Prologue
The pain is like it always is. Unbearable.
The tears are like they always are. Real.
The desire is like it always is. Fiery.
The bond is like it always is. Unbreakable.
And the insanity of it all is like it always is. Consuming.
With every thrust into my body, my heart beats just a little faster while my soul dies a little inside.
How can a person feel so alive and as if they’re dying all at the same time?
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since I was fourteen. It’s also a question I’ve been trying to answer for just as long.
So far, all I’ve managed to come up with was that I was weak, along with being...deranged.
I mean, I had to be somewhat mentally dented to be here; to be doing what I was doing, right?
Something had to be wrong with me. I knew that. I knew there was something...damaged somewhere in my mind, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
I also learned that you didn’t have to come from a damaged home to be damaged. You can come from a happy home with both parents who loved each other, a brother who was in college to become a veterinarian, and a sister who was in college to become a medical research scientist, and still be...wrong.
When you’re damaged, though, you almost wished for a traumatic childhood you could blame your proclivities on. People sympathize with the damaged if they have a good reason for being damaged. There are support groups and counselors and all sorts of outreach programs where you can go and feel like you’re getting help. Or, simply, like you’re not alone.
But where do you go or who do you turn to when you don’t have a good reason for all the darkness that resides inside your head? Where does an eighteen-year-old high school senior that comes from a loving family go to for that kind of help?
I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to, and so, I ran.
I ran away from my thoughts. I ran away from my feelings. I ran away from the real me.
I ran, and ran, until the day I got caught.
Or, rather, until the day someone caught me.
After years of confusion and shame, one boy noticed me and saw right through me until I had become a helpless outlet for his own personal demons. We were both fourteen the first time he grabbed me by the arm and had whispered in my ear, “I see you.”
I remember being terrified, but...excited, too. I remember the hope that bloomed in my chest at the possibility that I’d finally found someone I could share myself with. Little had I known that, the boy I thought would become my confidant, would be the boy who would turn me into his prisoner.
After a full year of torturous games, we had been only fifteen when I had first let him use me with no regard. I had caved to the darkness and had spilled all my wicked, depraved desires all over the floor at his feet. And for three years, he’s been picking them up, one by one, and toying with them however he saw fit.
The pain was welcomed. The tears were genuine. The desire was brutal. The bond was unhealthy. And the insanity was the only thing that made it all bearable.
My face was pressed up against the wall and my jeans were pushed down around my knees. My palms were flat against the wall, but I hadn’t bothered to use them to protect my face. I let the force of his will throw me up against the wall and I stayed there like a good little weakling as he yanked my pants down and slammed his length into my body.
There should have been shame, and if I were normal, there would have been.
I should have stopped him, and if I weren’t so fucked in the head, I would have.
It had hurt, like it always did. And just like I always did, I welcomed it. I welcomed the punishing grip he had on my hips. I welcomed the brutal invasion that would leave me aching. I welcomed the maddening grunts expelled against my ear. I welcomed the crazed way he couldn’t control himself once he got his hands on me.
I welcomed the insanity.
Chapter 1
Mystic~
It was hard to escape the realities of adulthood when we were only six months away from graduating high school and the big, bad, real world was just looming on the