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“I’ve done hard labour my whole life, you know,” Lee said, pausing at the front door. I stared up at him, frozen as he leaned in. “A couple bricks,” he whispered in my ear. “They’d be nothing for me to carry.”
“I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here for you. All of you; the best and worst of you.”
No. What he was offering wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Broken dolls like me don’t get their fairytale ending.
But inside there was a part of me that still believed in fairytales. That hoped, dreamed, that one day a prince would come and save me.
There was kindness mixed with a roughness; he would offer to walk me home and in the next breath promise to kill for me.
He wrapped one arm securely around my hips. The other arm went around my chest, settling between my breasts and his hand wrapped around the front of my throat, firmly but not painfully.
Something inside me just responded to the utter dominance in which he held me. For the first time in a long time, I felt secure. Safe. I felt protected.
