Lightning.

Lightning bolts sear through my head. I roll over, chasing relief from the cool side of the pillow. Yelping instead from the burning in my arm. Agony like I’ve never known before surges through my forehead, squeezing behind my ears and down my neck.

Sweat dampens my fingers massaging my temples. Maybe Advil will help. Or some food. Or a shower. Dread swells in my chest. I’ve never been in so much pain. What if nothing works?

The mattress dips, and I tip toward the center. Someone’s with me. Fear races through me like a wild fire. I have no idea who’s in my bed.

“Good morning.”

An unfamiliar hand caresses over my hip bone, trying to tug me against him. I lurch toward the edge, scrambling off the mattress. Slamming down onto the cold tile with my foot tangled in the thick blanket. “Stay away from me!”

“Jesus, Cat! Are you okay?”

No.

Who’s Cat? Tremors engulf me as my mind races. Who am I?

I don’t know him. I don’t know this room. I don’t know…anything.

My fingers twist the white t-shirt I’m somehow wearing. With nothing else. This isn’t right. I sleep in...I have no idea.

He towers over me as I lay sprawled on the floor. His gaze lingering on my nakedness before drifting lazily to my eyes. “Come here.”

I slap away his outstretch hand. “Don’t touch me.”

My head whips against the ceramic from his smack across my cheek. The skin hot and burning from the force. From the humiliation.

Drake would never hit me.

A flash of memory before the idea fizzles out. Tangled in a cobweb of thoughts that I can feel but can’t quite reach. Already vanished when I grasp for them.

“I said come here.”

His fists curl around my biceps, and he jerks me up with him as he stands. Giving me a hard shake. Immune to my tears landing on his bare chest.

“I don’t understand.” I hate the tremble in my whisper. Almost as bad as the ambiguity causing my panic. “What do you want from me?”

His brown eyes flame with aggression, boring into mine. “Everything.”

In the blackness of my mind I hear one word over and over again. Run.

I’m scared to stay but even more afraid to leave. Because I don’t know how or where or what. “Who are you?”

“Oh god. Not this again.”

Anger clenches his jaw, and he shoves me away in disgust. But at least he lets me go. I hug the wall with my back and try to yank my shirt lower. Needing to cover my body. My vulnerability. “What?”

“Why do you always do this?”

Must be a game. Or a joke. It seems like we’re talking in riddles. “Do what?”

While he drives his fingers through his spiky blond hair, I take in the room. White furniture. Sky blue bedspread. Decorative sea shells hanging between the bay windows. A lighthouse sculpture filling the corner next to a small wicker sofa with yellow and red pillows.

“Freak out when we go on vacation. For once, I’d like to be a normal couple enjoying a week at the beach without you fucking losing it.”

Everything he says sounds so outlandish. But matches the place we’re in. I blow out a deep breath. Maybe I can figure this out. If I could just have a minute to think. If my head would just stop pounding so hard. “You’re my boyfriend?”

“Oh no, baby.” A smirk curls his lips, and he zeros in on my trembling legs. The proof of his desire growing in his boxer briefs. “I’m Michael. Your husband.”

I shake my head. Only one thing I’m absolutely certain of in this nightmare. “I’d never marry a man like you.”

He’s on me before I can jump out of the way. Slamming into me so hard we dent the drywall and knock over the lamp. His weight stealing my breath. His fingers digging into my throat.

“You're mine now, and I’m going to love showing you how much.”

I claw at his hand smothering my oxygen. Fighting the stars bursting in my vision. Jerking away from his fingers cupping between my legs.

“Good morning, Mr. Wire! I’m here to make your breakfast.”

A woman’s voice, bright with a joyful melodic tone, floats from the other side of the closed white door, and he stills. Allowing me to collapse to the floor after he steps back.

“Damn it! She’s early.”

The sting of the icy tile on my butt is nothing compared to agony in my neck and head and arm. I tuck my legs against my chest, trying to breathe. Trying to keep from breaking down.

After pulling on the pants strewn across the chair, he strides out of the room. I scramble up and race to the dresser. Yanking open drawer after drawer. Empty. I move to the closet. Metal hangers clank together from me jerking the curtain across the bar. A pink dress hangs from one of the big white hooks. Soft fabric under my fingers with the hint of a clean scented cologne that makes my heart ache harder than the rest of my abused body. So familiar I want more. I want home. I want him.

Tattooed fingers crush my wrist and spin me around.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Run.

