Olivia Vitale is trying her best to get her life back on track. After escaping an abusive relationship, she moves back to her home city of Joy. She promises her roommate Carol to take it slow with relationships. That promise becomes harder to keep a...
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« 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 »
The bottle flies across the room, yellow lights gleaming through the green glass. It smashes against the wall, shards cascading over Olivia as she fearfully tries to cover her head. The tears stream down her face as she prays to any God out there, her neighbours might have heard the sound.
"You don't fucking tell me to leave!" Brock roars, and he's next to her in a flash, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her up against the wall. "You got that, huh? I'm. Not. Fucking Leaving!"
His face is right up against hers. Olivia can see the residue of coke around his nostrils. She furiously nods. It's the only way she can stay alive. That's all she has to do, stay alive. The air is getting cut off from her mind, but he slowly puts her back down. The tips of her toes finally meet the ground again.
"There we go, isn't that nice, huh?"
She gulps and nods. He grabs her face with his scarred, hardened hands, and his thumbs wipe away the tears still trickling down her cheeks. He quietly shushes her and kisses her forehead. All Olivia feels is disgust.
"You know I love you, right?" Brock asks, and she nods. "Good, and you love me too?"
She nods again. It's the only thing she isn't too scared to do. His grip tightens around her face. The fear rushes through her. He might be strong enough to shatter her skull if this continues.
"Tell. Me," he sneers.
"I love you," she croaks out in a broken voice, and he laughs, kissing her harshly.
Olivia lets him do it, and she moves just in the slightest, enough to where she doesn't have to hate herself, and he won't hit her either. All she feels for him is repulsion. She realised that months ago but leaving him is easier said than done. Agreeing that he should be the one taking care of finances when she moved in with him was such a dumb thing to do. With no money, she could never get far.
Brock slides his tongue into her mouth and pushes her further up the wall yellow with cigarette smoke. The TV blares his stupid fucking sitcom in the background as he grabs her thighs and wraps them around his hips.
"I love you so much," he groans.
Olivia knows where this is going. His rough hands are already fiddling with her underwear, and he's pushed her skirt up completely, but he's more concerned with unbuckling his own belt. She doesn't care at this point. It just has to be over with. Her eyes trail around the room.
The pizza trays are littered across the room, mixed in between the empty bottles of beer and whiskey. She focuses on the lounge chair as he pushes his dick into her. She's almost sure there's a new burn hole next to the ashtray. The stains have become worse too. He's so fucking repulsive, it makes her want to puke. She lets out a groan of pain as his movements quicken. Being less turned on is impossible, but he takes it as encouragement.
