Serena caught her gaze in the reflection of the mirror, taken aback by the depth of emptiness she saw within the silver-grey eyes staring back at her. She turned away as she continued to brush her hair, the light waves of dark mahogany cascading down her back, settling along her waist. Angling back towards the mirror, she noted the striking features of her face: high cheekbones, full pink-tinted lips and grey, almond-shaped eyes encased by a set of long, thick eyelashes. Beautiful. That's what she was often called and many would be honoured to be bestowed with such a title, but at twenty-four years old, Serena wondered if there was more to her existence than simply her beauty. She had realised at a young age that her constituted beauty wasn't a gift, but an affliction, utilised as nothing more than equity in her father's ploy to further secure his social standing. Her thoughts momentarily flickered to her discussion with Cade the previous evening. His disagreement had surprised her and it was something she had never previously witnessed, let alone experienced. In her sheltered and reserved lifestyle, Serena was naive in believing that those types of people didn't exist within her world. No one ever defied such philanthropic views and his foreign behaviour made her think of her own, real opinions and the answers she voiced to simply appease others.
Interrupting her ministrations, she looked longingly at the small cross embedded in the thick white-gold cuff, always present on her right hand. Resting her head on the back of the dressing room chair, she closed her eyes and allowed the painful memories to slowly seep into her consciousness. The retrospection that reminded her of the night she was cruelly educated about her purpose and true worth within this social order. Images flashed before her mind, slowly taking form within the chaos of broken memories before consolidating to produce that single, cardinal moment.
"You're nothing more than some hot bitch that my dad paid fuck-loads for, so I'm fucking taking what's mine".
"What? No! I don't understand!"
A spiteful laugh escaped his lips as he grabbed her throat and threw her roughly onto the dark blue comforter of his bed. "What's not to understand, Ren? Your dad wanted my dad's support, and you're his method of payment."
He climbed on top of her, pressing his weight upon her delicate ribcage, holding her captive beneath him. The force of his body against her own strained her breathing, causing her to hyperventilate, as her heavy exhalations mixed with the suffocating heat in his bedroom. Waves of disorientation assaulted her, unable to facilitate the efflux of carbon dioxide from her lungs. Serena’s arms flailed and thrashed aimlessly around her in a futile attempt to make contact with her aggressor. Frustrated, he captured her wrists in his hands pinning them above her hand, restraining her with a bruising force. Holding her wrists with a single hand, he shifted and grabbed her hair, roughly pulling her head back as he slovenly kissed and licked her neck. She whimpered as he removed his hand from her hair, roughly caressing the curves of her breasts. The friction scouring her skin from the coarse material of her clothing reignited her struggle against his movements.
Her body tensed when she felt his nails scrape across her flesh as he ripped apart the buttons from the eyelets of her blouse. She heard the distant sound of her round, gold buttons scatter onto the oak hardwood flooring, muffled by his eager and feral breaths. Pulling down her light pink-laced bra, and exposing her maturing breasts, he took one into his mouth, sucking and biting with vehemence, breaking the surface of her skin. Serena cried out, attempting to recoil from the stinging pain. “Shut the fuck up, whore!” he spat, tightly clenching his roaming hand and bringing it down with an effortless brutality, snapping her head to the side. She barely reacted, numbed to the feeling of blood trickling down the side of her face.
A whore. That’s all she was. An instrument manipulated by her family, boyfriend and every other person she knew. With that realisation, her body went limp. Defeated. Tears filled her eyes as she closed them, listening to the deliberate movement of the seconds needle of the clock mounted on the wall behind her, silently pleading for time to stop.
