Mature Content 17+ || Savage Wolves MC Book Three
Talia's been through hell and back. After suffering at the hands of Dmitri Petrov and his band of goons, she was left broken and ruined.
But, she isn't going to let that stop her from being the woman...
*If you or a someone you know has been affected by sexual violence, just know that I love you and I believe in you. You will get through this pain. You will become stronger. You will become the person you want to be. You are an incredible, strong, beautiful individual and can conquer anything and everything. Trigger Warning: Mentions of sexual assault*
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•Talia•
My head pounds when my eyes squint open to the sight of sunlight blinding me over my bed.
It feels as if I went on a bender, but I know I didn't drink a drop of liquor last night.
Withdrawal.
My stomach cramps as I fully awake to consciousness and I roll over onto my side, clutching my abdomen and trying with all my might not to pass out from the pain.
A bottle of water instead of a bottle of vodka sits on my nightstand and I take it, downing every last molecule before tossing it across the room to thud against the kitchen cabinet.
It does nothing to calm the burning within my chest or the cramping in my intestines, but it quenches my thirst for the time being.
A bottle of Vicodin lays forgotten in my nightstand, but I'm thinking it's about time I start taking them - if only to get me through this pain. This pain I know from experience will last for at least a week, if not more.
I flop over onto my stomach, careful not to press my lower half too tightly against the mattress for fear of making myself sick, and reach into the nightstand, pulling the bottle of Vicodin prescribed to me after the assault. I'd taken a few here and there afterwards, but I mostly drowned out my pain and suffering with way too much alcohol and the avoidance of people or triggers.
Popping one of the oval shaped white pills into my mouth, I dry swallow it, feeling the scratchy sensation travel down my throat.
Replacing alcohol with pills isn't ideal, but it's only to quell these withdrawal symptoms.
"It's not a new habit," I assert, out loud, as if saying it only in my head won't make it believable enough.
"It's not a new addiction," I whisper, trying to tell myself what I know to not be true. I've always had an addictive personality and I'm only five pills away from forming a habit.
I have to be careful. I can't fuck this up.
Closing my eyes, I drift in and out for the next hour, thankful I don't have anywhere to be. The Den doesn't require me to come in until the evening and I'm thankful. With the Vicodin swirling around in my head and altering everything, I don't think I could stand, let alone mix drinks for customers properly.
My thoughts switch to memories of the night before.
Of Ryder. The ride. The city. The fountain. Our near kiss.
