The Boy Who Called Me His

The Boy Who Called Me His

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jul 4, 2016
She was destroyed by what society had done to her. She had decided it was easier to hate herself then love herself, that way she’d never get hurt. He looked at her like every woman wanted to be looked at. He kissed her like her lips were air and he couldn’t breath. She needed him He needed her But it wasn’t all that simple. ~~~ Text Copyright © Ljhoubert_™ 2015 The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. This story is published subject to the condition that is shall not be reproduced or re transmitted in whole or in part, in any manner, without the written consent of the copyright holder, and any infringement of this is a violation of copyright law. A single copy of the materials available in this story may be made, solely for personal, noncommercial use. Individuals must preserve any copyright or other notices contained in or associated with them. Users may not distribute said copies to others, whether or not in electronic form or hard copy, without prior written consent of the copyright holder of the materials.
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Her father thought he could cheat me. Borrow what wasn't his, disappear, and leave nothing but a trail of debt in his wake. Men like him never learn-there's always a cost, always someone left to bleed for their mistakes. He thought it would be him. Instead, it's her. His daughter. At first, she was nothing but a message. A way to make him suffer, even if he never came back to see it. I broke her down the way I break everything-piece by piece, scream by scream. I wanted her fear, her pain, the ruin in her eyes every time I came close. She hated me, and I fed on it. That's all I believed in: control, power, the reminder that I own what others abandon. But somewhere between her sobs and her defiance, she changed the rules. She fought me, and I should have killed her for it. Instead, I wanted more. She cried, and instead of silencing her, I listened. She looked at me, even in terror, and for the first time in my life I couldn't look away. I don't believe in love. I never have. Love is weakness, a lie people tell themselves before the knife comes out. But she... she's different. She's sharp where she should be soft. Brave when she should be broken. She makes me hunger in ways that no amount of blood or vengeance ever could. I meant to ruin her. To make her pay for the sins of her father. Now I want to claim her as mine. Not because of love-no, I don't use that word. I don't trust it. But because she drags something out of me I thought was dead. Something dangerous. She wasn't supposed to matter. But she does. And if I have to chain her, break her, and rebuild her until she finally sees me the way I see her, then so be it. She'll be my wife. My possession. My salvation. Even if I have to destroy her first.

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