Break Me: A Dark Romance Serial

by Alpha, Alicia

  Abruptly, someone grabs me from behind and whirls me around.

  I want to gasp, but I’m completely frozen. Helpless. Weak. Feeble. I am nothing. It’s happening again. He’s found me.

  I’m done.

  Chapter 3 – Remember when

  Let me tell you about another time in my life. A time when I was not just Opal, but instead Opal Meyers, a girl with a pretty unique first name and a boring last name. I was blended.

  I was also seventeen, and in love for the first time in my life.

  His name was Christian. He was older than me, five years almost. He was the definition of handsome – he looked All American hot with his sandy brown hair, his big blue eyes and strong, muscular build. He was always making me laugh, making me happy. I was completely, irrevocably in love.

  Christian and I were sitting in the back of his pick up and his hands were travelling slowly up my arms, tickling me gently. I was smiling widely. With him, I felt like there was nothing wrong with me. Like I was whole, and my heart was beating normally for once in my life. I felt like a real person, not a medical experiment, a plaything of my parents’.

  “I love you.” The words slipped out of my mouth so easily, and I realized I’d been waiting days, if not weeks, to finally say them. It was still so fresh, so raw – our relationship was just starting and we hadn’t taken it farther than second base. But I needed to say it.

  His hands ventured up to my head, cupping my face. He looked me in the eyes and kissed me softly on the mouth as I moaned. “Good,” he whispered against my lips. I shivered.

  He was twisting strands of my hair around his fingers now, playfully whispering in my ear what he wanted to do to me. I felt goosebumps rising on my skin as I giggled like a stupid girl.

  Which, inevitably, you will realize I was.

  You see, as Christian was stroking me so softly, I had no idea his touches would soon turn lethal. No premonition of what was to come only months from now.

  We were blissfully happy in that moment – well, at least I was. I let him kiss me, touch me and take me, right there in that car. It was my first time and it hurt like hell. I gritted my teeth and suffered through, moaning at the times I thought to be right and letting him come inside me, even though he wasn’t wearing a condom, and I was definitely not protected.

  All in the name of love.

  Love that turned sour sooner than it did sweet.

  A month later

  “Mom, I wanted to speak to you about something?” I ask once more, feeling nervous and agitated at the same time. She was paying me no attention whatsoever.

  “I just really can’t decide if I should go for the white or beige,” she says exasperatedly, holding up two carpet swatches for the upteemth time. “What do you think, Opal?”

  “Mom.” I’m growing tired of this. “I couldn’t care lase about those damn carpet swatches!”

  “Opal!” my mom gasps. “Language, please.” She tuts and shakes her head like a mother hen, which I guess is her ideal role in life. Always cooing, watching over me. So annoying.

  “It’s really not important,” I sigh, but she still isn’t paying attention, focusing now on some curtains she wants for the living room remodel. I’ve had just about enough of this, so I approach her swiftly, grabbing her by the shoulders.

  “Mom,” I say once again, making her look at me. She looks older from up close, her permed hair tired, her skin sagging, her eyes water. What have I done to my poor mother? “Mom, I’m leaving,” I say before I can change my mind.

  “Where are you going, sweetie?” she asks innocently. “Off to spend another night at Angela’s?”

  I cringe inwardly. I won’t bother telling her Angela doesn’t exist, that all of my activities of the past few moths have been made up. I’ll just tell her what I’m doing. I turned eighteen yesterday and I can do whatever I want – at least that’s what I keep telling myself to feel reassured.

  “No, I’m leaving. I’m … I’m moving out,” I finally manage to say, averting my gaze so I don’t have to witness my mother’s heart breaking.

  What follows is an endless variation of pleading, anger and begging, which I won’t bore you with. Point is, hours later, I’m standing on the pavement a few blocks down from my house, a few suitcases I could barely drag with me at my feet. And then he’s pulling around the curb and my heart grows lighter, because it’s worth everything if it means being with him.

  Christian pulls over and wraps me in a bear hug, not bothering to ask how it went with my family. He sees I’m here and that’s enough for both of us – as long as we’re together.

