Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance

by Kristen Proby

  You’re the only thing I have, No One. Only you know the true facts. Only you understand what I’ve done to survive. How I gave up a piece of myself to protect what I have left. How he can hurt my body but he can no longer hurt my soul.

  I’ve learned to manipulate him. He still beats me—my God, he finds new ways every day—but after all this time, he promised he would’ve broken me by now.

  The opposite is true.

  I’m stronger now than I’ve ever been.

  I’m older now.

  I’m wiser now.

  And I finally understand what my mother tried to teach me.

  There is power in listening, watching, observing. Alrik is a snivelling cesspool of evil, but he has me trapped. While I look for ways to kill him, I control him…little by little. Inch by inch, I win an extra meal for being polite. I undermine his abuse by being obedient.

  He hasn’t broken me.

  He will never break me.

  And soon, I will be free.

  Possession of Alrik

  ONE & A HALF YEARS

  Dear No One,

  A year and a half…

  My mother…she’ll have moved on by now. My friends will be halfway through their degrees at university. Their lives progressed while mine has regressed.

  Am I even a girl anymore? I don’t know. All I know is pain. I was strong for so long. I set up home deep, deep inside me. I had safe sanctuary to flee to when he came for me.

  But yesterday…he broached my inner kingdom and invited his friends to break me.

  They didn’t succeed.

  But they did succeed in something else.

  It kills me to admit this to you, No One…but I…I’ve been as brave as I can. I’ve held on for so long.

  I’m tired.

  When does living become the wrong choice and death the right one? When does taking your own life become wiser than letting someone else destroy it?

  I don’t want to die because I’m weak.

  I want to die because it’s the last thing I can do to win.

  He wouldn’t have me anymore. I would take away his power.

  Suicide could be the final rebellion and one act he couldn’t prevent.

  Do you think taking my life would be weak? Do you believe I’ve withstood enough? Have I endured enough broken bones to prove my desire to keep living?

  I’m a slave, No One.

  A slave to his whims even while I curse his very creation.

  He’s scarred me, ruined me, and now, he’s sharing me as if I’m worth nothing.

  I’m worth everything.

  And I’ve finally had enough.

  Possession of Master A

  TWO YEARS

  Dear No One,

  You’ve been there for me through every cut and concussion. You’ve listened to my nightmares, and held my hand while that bastard made me bleed.

  So many times you’ve listened and hugged and been there. But did you ever think you’d have to listen for two years?

  Two.

  Years.

  I’ve been with this awful monster two years.

  I have nothing else to say. Nothing else to give.

  Six months ago, I reached my limit. I shut down whatever was left inside and decided on death or delirium. Death if I could cheat his fun at hurting me. Delirium if couldn’t run to my grave.

  But somehow…he knew.

  One day, the knives in the kitchen were in the butcher block like always, tempting me closer and closer; the next, they’d vanished.

  The curtain cords, the household tools, electrical appliances—anything that could’ve aided in my suicide magically disappeared.

  He did it to keep me weak.

  But it didn’t work. He reminded me that I’ve lasted this long. I can last longer. Why should I die? He’s the one who deserves to meet his maker and pay for all that he’s done.

  And he will pay.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  It’s taken a long time but he doesn’t suspect me of treason anymore. I stopped outwardly fighting, I…obeyed. But not because he broke me.

  Oh, no.

  I obeyed because I’m smarter than him. I’m patient enough to bide the perfect time.

  It doesn’t matter that I’ve become a master of sleeping while chained, breathing while bound, and living while beaten.

  I’ve done things I’m proud of. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But ultimately, none of it matters.

  I felt things before, No One. I still believed in fantasies like hope and home and happiness. Now, all I believe in is numbness, the clinical assessment I manipulate my master with, and the ticking time bomb inside me that could detonate at any moment.

  Gone is the vain teenager who thought she would rule the world. My bones do their best to tiptoe from my skinny flesh. My eyes vacant and cold. The hair-cut he gave me has grown back tattered as a rag doll.

  I don’t care that he’s taken everything. There’s still one thing he’ll never have.

  Two years without a word.

  My voice is his holy grail and my ultimate fuck you. He will never earn it. Not that he’ll stop trying.

  Nine months ago, Master A broke my leg just to hear me scream. He earned that one. I couldn’t stop it. And yes, you heard that right. I stopped calling him Alrik when he…you know what? It doesn’t matter.

  All that matters is today is our anniversary.

  Two years.

  It will be our last anniversary.

  That I promise you.

  Chapter Eight

  Pimlico

  “Get on your fucking knees, Pim.”

  My bruises bellowed, but I wouldn’t give him another reason to hit me. My kneecaps popped as I gingerly did as I was told.

  Living in this house with him? It was perpetual purgatory.

  I hated every damn second, but I hated waking up the most. At least asleep, I had some freedom. Free to be outside again. Laugh again. Run far, far away again.

  He was a bored asshole with nothing better to do than torment me. He didn’t go to work. He didn’t have staff apart from a cleaning crew that came once a week and a chef delivery service at six p.m. every day. His funds were unlimited. He had the power to get away with everything.

