Prologue
Daisy
One year ago
I clutched the sheet beneath me as if it were a lifeline, silent sobs wracking my body as pain and betrayal lanced through me like a spear. I wouldn’t give Paul the satisfaction of knowing that he was degrading me, that he didn’t even have to touch me to hurt me. But he was touching me right now, like a brutal, hate-filled maniac. Holding me face down on what used to be our bed, fucking me without concern for the physical and emotional damage he was inflicting on me.
Tears leaked out of my eyes, soaking the bed beneath me. My body jarred violently with his every thrust as he fucked me without mercy, like an animal who’d lost control and only cared about causing damage. So full of hate. It might not have been a violation in his eyes, but it was rape to me. It didn’t matter that we’d once been married. We’d been legally divorced for two weeks now, and still he thought he had control over me, over my actions.
Over my life.
“You’re mine, bitch,” he grunted while slamming his cock into my ass. “A divorce means nothing. You’ll always be mine, Daisy. And if I get so much as a hint that you’re fucking someone else I’ll kill you both.”
Threats, always the same threats. And I knew they weren’t hollow. He meant every word that he uttered. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will myself somewhere else, but the violence of his pounding brought what he was doing to me right back to the moment. God, I hated him. And I hated myself for being weak against him. I bit into my bottom lip to keep from responding to his threats. I already knew that Paul liked inflicting pain, and any verbal comments from me would just fuel the fire.
“What’s wrong, bitch?” The hands clutching my hips dug into me, causing pain. “You want my cock in your mouth again, is that it?” His laugh sounded demonic. “You should never have refused me, you fat cow, you should never have thought a divorce would keep me from you. I’m the only man willing to fuck your fat ass, so you might as well accept it.”
No! No! I swore to myself. I’d never accept it. Never accept him. There were better men out there, men who’d love me for who I was, who would protect me from men like him, someone who only knew how to take and take and maim and ruin while he was doing it. How could I have ever thought that I loved him? In the beginning it had been good, so good. He’d been caring and attentive, all the way up until he’d put the ring on my finger.
Then I’d become a possession. Something he owned, like one of his cars.
I tasted blood and didn’t care. It was minor compared to the beating I’d taken right before Paul had ripped my clothes off of me and forced me to my knees. He’d forced me to do all the things that I’d loved doing in the beginning. But as time had gone on, he’d changed, slowly becoming the monster that was rutting behind me now. And then I’d discovered the drugs he’d been using, and realized why he’d changed. I’d made the mistake of confronting him, and that had been the first time he’d snapped and beaten me unconscious.
A hand in my hair snapped my neck back until I could barely breathe. His grunts turned louder, his breathing heavier, and I knew he was about to come. His sound of release made me sick. I felt his cock swell inside me, and then hot poison was filling up my rectum. As his convulsions died down, he gradually released my hair and pulled out of me.
“Take that, bitch.” He gave me a shove, which sent me flying further up the bed. I collapsed, thankful that it was over. “A divorce means nothing, you got that?” I refused to answer him, letting the tears fall silently. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to make yourself presentable by then.” I could feel his gaze moving over me.”
Tomorrow? It would have been our sixth anniversary. I wondered if Paul was aware of that. Well, I had a gift for him. I didn’t plan on being there when he came back. I’d divorced him to get away from him, from his control and unpredictability. I was tired of walking around on eggshells whenever he was near. There was no way I was going to let him continue to be in my life. I was stronger than that. I was better. Today was the last day Paul was going to touch me, the last time I was going to let his toxic presence near me.
He hadn’t broken me.
His movements revealed that he was getting dressed. I just lay there, bruised and trembling, but not defeated. When Paul was gone, I’d pick myself up as I’d done many times before, get a scolding shower to wash away his touch, tend to my cut lip, and pack only what I couldn’t live without. Then I’d leave without a backward glance. The divorce settlement had put a lot of money into my personal account, so I could get whatever I needed once I reached my destination.
Wherever that was.