coming in contact with he floor also.
"Fuck." She groaned, it turning into a low whine as her head throbbed.
Nalia sat up off the ground and picked up her phone along with her.
A message notification came down the top of her screen, a ding sound accompanying it.
It was from Damien.
"Make sure my..." She began to read it out loud.
'Make sure my doors locked, Nalia. You bet not have a nigga in my house either.'
His doors?
His house?
She bought this apartment for herself and if somebody knocked her doors down, she'd have to pay for them.
Who the fuck did he think he was?
"Who the fuck he feeling like?" She muttered to herself. She hated how ungrateful he was.
He didn't have a place to stay from the beginning, last time she checked.
She let him into her home and let him stay with her after his mom died, last time she checked.
Everytime that he felt as if he had the right to belittle her, she started to shut it down but her domineering side just clicked off when she saw him.
She hated that for herself.
If she kept letting him get to her and take over her, she wouldn't get anywhere that she planned to make it to.
Especially out the city.
A strong fist came in contact with her face, making her head turn to the side.
She looked at the wall in deep thought.
She knew right now wasn't the right time and she needed to get up and defend herself but she just couldn't do it.
She clocked out after the first three punches he threw her way.
He fought her like a man.
Damien had came home drunk and was able to walk straight through the back door, catching the girl off-guard.
His anger grew, once he realized that she actually wasn't reluctant towards him this time and disobeyed him.
Not locking thr doors like he said.
He had then convinced himself that she did have a man in "his" house, when there wasn't one.
She told herself that she didn't have to do what he said.
She had human rights.
It was in the constitution.
When she had finally stood up for herself in some way, it didn't turn out right.
She was played out flat on the white sheets of her bed, which were now stained with a few splotches of her blood.
Her eyes were hooded, her energy drained.
Her right eye was swollen and was a light shade of purple and yellow near the bottom.
Her eyeball was clouded with red liquid as he had busted on her blood vessels, most likely.
Her lip was scratched some but the swelling wasn't as bad.
The taste of blood rested on her tongue.
She wasn't crying.
Her head was only turned to the wall.
She was all cried out.
Used to this happening, she was sure her face would heal quicker than last time.
Her mastering the routine.
"Get the fuck up, bitch." He forced out from the doorway.
Her eyes made her way to his, pleading, while shaking her head lightly.
He ignore the silent pleas, finding his was over to her, working with his drunken vision.
Damien grabbed her ankle and yanked her down to the edge of the mattress as she squirmed, not being able to get out of his grip.
She sobbed, reaching her hand up and covering her face.
Nalia felt ugly at the moment.
Why did she allow it to get this far.
A throaty cry, left her mouth as she watched him rip her bottoms open and insert himself in her, forcefully and aggressively.
She felt her hole stretch as he continued to push into her.
He was raping her.
NOT PROOF READ ∎ ∎ ∎
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