  We load up my suitcases and sit in the car, making out for a few minutes.

  “Are you happy?” I finally ask, grinning widely as he revs up the engine. He looks at me and smiles that perfect grin, his teeth so white they’re almost flashy, and I’m overwhelmed by the love I feel for him already.

  “Are you?” I ask again, hesitant as he doesn’t deliver an answer straight away. He pulls my hand closer as he drives, kissing my knuckles softly as he looks at me with a wicked grin.

  “I’m happy I can do whatever I want with you,” he says devilishly.

  You bet you that’s exactly what he was planning to do.

  Run, little me, run.

  Chapter 4 – Killing me softly

  I can feel my heart. It’s doing what it does best, and that’s beating all wrong, wrong, wrong. I know I’m about to have an episode, when I feel strong hands shaking me back to reality. And they’re not the hands I know, the ones I fear, loathe and desire the most.

  I look up and it’s not him. I’m relieved, yet completely broken. Coming up for air.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  “What the hell’s with you?” a masculine voice asks me, and as I’m slowly coming back into my body, I recognize the stance of this man holding me tight, preventing me from falling. I know which one it is now. He’s holding me back from the precipice.

  I look into his hazel brown eyes, shaking and trembling like I’ve just seen a ghost. “I’m … I’m sorry …” I mutter quietly and reach a hand to my eyes, rubbing them to get focused again.

  “Wait,” I finally say, knitting my eyebrows together. “Why the hell am I apologizing? You just bumped into me and scared me so badly I nearly pepper sprayed you.”

  He’s laughing. It’s rich, like molten lava cake. I want to drink his laugh in. I bet he tastes like hot chocolate. Not the kids kind, but the rich, bitter cocoa one …

  I bite my lip, trying to stop myself from doing something to this man. At this point I’m not quite sure whether I want to push him away or pull him close.

  “Would you maybe answer me, moron?” I ask, enraged now. Nobody fucks with me – well, not in a figure of speech, anyway.

  He looks angry now and I’m cowering again, so he looks at me, completely puzzled.

  “I saw you fall,” he grumbles. “I’m a doctor. You sprained your ankle. Why the hell are you going home in heels?”

  I look down at my feet and realize that I am, indeed, still wearing the skyscraper heels I use for my performances. I shrug defensively. “It’s only a couple of blocks,” I lie smoothly.

  He looks like he knows very well that I’m full of shit and I cringe inwardly. I can feel my cheeks getting redder by the second and I’m grateful when he abruptly lets me go and bends down, even though I nearly lose my footing.

  Oh my fucking god, his fingers are around my ankle now. I can just about imagine them closing in around my neck instead, choking me just lightly enough to make it exciting. My mind is dirty.

  “Yeah, it’s definitely sprained,” he says in a voice that would crush rocks to powder sugar. I love it. It’s been a while since I’ve been this attracted to anyone and I’m trying hard to hide it.

  “What do you care, anyway?” I attack him as soon as he comes back up, all the while wishing his fingers would still be touching me ever so lightly, like I was a china doll.

  He give
s me a mean look which doesn’t really tell me much. We have a stare-off and I almost get lost in his eyes … his five o’clock shadow is perfect on his strong jaw. And his hair is short, but just about to need a cut. I want to bury my hands in it. I’m losing it.

  Abruptly, I swivel around and start to walk away in my wobbly heels. Now that he mentioned it, my ankle does feel a bit swollen and I’m finding it a little hard to walk in my heels. Fuck my life right now.

  He catches up with me and grabs my arm, not gentle at all. The difference between his soft, soothing touch on my hurt ankle and the sheer force he employs to turn me around are unmeasurable.

  “You can’t be serious,” he snarls at me, looking like he’s about to hit me. “You can’t walk home like that. You need to put an ice pack on your ankle and lie down, not stroll around town in a …” He looks me over, and then the best thing happens. He reaches down and pulls on my dress angrily, touching me just for a fraction of a second. “In a fucking sundress when it’s December! Are you a lunatic?”

