Falling Up

51. Violence

Slap. A heavy open hand connected with her cheek, her head whipping to the side from the forceful contact. A dull ache was already chasing across her face before his hand had even withdrawn. Vincent's finger wrapped through her hair, his fist gripping tight on her loose auburn hair as he pulled her up from the bed before flinging her harshly to the ground.

Vincent walked over to her body, crumpled on the ground, and kicked her hard in the stomach. She let out a gasp of pain and struggle; the breath sucked out of her lungs.

"I'm in no mood to play games with you, Riley. I've waited far too long for this." Vincent grabbed the outfit off the bed and flung it at her body on the floor.

"You're going to put on the fucking clothes I've given you and do what you're fucking told you, little shit."

Riley pushed her arms against the concrete floor, forcing herself up to a sitting position as she clutched onto her stomach while Vincent headed back to his desk.

It was surprising how much damage he could inflict on her body in such few movements. One slap here and one kick there was all that was needed to make her body feel like someone had tossed it in a washing machine and turned it on a high spin cycle. Her wrist was aching from being dragged, her cheek felt like it was already swelling from the impact of the hit and her scalp had a painful burning sensation running through it that pulsated into a killer throbbing headache.

She did not want to test him again. He was already in a pissed off mood. Grabbing the outfit that was thrown at her, she picked it up and carefully stood up, leaning her weight on the nearby bed for support. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck as she struggled to stand, shaky and out of breath.

There was no privacy in the room as Riley stared down at the outfit in her hand, wondering how to proceed. It wasn't like Vincent hadn't seen everything before, but it still made her nervous and uncomfortable for her to be exposed to anyone, let alone the man who was the source of her past trauma. Yet she needed to get this over with before he did worse than slap her in the face.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced over at Vincent, who remained distracted, typing out something on his laptop while reading a document in his hand. She turned around, facing away from him before undressing, keeping as much hidden as she could, although it was pointless. The outfit took a while to get on as she buckled the black straps around her body and across her neck, but in the end she got the last strap clicked into place.

She felt like a whore.

There was no other way to describe it. The fabric barely covered anything, and she was essentially standing there in her underwear.

"Much better," said Vincent from behind her as his breath landed on her neck.

Her body flinched as she felt his hands grasp on the top of her shoulders. She didn't even realise that he had moved from his desk and a shiver went down her spine, wondering how long he had been there, how long he had been watching her.

His hands trailed down her back, tracing across the fading scars he had once inflicted as a grunt of disapproval left his lips. "I don't like how these scars have faded, though. I think it's time we do something about that."

Placing a hand up to her throat, his fingers curled around her neck, restricting her breath as he pulled her backward and guided her roughly to the desk. A hand pushed her down with her head slamming into the desk as she was forcefully bent over the desk.

She tried to get back up but was slammed down again as Vincent reached over to a nearby drawer, pulled it open and took out a sharp-looking knife. Tears pooled in her eyes as she gripped the edges of the desk. It was no use fighting him. He was too strong. So she closed her eyes, her breath coming in tiny gasps as she awaited the pain.