Mr Bodyguard

|13|

- Dior -

TW - branding

"Where are you taking me?" Dior asked worryingly as the middle aged woman grabbed some of the young girls clothes and expensive belongings, shoving them all into a grey backpack. 

The small girl was stuck in a trance, her mouth agape as she witnessed the older woman running around her room like a headless chicken. 

"Shut up, no questions," she dismissed, grabbing Dior's wrist roughly. She whimpered in protest, pulling away from the vile woman. 

"N-No, I'm not going without p-papa," she argued bravely. 

Her eyes grew in frustration, her nose flaring and her stance threatening. Dior didn't back down, standing strongly against the woman. 

"Your papa doesn't give a fuck about you, he'll be happy to see you go," she whispered lies into Delilah's ears, filling her pure mind with sinful words. 

She shook her head. 

"What do y-you mean? He loves me, he doesn't want m-me to go," she countered the woman's cruel words. 

"He's lying to you, to us! We'll have a much better life without him, and your bastard brothers," she persuaded, insulting Delilah's beloved siblings. 

"No, I don't want a life without them."

"I'll just take you by force, brat, you're coming with me whether you like it or not," she continued, reaching her cold, skinny hands to grab Delilah again. Dior shook her head, running back to the door and attempting to pry the door open, but it was locked. She was now trapped in between the door and her 'mother'. 

"You can't run from me, don't make this harder for yourself."

Dior shrieked away from her, using her small height to her advantage and dipping under the woman's arms. Much to her disappointment, she ended up tripping over the grey backpack that was left on the middle of the carpet. 

"Please l-leave, I-I don't want to go," she pleaded, protecting her head with her hands in case her mother attempted to strike. 

"I warned you, bitch, you asked for it," she whisper-yelled, pulling out a pocket knife and holding it up against Delilah's legs. 

"No! Please no!"

She ignored her begs and cries, shoving a cloth in her mouth to stop her from screaming, and carving out long lines on the innocent girls porcelain skin, causing red blood to trickle down her thick thighs, tainting them with the colour of danger. Delilah continued to cry out in pain, although her screams were muffled, begging her mother to stop the torture. 

The woman mercilessly cut the girl until she became barely conscious. 

"Your papa will never come to get you, no one cares about you Dior, you're nothing but a disappointment to this family," she laughed at the wounded girl laying on the floor, throwing the knife back into her pocket and picking up Dior, throwing her over her shoulder and maneuvering her way out the window. 

As soon as she hit the ground, she ran to the car, placing her daughter in the backseat and driving off as quickly as she could. 

"Why are you doing th-this!?" Delilah questioned painfully, her voice strained. 

"I'll tell you why," she began, her voice dangerously calm. 

"Dante only married me because I was pregnant with you, he didn't love me, didn't care for me, didn't even want me," her tone got angrier by the second.