Lost Lover //Shawmila (DISCONTINUED LMAO)

14- Violated

(WARNING: There will be swearing and rape involved in this chapter, so if things like this affect you emotionally, please don't read the bits of italic. They are memories, of perhaps not who you think it is. Other than that, enjoy reading this chapter.)

She walked home, golden shards of glass held in her hand, crumbled paper torn over the edges, tear streaks gracefully marking her flushed face. Her hair was drooping down, stray tendrils poking abnormally out of the bush. Concerned eyes surrounded her as she walked, yet they haunted her simultaneously.

Stop. Stop with the attention.

Attention was the last thing she could ask for. She shut her eyelids, and hid her face behind the brown mop that had formed from the seed of heartbreak. Her feet simply carried her lifelessly, like a mere car driving on the narrow roads, staring straight ahead, as if possessed. She blinked, and blinked again with trepidation. Every time her eyelids closed, even briefly, the twisted face of Shawn Mendes carved itself onto the black space she could see. Every time she heard the slightest thud, she was reminded of the cacophony of the crashed gold making contact harshly with the stone floor. Every time a stranger briefly made contact with her, unintentionally or with purpose, she shivered apprehensively, reeled back to the time the brutal man pinned her up against the grey walls, and allowed her to crash her head on the very same wall. She was also reminded of her patronising nightmare, where the very same man had touched her, in areas that gave her a feeling beyond pleasure. Her eyes lit up slightly at the thought of his hot breath on her sensitive neck, making her so submissive for her one lover, cowering in front of him, begging for the beautiful deed to be done, as he held her and kissed her over and over again.

However, it wasn't true.

But it felt so true. It felt so real. It felt....like everything would be okay.

What a filthy fib.

It wasn't going to be okay. As her mind aboarded the train of memories, with her very first visit, to the breaking of her most prized possession, it was written like runny ink emerging from a quill.

No, it will not be okay.
______________________________________
Dinah Jane Hansen sat on the red leather couch in her friend's living room, the caramel skin on her forehead wrinkling in apprehension, as she awaited her return. The room remained in complete silence, with the mere presence of Sofia and herself. Her concern for Camila was slightly overwhelming; she feared her emotional stability. Love wasn't always sunshine and rainbows, she knew. Oh, she knew it first-hand. Tears made their unwanted appearance, resting dangerously close to her red-rimmed waterline, as her mind was invaded with uncontrollable memories of the harsh, brutal phase that occured two years ago, in a fairly spacious house, with her ex-boyfriend. She shook slightly, the slightest vibration travelling through her body, but then transformed into violent trembles erratically shaking her whole frames, as she flew swiftly two years back.

He came home, stumbling drunkenly, slurred words exiting his mouth.

"Bitch," he said, his upper lip curled into a sneer, "Why are you here? You don't offer anything. Useless, you are. Useless."

A pungent smell radiated off his body. He had taken a rather pleasurable visit to the pub again. However, it was different this time. He had drunk too much.

Dinah looked at him, her pulse quickening, as she subconsciously shrunk her frame. However, with one deep breath of determination, she attempted to stand up to him.

"Oh yeah, Nela?" she questioned, chin held slightly upwards, shoulders slightly broad. "Then why are you even dating me?"

It was one of the worst choices she could have made.