  I’m still relishing his touch on me and I lick my lips appreciatively. I haven’t had fun in a while, so why not today? I work hard enough, and everyone deserves to play a little. I flash a smile, revealing two rows of perfect pearly whites.

  “You better walk me home then,” I say softly, looking up at him from my eyelashes. I wish I still had fake ones on – my real lashes are thick and long, but they’re almost invisible, being the same shade of red as my unfortunate hair.

  He comes closer once again and I can smell him. Cloves, spices, something that smells like Christmas … but not like the celebrations you had at home. It’s dark, like a forbidden party in a snowy park and a bottle of rum when you’re supposed to be at a family dinner. I love it.

  “You’re delusional,” he tells me through gritted teeth. “You’re crazy.”

  My smile falters and I bare my teeth at him in what is definitely not the seductive smile from before. “You don’t want to know how crazy I am. Get away, you don’t want to get hurt.” I smirk at him.

  He looks at me for a split second, before carefully reaching out a hand and weaving a lock of my hair around his fingers. I gasp for breath. No one has touched me like this before. I don’t allow it. But it feels damn good.

  “You like it?” he whispers softly, his fingers moving to caress my icy cheeks. I part my lips and nod, wordless. He’s killing me, and he knows it.

  His fingers are on my lips now, and I’ve opened them up, letting him come in if he wants to. He’s teasing me, I’m sure of it now – as one of his fingers dips into my mouth and slowly caresses my Cupid’s bow, I’m about to lose it.

  “Walk me home?” I ask again, my voice soft, but hoarse from the desire for him.

  Suddenly, he pushes me away and looks at me with so much disgust it tears me right up. All the little pieces I had glued together, all the parts of me that were sewn back in place, all of it breaking, tearing, ruined. My lips tremble.

  “I don’t fuck whores,” he explains plainly and walks away.

  Chapter 5 – New in town

  I was the new girl in the club and the pressure was on me. Tonight was my first dance and I was nervous as hell as I got ready. I’d walked to the club, being too scared to use my old credit card in case it would be traced, and not willing to pay cash for an expensive cab. Even though it was cold as hell, I walked all six blocks from my rotten apartment to the place where I would be performing that night.

  Nervousness was biting me like a vicious scorpion, or a poisonous snake, digging its way into my skin and releasing the venom. My heart was beating irregularly again, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Instead, I took a sharp breath before I came to a stop in front of the back exit – it was in a dark alley, and I was supposed to get in here.

  “Hello, doll,” a raspy voice said behind me and I whipped my head back. There was a guy there, almost hidden in the shadows, but emerging slowly. If I wasn’t so fucked up, I would definitely think him handsome. But as it was, I was too damaged, too broken, to even consider it.

  “Hello,” I said politely as I started climbing the stairs that led to the entrance.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked sweetly, climbing the stairs after me, the scent of pot potent and sweet on his skin. I looked at him nervously, and he was even more handsome up close. Rugged strong chin, piercing blue eyes, sandy hair. Not too tall, but muscular.

  Just. Like. Christian.

  I gulped the fear and bile that were rising in my throat and turned away, trying not to call any more attention to myself. This guy was high, and if it had only been pot, I would’ve been okay with it – but as he came closer, I could smell the liquor on his breath. I knew what that meant. Liquor equals trouble – and violence. And I wasn’t about to get hurt, not again.

  I pulled the doors towards me and took a sharp breath as they didn’t budge.

  I pulled on the handle again.

  “Having trouble, babydoll?” he asked me sweetly, his hands suddenly around my waist.

  “Get off me,” I begged, my voice loud and shrill even to my own ears.

  “Shhh, baby,” he whispered in my ear. I struggled against him, but I was nothing compared to his weight. Nothing to his stocky figure, nothing to his muscular arms as he turned me around and lifted up my skirt.

  “NO!” I shouted loudly. “Please,” I added, begging, desperate.