His other hand balls into a fist. Ready to dole out a punishment I don’t understand. Or deserve. I have to calm down. I have to calm him down. “I’m sorry. I was just looking for clothes since we have company.”

“She’s not company. She’s the housekeeper.”

He rolls his eyes. A superior attitude toward her and me. But at least he relaxes a bit. Accepting my subservience to him. I offer a small smile. Peaceful and soothing. Calm and cool. Nothing to anger him. Anything to keep him from blowing up again. “I still need something to wear.”

“Fine. Put it on.”

“Thank you.” Pitiful that I have to act so grateful to him for allowing me to wear clothes. But I can do this. I’ll get dressed. Figure out what’s going on. Understand what’s really happening.

My fingers brush the hem of my top as he watches. Waiting for me to be completely naked. My confidence wanes. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know how to do this.

The answer is out of my hands. He advances on me. Evil turned to lust. Caging me against the door frame. The rough edges of the decorative coral fingerlings dig into my back.

"I love you and want to take care of you, baby girl. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I've never felt dirtier than with his hand caressing my cheek. Filthy from his fingers trailing down my arm, circling my wrist to yank me against him. I should be eager for my husband. Not repulsed from his lips on my mouth. Disgusted by his erection grinding into my belly.

Adrenaline burns through my taut muscles, and I push against his chest. Wrenching my face away from his. “Please! Stop!”

“Never.”

I gag from his whisper in my ear. His fists rip at my hair as he walks us backwards, pushing me onto the bed once my calves bump the mattress. I twist away when he bends over to slide off his jeans, but he’s too quick. Catching my ankle. Dragging me backward. Flipping me over.

Both of our chests heave in the stand-off. If he’s not going to do anything, I will. I fly up again, kicking at his thighs with the bottom of my feet. Trying to topple him. Utterly useless. He’s too big. Too strong. Too determined.

Huge hands palm my thighs, opening my legs to him, and I cry out. The bones so close to snapping under his grip. With my fight muted for a second, he yanks up my shirt. Powerless to stop him from pulling my top over my head. Unable to keep him from shoving the fabric, damp from my sweat, into my mouth.

He kneels between my knees. “God you really are fucking beautiful.”

Only a whimper escapes from behind the material balled between my teeth. He covers my body with his. Kissing across my stomach before biting my nipple. I arch up from the torment radiating out from the sensitive skin. Which makes a gleeful grin darken his face, and he rips his teeth across my other breast.

I attempt one last escape. Pummeling him with all my strength. My fists raining down on his slick back. With absolutely no effect. He catches my wrists and holds them above my head with one hand while the other moves to my neck. Squeezing my wind pipe closed.

"Damn it Cat. Fucking relax. You’re going to enjoy this."

His grip tightens around my throat. Suffocating my final gasp of oxygen. Dimness stealing my vision. He's going to take me whether I'm conscious or not. Whether I say yes or not.

I have to protect myself from further abuse. But why does being strong feel so weak? Why do I feel like I'm giving up instead of getting by? Why does surviving feel like dying?

With all my energy spent, I stop struggling and let my legs fall open. Forcing myself not to cry out when he pushes inside me. The tears on my cheeks the only wetness he generates. The rest of me raw and dry and empty. Ripped apart by his penis and his brutality.

"Fuck, you feel amazing. Just like I knew you would."

I can't stop the sob in my chest. Proof we've never made love before. He's not my husband. I'm not his wife. I have no idea who I am, but I know I'm nothing to him but a conquest. He's nothing to me but a monster.

My head falls to the side. Grateful he doesn't notice when I jerk the cloth out of my mouth. Just pumps into me over and over.

"You like that cock, don't you baby girl? You love me fucking you with my huge cock."

He's not even talking to me. Stroking his own ego. I'm just a hole to him.

A blue water bottle sits on the nightstand. Seems so familiar yet I can’t remember why. Condensation rolls down the plastic. Two droplets escaping before they pool onto the white wood. Glistening when the sunshine peeks through the curtains billowing from the force of him shaking the bed. The headboard vibrating as he slams into me again and again.

More beads slide off, so lucky to be free from what holds them.

“Fuck your pussy is amazing.”

Another drop.

“So fucking tight.”

Two drops.

“I’m going to love ruining this pussy.”

Three.

“You’re not even going to be able to walk after me fucking you so good.”

Four.

“You’re going to be begging me all night.”

Five.

