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yet.”

FIVE

    One month later.  
    I didn’t know how long I’d been there. In his house. In his bed. It had been weeks. Days. Maybe even months. I wasn’t sure because time all ran together. I spent my days sleeping in his bed. The big bed he used to share with my mother. It was the only place he hadn’t fucked me while my mother was alive. But now that she was gone he seemed hell bent on fucking me there every chance he got.  
    I wasn’t a prisoner. At least that was what he said. But I was. He made me a prisoner with the drugs. He held them over my head. He kept me weak and desperate for them so I wouldn’t run again. When he left for work I didn’t try to run away. I could have. I could have ran and gone back to my home. To Shauna and the drugs. But I didn’t want to. The cocaine Jorge sold me was nothing compared to what Taylor had. He had the best and I knew I wouldn’t be able to function on anything else now.  
    And what was the point really? Why go back when what I needed was here? I had tried to run away from Taylor. I had managed to stay away for years. But he was right, it looked like fate would always send me back here. I would always end up in his arms, no matter how much I hated it. And now he knew I hated it.  
    He could make me cum, he could fuck me. But he knew I didn’t love him, even though he made me say it. He knew that the little girl who would have died for him was gone and in her place someone else. Someone broken, fractured beyond repair. Instead of trying to fix me, he chose to break me even more. And I let him. I let him rip me apart with his hands. With the knife. It was reminiscent of those times I hated so much, only now he had no audience. My mother wasn’t here to cheer him on. She was dead. And every day I spent with Taylor was a day that I envied her. She was free. And I was here, desperate and clinging to the sickness that made me run away in the first place.  
    I sat up and rubbed my face when I heard the front door slam. I only wore a shirt, a big over-sized one that Taylor had given me to wear. I’d worn nothing else since the first day I got here and he undressed me. I hadn’t worn underwear or a bra. Not even once. I hadn’t left the house either. I’d hardly even left this room, especially in the last week.  
    I’d become weaker, somehow. Desperate and crazy. So weak that once I got a bump, I was still a pathetic lump that barely even got up to eat. I would just lay in bed and revel in the high. Taylor would fuck me right after. He would make my body tremble with pleasure. Those were the only moments I looked forward to. Even when he was abusing me, when he was cutting at my skin with his knife and licking up my blood while he fucked me. He still always made me cum. Always. And those were the best times. When I was reveling in the short-lived high or orgasming around his cock. They were my only moments free from the torment. The only moments when I would splinter apart and become nothing, nothing but fractured pieces of hateful ecstasy.  
    “Faye baby.” He came into the room and set down his briefcase. “I missed you,” he said as he approached me. It was the same as always. Each day when he came home he acted like he loved me. He was gentle. He would cook me dinner, sometimes even hand feed me. But after that, that’s when the torture began.  
    There had been one or two nights where he had fucked me sweetly like he used to. But I hated those nights the most. I cried after he fell asleep on those days. When there was pain I could deal with it. I could accept how fucked up everything was. But when there wasn’t any I didn’t know how to cope with it. I didn’t know how to accept the reality of everything.
    I hadn’t seen Rhett since the day I left his apartment. He had called one time—that I knew of—to check on me. Taylor had made me suck his dick the whole time he talked on the phone. Forcing his cock down my throat over and over, making me choke