The Beast and Me by D. S. Wrights Read Free Book Online Page B

doing it now again, but I couldn’t hold back for long. No, I didn’t cry. I whimpered and then... I moaned.
    His reaction was instant and... inside of me.
    He filled me up completely. I could sense him hit a resistance that wouldn’t break without injuring me. This feeling, being barely able to take...
    That wasn’t human was it? How can I write it like that?
    I heard him growl and it gave me goose bumps that panicked down my spine.
    Of course I thought of the last time we met. My heart, my lungs, my whole body never hurt that much and it reacted to me: lifting my hips towards him. My own movements made me gasp.
     
    It wasn’t human. No way. He just fucked me like an animal. Like a boxer hitting his punching ball. And there was no way to keep my voice silent. My throat still hurts. It wasn’t long, but still felt like an eternity.
    Everything, every muscle is sore, but I still want more. I feel so worn out, and still so restless. He beat me up with his relentless thrusts and the sounds he made, scratched my skin like his claws had days before. I don’t know if he never had... or if it had been so long... or if he wanted me that badly.
    Maybe that is why he lost control the last time.
    He definitely lost it this time as well. I can’t describe how he made me feel... like I had never truly sensed anything until then. It felt like almost breaking my back as he pushed himself so deep inside of me that his hands landed on mine, while he hurt me. It was oddly intimate and easing that short high pain. I felt like I was threatened to break, but I didn’t care, because he pushed me further and further, making me exhale a “Yes” as I felt his breath next to my face.
    He made me come with him.
    I think... I never before really had... I never thought that I would... like it like that until...
    As soon as he had caught his breath they told him to back off through the speakers.
    I collapsed, physically, psychologically.
    They made him leave me.
    But did he really care? Or did he just do... what needed to be done and that was it?
     
    Today no one spoke to me and I didn’t go to the gym.
    I got my meals.
    I can barely move so I stay in bed. And I sleep.

Day 31
    I’m fine... I mean... I still feel sore, but I can move and crawl up the walls, so to speak.
    White visited me to check on me, and he brought me another book: Charlotte Bronte’s ‘Jane Eyre’.
    Yeah, really: they don’t even buy new books for me; they bring me my old ones.
    I couldn’t help but comment on that with nothing more than ‘guilty’. Now, somehow it’s so obvious that all these stories are somehow the same. Looking at these books, even though I love them so much, makes me feel so different about myself. I always thought of myself as a non-superficial person, who uses her brain cells instead of giving in to a romantic illusion that someday I will meet a guy that turns out to be my Prince Charming. It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, and maybe I won’t even get the chance to be my own heroine, or someone else’s in their eyes. Because... it’s been a month and I’m still here.
     
    “Can I at least get my iPod?” I asked White when he turned to leave and tried to sound obedient, play the music he wants to hear.
    I know he likes that and his facial expression agreed with me. Maybe I can make this work for my benefit, but the thought alone makes me shudder.
    “Are you ready for the next session?” was his answer.
    I forced myself to create a pause before I said yes.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like being... forced. ... This verb... I hate it, but, I can’t romanticize this. I don’t want to say that it’s okay.
    But it was... it was different. I’m sure that there’s something wrong with me. It wasn’t my first time, you know, but I never... got there .
     
    He has a conscience. Not White, but you know who. I wrote how he reacted seeing me again, how he behaved because of my scars. He was sorry. I’m sure he’s sorry