the surface to swirl the bubbles over my body so he can’t see me.
“Don’t wear a bra with the dress. I want to be able to see those rosy nipples through the fabric.”
“But that means everyone else would see me, Kendrick. I thought … I thought you didn’t want me to be a whore?” Stupid me. I asked a question. I’m never supposed to ask questions.
In a blink of an eye his hand is around my throat, and he squeezes, bringing us nose to nose. I don’t fight him. I should fight him, I know that, but after so long fighting the same man and the same abuse, fighting gets tiring.
My soul hardens. My heart is numb.
And the only man who can bring me back to life is Sebastian.
“If I’m asking you to do something for me, that isn’t you being a whore—that is you following a command. You’re a whore if you do it on your own, without my permission, but that isn’t the case, is it, my sweet?” His thumb presses against my jugular, and I gasp, my body arching out of the tub, and his eyes don’t fall to my exposed breasts like a normal man.
He watches me, waiting for me to defy him, but I relent. I always relent. “Yes, Kendrick. I’m sorry,” I say through choked words.
Kendrick kisses the side of my temple and sighs. “I accept your apology. Don’t question me again. I can understand where you would seem confused. Part of me is glad you do not want to be a whore. It shows how much you are worth.”
Worth.
I don’t like the sound of that either.
He glances at his watch and sighs. “Forty-five minutes, my sweet. You need to hurry. I want to get there and find parking before it gets too busy.” He lets go of my throat, and I inhale a lungful of air, sinking into the tub. Tears prickle my eyes, but I lock my emotion down. I can’t let Kendrick see my weakness.
He’d capitalize on it.
He enjoys tears too much.
“Yes, Kendrick. I’ll be ready.”
“Good, my sweet.” He leaves the bathroom door open, leaving me motionless in the tub.
When I hear his footsteps descend the marble steps, I bury my face in my hands and cry. I wish some days he would kill me. This isn’t a life. I am a puppet, a punching bag, something below human, but worth something to him. I hate Kendrick with each passing breath that leaves my lips.
After I add a few tears to the bathtub, I gather myself and find the frozen composure again. I sit up and pull the drain out of the tub, then turn on the shower to wash off the bubbles. My mind drifts to Sebastian. I bet he is happy and in love with someone right now, someone who isn’t me.
My eyes burn, threatening to break the composure that is so hard for me to seek, and I swallow it down. If Kendrick sees my swollen eyes, I’ll get punished. Kendrick treats me too well for me to be sad over everything.
His words.
I hope Sebastian finds love and moves on from me. This is the direction of my life; this is what is meant to be for me. I turn off the shower, a bit depressed at the thought of the Sebastian with someone else, but it helps me reach into that frozen, numb part of me.
Opening the curtain, I step out on the soft carpeted rug and snag a towel out of the cabinet. The towels are soft and fluffy, luxurious against the skin. I turn and look in the mirror above the vanity. I turn my head left and right and inspect the abrasion on my neck. It isn’t too bad, a soft pink that will fade in an hour or so, but I hate that he always feels the need to leave a mark.
I let the clip in my hair go and watch the long dark locks fall over my shoulders in messy waves. I realize there are worse circumstances. I know there are people bound and being sold to others to be used for sexual pleasures and in rundown houses. I try to look at my situation as luck.
Sure, Kendrick is an abusive asshole, but I live in a beautiful home. I am well fed. The ankle bracelet is a bit brutal, but I have had more freedom in a week than I have ever had before. I need to be thankful of my