Chapter 3

Broken in...

The following week came and went, just like the first time. I sat, naked in my bed, trembling and crying, holding my phone, waiting for him. I didn’t know if I’d call the police or part my legs or both. The power he had over me was intoxicating, a vicious drug I couldn’t let go. I had cum as I believed I was being strangled to death. How can that happen and me not be damaged or wrong. There had to be something fucked up inside me, broken or ruined. So I waited, hour by hour, and finally cried myself to sleep, a dark ring around my neck, fading.

Much like last time, however, when I woke, I realized while he hadn’t came and raped me, he had came and visited. No mail this time, which would have been a relief. No. This time I knew he had came because in my fridge was a cup of yellow piss with a note on it. It simply read, “This is the only thing you deserve to drink”. I poured it out and sobbed, because he had been inside my house. Again. I hadn’t even heard him; he’d snuck in, just to taunt me. I knew how dangerous he was. I had lost my new job because of him. I wasn’t about to show up there with a bloodied nose and swollen bruise around my neck, barely able to speak above a whisper.

So I had stayed home, the victim. And now he was violating not just me, but my very own home. It didn’t stop there however. Indeed, it only got far worse. One morning there was cum splattered on my bathroom mirror. A pile of shit on the kitchen floor. Pee in my bedroom trash can. A wad of my panties used as toilet paper. Each day I wake, or come home to a fresh violation that said this place, and by extension me, belonged to him.

Waking up led to panic attacks as I searched my home. Returning from shopping, very much the same. My chest pounding, under the oppressive weight of what was coming next. I nearly collapsed when I found all my birth control pills opened and tossed in the toilet. Two days later it was my Klonopin and Zoloft that was gone. That day I couldn’t even leave the bed. I just shut down, didn’t eat, and literally pissed myself. I couldn’t function, couldn’t breathe, I literally couldn’t BE.

Thankfully that day passed but I barely functioned after that, minimal cleaning, upkeep, nothing mattered. I had given up. It couldn’t get worse. I was wrong, but I didn’t know that yet. I didn’t realize I still had more to lose. I got drunk one night and woke, soaked in piss. Some of it might have been from myself, but I think it was all his. My hair reeked, my t-shirt reeked, he’d defiled me. I barely even cried.

And then, that’s when he moved in.

It was that simple, one day, I’m piss soaked and barely functioning, the next, I’m coming home with beer and frozen dinners and the house is clean. Sparkling even. It had a sharp, and probably needed chemical smell to it, but it looked like a home and not a hovel that a broken cunt was living in. I just dropped everything as I entered, stunned, when I found him there, sipping some coffee. I cried and he came over and stroked my face, not even saying a word. He pulled me to the shower and stripped me. I honestly expected another violent bathroom rape. But there wasn’t one. Instead, he took me in the shower and washed me, my body, and my hair. Despite touching me all over, he never groped or pawed at me. Finally, clean, he pulled me out and helped me into a beautiful gown. I felt beautiful in it, and so confused.

I had no idea what was going on, but he sat me down and cooked a dinner, never speaking, neither of us. I honestly think I was in shock. I felt clean and cared for the first time in three weeks since he’d been fucking with things in my house. I just watched him, my stomach churning at the delicious smells. I felt human again. That was my mistake.

When he finished the meal, he fixed two plates, and poured wine at both settings. I can’t even begin to describe the emotions I had rushing over me, I both wanted to flinch and lean in to him. My eyes were literally watering as he took my hand and stood me up and kissed me deeply on my mouth. It was never, ever, a question of whether I’d give into that kiss. I melted instantly and it was perhaps the longest, deepest, and most intimate kisses of my life. He then stepped behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and tore my dress in half, dropping it to the floor. I was dumbfounded, as he next hurled me against the wall, sliding down it to the floor. I whimpered and sobbed as he kicked my stomach once, then dragged me over by the table again, shoving me on all fours.

Then my dinner was dropped before me. A dog dish. A dog dish full of dog food. I looked at him and asked him, begged him. He said I would always have a choice, as he pulled out that black cord once again. He smiled then and I cried, cried and leaned over and ate dog food for the first time in my live. He sat next to me, eating the delicious dinner, as I ate dog food. I should have fought, struggled, at least then maybe it would come to an end, even if a violent one. Instead I ate like a stupid bitch. His hand would wander to my nipples or probe my holes, and I just took it. Eventually, taking too much time, we both finished our meals.