Riding with the Beast (an MC Fairy Tale)

5 - Sonja

Sonja

It felt like heaven.

I moaned as hot water slipped over my cheeks and ran down my aching limbs. I turned up the heat until it almost hurt. And then, seconds later, after I’d adjusted to the temperature, I’d turn it up again.

When was the last time I took a shower like this? Had I ever? My father had installed one of those child’s safety units on our shower so it was always lukewarm. And after he sold me, it had been nothing but two minute scalding or freezing showers until Alexander.

My eyes shot open. Slowly, I looked over my shoulder.

There was nothing but mint colored tiles, a peeling ceiling, and a mirror too fogged-up to reflect anything but the hazy outline of the overhead light.

The door was still locked. The man outside hadn’t even tried to open it.

I was still alone.

Sort of.

I hugged my chest and lifted my face so it was right beneath the shower head and turned up the heat again.

Why did I do that to myself? Once you let those kinds of thoughts in, you couldn’t force them back out. Your mind and body won’t let you. They’d left an imprint on my skin, one I felt more than the hot water—more than my own hands, even.

I let out a shaky breath as my nails bit into my upper arms.

I thought it would go away once I ran far enough. That if I couldn’t feel his touch anymore, it would stop haunting me. Maybe I hadn’t run far enough yet, or maybe I was too impatient. A few weeks wasn’t much time; it had just felt so long because I hadn’t been truly alone since I was a kid.

I turned off the water. Shivering in the steamy air, I dried myself off with the scratchy towel, then pulled the man’s shirt over my head.

He was huge, even larger than Alexander. The shirt hung past my knees and smelled of cigarettes and motor oil, but it was soft.

Alexander’s shirts had been soft also, but they’d smelled of cologne and sunshine and a world I’d never return to. Truthfully, I didn’t want to return. Even if I somehow could, it wouldn’t be the same because it would remind me of him.

I wiped the fog off the mirror with the side of my hand, staring into that face he’d claimed to hate and love so much. A face so many men had desired because they’d found it beautiful. I tried not to hate it. Maybe if I hadn’t been so beautiful, they wouldn’t have been so eager to ruin my body.

I looked at the door.

I would fuck him. It wasn’t like I hadn’t fucked many men many times before. Alexander had taken so many things from me—they’d all taken so many things from me—even the small things I hadn’t known I’d had or still cherished. There was nothing left of me to save. I hated my beauty, but it was my only weapon and the only thing through which I could tame this beast.