  All he did was rip my skirt off and stuff it in my mouth, raising my hands above my head so I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything.

  I was scared. And I was drifting, just like so many times before.

  I watched as he rammed his body into mine.

  I watched the tears streaming down my face wordlessly as he bruised my cheeks, pushing me against the brick wall.

  I watched myself breaking all over again, watched my future unfolding from above.

  Maybe it was all gone now. Maybe it was all over. Maybe I’d be a pretty little angel with perfect white wings, sitting on a fluffy cloud. No worries. No problems.

  I came to as he finished with a loud moan and pulled out of me.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  I will not cry.

  I will not cry.

  “Thank you, baby,” he whispered into my ear, then started digging around his pockets for something as I slid down the wall, now completely stiff, numb. I felt him dripping out of me, felt my walls breaking, felt my tissue tearing.

  He thrust a hefty amount of hundred dollar bills in my hand and kissed my cheek softly, tucking my hair behind my ear as I lay motionless.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  ***

  When I came to, I slowly picked myself up. Wiped myself with the remnants of my skirt and pulled my sweater down, so it looked like I was wearing a dress. Counted my money.

  One thousand and 32 dollars, 57 cents. That’s what I was worth.

  I dragged my weary body around the building and entered through the main entrance, making my way through a sea of oblivious faces into the back of the club.

  Do you know what just happened to me? I wanted to scream.

  Do you realize I’ve just been raped? I wanted to shout at them.

  I did neither. I collapsed on a chair in the backstage area, my eyes locked on the image in the mirror.

  “You’re late,” someone snarled at me and I looked up to see a dark man in a fedora. “Should’ve been here an hour ago. You’re on in 20 minutes,” he let me know.

  I nodded mindlessly. Got ready. Put on a wig. Covered my red hair. Added contacts to cover the green in my eyes. Powdered my shoulders to hide every evidence of the freckles that sprinkled my complexion.

  I danced for the first time that evening.

  I entertained my first client, too.

  I charged one thousand and 32 dollars, 57 cents.

  Once a whore, always a whore.

  Chapter 6 – The black swan

  It’s a few days later but I’m still fuming. For some reason or o
ther, I can’t seem to let that night in front of the club go. I’m used to people liking me, coveting me like I was an expensive item you could get in a store – ha, how ridiculous, since if they pay a hefty amount, they can have a piece of me if they want.

  I can’t forget. Usually it’s so easy, but all I’ve been doing these past few days is losing myself in fantasies of the man from the club. His touch, his eyes, his slight beard … I cannot even think straight whenever he comes to mind. All I want to do is lie in my bed and fantasize like some stupid high schooler.

  Determined to forget all about the events of that night and improve my performance, I get in my gear and look at myself in the lit up mirror. Today I’m wearing a feather camisole and frilly panties. I look ridiculous, like a girl playing dress-up, but when I add all of the makeup, it will look better.

  One of the girls helps me get ready, chattering as she dusts powder across my nose and shoulders. She’s one of my admirers, I can tell – these girls think all I do is amazing. Most of them smirk when they see me pass by, jealous that I’m the most popular one. But the other ones, the ones I secretly like, are those who long for my attention. They swarm me like I’m queen bee, fixing my feathers and blowing me kisses. I like the attention. I always have.

  It’s almost my curtain call and I politely thank the girl whose name I’ve already forgotten and she sulks off, sad that I wasn’t more attentive, but ecstatic to have had a few minutes with me nonetheless. I smooth down my camisole and stare at my reflection, hard.

  My hair is hanging in perfect ringlets, curling down my back in glossy blond tendrils. The wig is perfect. My eyes are glowing with blue contact lenses and you could never tell my irises are actually green. My nails are fake – long and polished a deadly shade of red. I look perfect for my entrance. And nothing like myself at all.

  As the music starts once more, I take a deep breath. I am not about the repeat my episode from the other day. I’m ready.

  I slip on a black feathered mask and tie it in the back. My vision is a little obscured, which is perfectly fine with me. This way, I can focus on the dancing and the dancing alone.