"Fuck, baby. I'm going to come. I'm going to come."

I squeeze my eyes closed, but nothing shuts out his straining groan in my hair. Never wishing more for a condom as his release floods between my legs.

“Fuck that was good.”

I snatch up the blanket as soon as he rolls off and curl onto my side. Sick with shame and disgust and fear. Unwilling to look at him sprawled on his back sighing in satisfaction. Refusing to let him see me cry.

We lay in silence except for my teeth chattering. My quivering body rustling the sheets. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out, and I race to the bathroom. Twisting the tiny lock. Pushing the little brass stool in front of the thin white door.

Finally breaking down because I know that lock and that stool will never stop him if he wants in.

When he wants in.

I turn on the shower. Needing to muffle the sound of my tears. Desperate to wash away his touch and his smell and his taste. To cleanse myself of his viciousness.

But it doesn’t work. He lingers on me no matter how much I scrub. Scraping my skin with the washcloth and coconut body wash, but I can still feel his rough hands on my body. His musky cologne in my nose. His bitter taste on my tongue.

My hands won’t stop shaking, and I fumble with the miniature shampoo bottle. Flinching from looking up and catching sight of his feet outside the glass door.

He steps inside, a smug smile on his face. His arousal clear. His intentions clearer.

“Suck me off, baby.”

I can’t.

No matter how strong or tough or resilient I want to be, I can’t physically take him into my mouth. Rage burns in his expression from my refusal.

Cruel fingers dig into my tender arm, and he spins me around. Slamming me against the cold wall. His chest hot, pressing on my back. His lips on my ear.

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass Cat?”

He kicks against the side of my foot, separating my legs. Anger surges through me. I’ve never been more afraid but he only wins my body by force. I’ll never let him take my mind. Regardless how broken it may be. “If you were really my husband, you would know wouldn’t you?”

Bright lights fill the blackness as he smashes my head into the tile. My body shuddering from him stroking over my butt and gliding to touch my most intimate place.

“No, you little bitch, I don’t think you have.”

Circling with his fingertip. Pressing but not pushing inside. “Do you know how much it would hurt to have my fat cock rammed inside your tiny little hole? Breaking through your resistance in one deep push that would rip you open? The agony of me pumping into you over and over and coming inside your torn up asshole?”

His hand slides forward, invading me where I’m already sore and swollen from his assault. I squirm, climbing up the wall, gliding onto my tiptoes to gain some relief. But his other hand clamps on my shoulder. Forcing me down to plunge his fingers farther. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but a whimper still escapes.

“So if you think this hurts baby girl, keep on fucking with me. Keep on denying me, and you’ll really understand what pain is.” He jams in another finger, and I can’t hold back my yelp. “Now get down and show me what a good girl you really can be.”

A sting radiates on my wet skin from his hand smacking my left cheek. “You better not fucking bite me either.”

I nod from his demand, and he steps back. My entire body throbbing in pain. I slide down the ceramic and turn before falling onto my knees. I don’t want to see his face. Which is even worse than his penis pointing at me. Seeking entry by tapping against my lips. Forcing access by yanking my hair until my mouth falls open.

He rams himself to the back of my throat. The skin salty and pungent from his earlier release. I gag against the tip, tears stinging my eyes from him choking me.

I have no choice.

I suck.

Hard and deep. Like I mean it. Like I really want him to be satisfied. He loosens his punishing grip, letting me take the lead. Letting me breathe.

This is temporary. I will do this, and anything else he wants, to buy time. Figure out what’s wrong with me. I will brush my teeth and gargle a whole bottle of mouth wash and take ten showers and I’ll be fine. I’ll be okay. I have a plan. I’m in control.

“Swallow it all you dirty whore. Swallow my come down your throat you filthy slut.”

Until his words slash through my plan. I’m wrong. I’m not in control. I’m a whore and a slut. Dirty and filthy with this man’s penis inside me. In my mouth. And I can’t make it stop. I can’t make him stop.

I jerk away, unable to hold back the bile racing up from my stomach and retch into the drain. My stomach lurching again and again until only long strands of saliva dangle from my lips. With panting and sobbing I can’t control. Even when he rears back and kicks me in the ribs.

I slide across the porcelain, slamming into the bench seat, and curl into a ball. Lying in disgusting water swirling with vomit, come, and dirt. Wishing he would just kill me. Knowing he won’t. Not with his cheerful whistle saturating the steamy air.