  In the beginning, I had no idea what made him tick or why he treated me so terribly. But two years was a long time, and I’d learned quickly. Every strike, every lash, every horrendous night spent beneath him gave me clues on how to survive.

  Answering back was not an option. Running, screaming, disobeying—they all earned me more pain than I could stand.

  But observation.

  That was my arsenal.

  At first, knowing his gait changed from smooth to choppy meant he’d rather whip me than fuck me didn’t help in the slightest. I couldn’t avoid whatever he had planned. It didn’t matter if his voice told me his mood or what torture recipes he plotted.

  But as time crept onward, it forewarned me. I fortified myself better, numbed my body, and won just by breathing. I began to understand who he was past the whips and chains and found him incredibly lacking. He was the epitome of a disgusting, spineless coward who kept me in line with violence.

  I’d entered his home believing I could remain strong.

  That was before the first rape.

  The first beating.

  The first kick and punch and whipping.

  My disobedience lasted longer than I thought, but it all screeched to a stop when he showed me the photos of what happened to his last girl.

  Dead.

  He killed her.

  However, as he wrapped yet another rope around my body to hold me down, he murmured that I wouldn’t end up the same as her. He’d paid quadruple for me what he’d paid for her. I truly was his most expensive toy, and even though he wanted to destroy my spirit and shackle me to his soul, he wouldn’t kill me.

  I was worth more alive than dead.

  It was a horrifying conclusion. And my defiance quickly switc
hed from blatant to hidden. When I averted my eyes in submission, I really denied him the right to read me. When I pre-empted him by dropping to my knees, I refused him the chance to beat me.

  And while he made me do tasks completely naked, my mind wrapped itself in clothing full of retribution and revenge.

  I’d have one shot at killing him. Just one.

  And even if I did succeed, I had no guarantee I could escape without being smart. Everything in this house was on an electronic system. If I killed him without learning that code, I would die here. I refused to share a crypt with this rapist.

  “We have something to celebrate. Don’t you agree?” He stalked around me with his narrow chin held high. “Two years, my dear. I can imagine at your tender age that’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had.”

  This isn’t a relationship, you pig.

  My upper lip twitched in disgust as I dropped my gaze to the sheepskin rug.

  Unfortunately, he’d seen my facial slur.

  His fist struck the side of my head. “Don’t fucking give me attitude, Pim! Not on our anniversary.”

  I tumbled sideways, shaking away throbbing stars, forcing my body back onto my knees before he kicked me to regain my pose. Ignoring the sudden headache, I catalogued his mood. Everything spoke to me these days—not just his demeanour but his chosen wardrobe, selected watch, even the way he styled his hair. Each was a clue to his disposition.

  As he strolled around me, prattling about how his drive into the city was good and whatever business he concluded went in his favour, I looked at his shoes (black loafers meant he was carefree and confident). I glanced at his trousers (light denim indicated his visit to town wasn’t entirely work related). My eyes trailed to his wrist and the gaudy gold Rolex (he wanted to show off today and flash his superiority). Finally, I snuck a look at the baby blue long-sleeved shirt (relaxed but preppy). However, the unbuttoned linen jacket was not part of his usual repertoire (he wanted to impress but still show indifference).

  To who?

  I didn’t like things I couldn’t understand.

  Had he dressed up for our ‘anniversary,’ or did he have guests coming tonight?

  My heart curled into its shell at the thought. When he’d first given me to his friends, Darryl, Tony, and Monty, I’d thrown up not only from the horror at being used by four men, but also from the repeated blows to my belly.

  Ever since then, the sharing was often. I didn’t have a choice. But at least his arrogance and those of his friends gave me a shelter in which to shut down and hide in. They could have my body, but while I floated in a world, not quite here and not quite there, I was able to keep my soul intact, and my voice forever denied to them.

  He yanked a hand through his spiky blond hair. “Were you a good girl while I was gone?”

  You know the answer to that, you bastard.

  I glowered at the wall.

  For some reason, whenever he left on errands, he was so sure I’d never find a way out, he didn’t bind me like he did at night. The first few instances he’d left me alone, I’d commandeered the knives in the kitchen, even scurried a few blades away with hope of killing him in his sleep.

  But when he’d returned, he’d known exactly what I’d done. Fisting my hair, he’d dragged me through the house, collecting the three butcher knives I’d tucked in secret places. After rounding up my arsenal, he’d carted me to a private security room in the garage hidden behind a piece of drywall and revealed how he’d known.

  Every inch of his property was recorded.

  How had I not seen any cameras?

  Not one blind spot or unreported room.

  At the time, my heart had grabbed a spade and dug a hole so deep and cavernous inside, I feared I’d never climb back out.

  But I had. Because I had no choice.

  “Ah now, Pim, don’t be like that. I’ve been gone for three hours…surely, you must’ve missed me.”

  Like I’d miss ebola.

  I narrowed my gaze, risking a look at him.

  The moment we made eye contact, he smirked. “Still refusing to speak, I see. You can clamp your lips together, hell, you can rip out your tongue, but I hear you screaming at me. I hear your retorts even if you don’t say them aloud.”

  I hate you.

  I hate you.

