Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XLV - HEROIN

Vincent woke to the sound of desperate cries. The sound cut through the fog in his mind like a blade. He squinted against the dim light, trying to adjust his vision, his body screaming with pain. Every inch of his naked skin throbbed as if it had been flayed. Scratches ran across his arms and chest, but it was the hammering pain in his skull that made him groan, teeth gritted, hands clutching his hair.

He remembered the alcohol—the anger, the betrayal—drowning himself in whiskey before stumbling home. But after that... what happened? He flinched, trying to reconstruct the fragmented memories.

Home. He'd gone home... to Gabrielle, his wife.

The memories slammed into him. The videos. Her body in another man's hands. Her cries of pleasure mocking him, twisting in his mind like a vice. Pain, guilt, and fury collided, making his heart pound like a drum.

A fresh wave of headache forced his eyes shut. More flashes—visions of his own hands on her, fists against her stomach, teeth biting, hands roaming her bruised body. He remembered trying to be "gentle," to make up for what he had done, but the horror of what he had done—the acts he had forced upon her while drunk and furious—made him sick.

Every nerve screamed. Every memory twisted him further into guilt and rage.

And then... the bed. The blood. The sheets sticky under his fingers.

He opened his eyes to the terrible confirmation. Gabrielle. Her naked, bruised body slumped on the sofa bed at the foot of the bed. Arms protecting her stomach, the other clutching herself. Her back trembled with sobs, the scratches stark against pale skin.

"Gabrielle..." he whispered, voice breaking, as he jumped to her side.

Her face, swollen, bruised, blood dried at the corner of her lips. Deep bite marks on her shoulder blades. Scratches on her neck and hips. The realization hit him like ice: he had hurt her. He had really hurt her.

"Bella..." His voice trembled as he gently lifted her, pulling her close, terrified of her reaction. Her screams and cries, the fear in her eyes, stabbed him through the chest.

"I'm sorry... please relax..." he whispered, holding her tightly. But she fought, kicking, scratching, sobbing. "Don't touch me!"

"I won't hurt you... I swear..." he murmured, rocking her gently, pressed to his chest. She was feverish, trembling, broken. She had been innocent, untouched before him—and he had shattered that.

Tears streamed down his face as he cradled her. "I'm so sorry... "

She collapsed into him, exhausted. He laid her gently on the bed, covering her with a sheet. Her bruises, the marks of his own hands, made his stomach churn. She needed care, therapy, time... everything he could give to undo the horror he had inflicted.

Gabrielle's trauma wasn't just physical. Her mind had been violated in ways no medicine could erase. Vincent sat beside her hospital bed for hours, waiting for her to wake, waiting for a chance to say sorry.

Adrijan Thorne arrived, eyes stormy, fists clenched. "You did this to her!" he spat, grabbing Vincent's collar and throwing a punch that sent him sprawling.

Vincent's chest heaved. Rage and guilt clashed. He knew Adrijan was right, and yet... he could barely breathe.

"You're no better than Ryan!" Adrijan's words made him boil, but he held his ground.

"Don't you dare say that!" Vincent roared, fists shaking.

"Yeah? What makes you different? Torturing her because of a video she couldn't control? You have no idea what she endured!" Adrijan's next punch landed with precision, blood trickling from Vincent's lip.

"You don't deserve her," Adrijan growled, eyes blazing at the unconscious woman. "You never did..."

Three weeks earlier...

Gabrielle sat beside Adrijan's mother's hospital bed, praying silently. Their families had once been close; Adrijan had been her anchor since childhood, the one person who truly understood her. When her own mother had died, he had been her family.

"Everything will be alright," she whispered, wrapping him in an embrace, trying to shield him from the weight of life.

Weeks passed. Gabrielle's mother stabilized. She thought she could finally breathe... until the calls started.

"Baby... come see me. I have something for you..."

"Stop bothering me!" she screamed, but he called again. "Don't be beastly, sweetie pie... you know you want me..."

Her blood ran cold. Ryan. Always Ryan.

She ended the call and tried to retreat, but a knife pressed into her side, a hand on her shoulder. His voice, soft and terrifying, whispered in her ear.

"What would your husband say if he saw our lovely videos?"

Fear and anger churned in her. She knew the only way to survive was to play along, to endure. She whispered back, her voice trembling: "I missed you too..."

The flat was a nightmare. He was a man possessed, torturing her with every movement, every word, every touch. Pain, drugs, abuse... and yet, somehow, she survived.

And when she awoke, it was in Adrijan's arms, safe—finally—being rushed to the hospital, the first real safety she had felt in weeks.