  I hate you.

  I hoped he’d heard those; the decibels vibrated through my body for any deaf or blind person to feel.

  He chuckled, ducking to my level on my knees. His fingertip traced the line of my jaw, deliberately pressing the bruise he’d left there last night. “You know…if you’d just spoken to me from the beginning, I might’ve been a little nicer to you.”

  Bullshit.

  I wrenched my face away from his touch.

  He sucked in an angry breath. His hand dropped to my naked chest, pinching my nipple. “I might’ve given you clothes, at least.”

  I don’t believe you.

  He wouldn’t. He had no compassion and only lived to hurt.

  The morning of my welcome, he’d stripped me of my white dress and never given it back. Once stolen, I had nothing. No clothes existed for me in any of the wardrobes of his twelve-bedroom estate. When I’d tried to commandeer one of his t-shirts, he’d beaten me so black, I avoided all the bathroom mirrors for weeks. Feeling him abuse me was one thing. Seeing the ownership and betrayal on my skin was entirely another.

  After that first initiation, I’d gone crazy. I’d flown around his house like a psychotic bird trapped in a cage. I’d rattled every door, clawed every window—I’d searched and searched for a chink in the house’s fortress, looking for something, anything to free me.

  I’d failed.

  However, my fight hadn’t faded.

  He’d tried to make me talk. He’d become…inventive with persuasion.

  But I hadn’t faltered.

  If he spoke to me, I stared at a wall. If he took me to bed, I shut down my mind. If he threw things or beat me, I curled tight around my soulcase and held on until it was over.

  And each time, I got back up.

  One step in front of the other…until one day, I would stop.

  But that day wasn’t today.

  Or tomorrow.

  “Do you know what special thing I have planned tonight?”

  Is it your death? That’s the only gift I want from you.

  “It’s gonna be a doubly awesome night for me.” Patting my head, he grinned. “First, I have a very important visitor who I expect you to entertain if requested.”

  I froze.

  “Second, once he’s gone…we’ll have our own celebration to mark two years.” He smirked. “Oh, while I was out, I went shopping. I picked up a new gag and fresh rope. I’m so generous when it comes to you, Pim.”

  The ladder and spade and parachute my heart had tried to escape with clattered against my ribs as the damn organ grew legs to sprint far, far away.

  He could keep his barbaric generosity.

  Heading to the small fridge beside the dressing table, where he kept a stock of beer to stay hydrated while spending hours making me wish I was dead, he twisted the top off his favourite brand and drank deep. “One thing you should know about tonight, Pim, is this bastard doesn’t know how unique our love is. It’s special; do you understand?”

  It took everything I had not to roll my eyes.

  You’re deluded. Insane!

  Love? Bah!

  His ownership of me was the very definition of fucked up.

  “You’ll be on your best behaviour because I have something else to give you.”

  My shoulders rolled, protecting myself from a wallop or painful kiss from whatever new item he’d purchased. My ability to read him had scrambled as if sudden inference switched his usual agenda.

  If you can’t predict him, you’ve failed Psychology 101.

  My mother wouldn’t be proud.

  My thoughts didn’t often go to her, but when they did, I wondered if she ever mingled with th
e bastard who’d taken me. Smiling at him, thinking he was there for her business all while he smirked with the secret of stealing me for profit.

  How much of the one point five million did he get for me?

  What would he get for me now? Now I was skinny and beaten and blue?

  Master A turned to face me.

  My flesh prickled with foreboding.

  All I wanted to do was shoot him and walk away. I needed good news to tell No One. Even though I shared my life with my imaginary pen friend, I couldn’t write most confessions.

  He’d hurt me worse than I wanted to immortalize in graphite. He could defile me, abuse me, and even cajole me to speak, but I would never give him what he wanted most.

  My voice.

  Sometimes, he brought me to the brink of speech through throttling or cutting me, hovering me on the precipice of saying one word to make him stop. But, as if sensing that if he made me talk, I would be worthless, he pulled back at the last excruciating moment.

  After such an incident, I used my remaining strength to barricade the door with my dresser—blocking him from hurting me further.

  He’d gone berserk, grabbing an axe from the garage, hacking through the immaculate furniture.

  And what he’d done when he got through…

  I shuddered, unable to relive it. But it didn’t stop my fingers trailing to my foot where every metatarsal had been broken as he stomped and brutalised me.

  “Stand up. I have a surprise for you.”

  Surprise?

  I hated surprises.

  Surprise meant being strangled.

  Surprise meant being sold.

  My lips clamped together as I stood.

  He vanished from the room only to return a second later with a bag. “Go on. Have a look at my gift. Don’t be an ungrateful bitch.”

  If I hadn’t taken a vow of soundlessness, I would’ve cursed his rotten soul. I would’ve screamed for him to die multiple times over.

  Taking a hesitant step, I accepted the bag and peeked inside.

  Clothes.

  Why the hell is he giving me clothes now…after all this time?

  Was he somehow hoping I’d forgive him for what he’d done? Cotton and silk couldn’t do that. Nothing could. Not that he’d ever be human enough to seek forgiveness or even sane enough to realise how sick he was.