𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐓 𝐔 𝐑 𝐄 𝐃. / ww ff.

𝗆𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾. / edited.

— 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞.

A paralysed back was the least of my troubles.

Although, of course, Tobias didn't call it that, and the medics don't call it that either. A 'severely fractured thoracic spine' which would 'cause severe back pain' and needed no 'unnecessary movement'. Tobias liked to correct me whenever I muttered out the familiar complaint of feeling utterly paralysed, though, perhaps because of misplaced guilt, perhaps something else.

A pierced lung, yes, major and minor abrasions, and a wrist broken in two places. The doctors deemed me to stay very still, which was hard, when Tobias kept crowding into my personal space, causing involuntary flinches.

Oh, that's right. It seems the fall snapped something in Tobias, because I'm told he was the one who had some of his 'werewolf DNA' and 'superior healing abilities' involved in my healing to speed up the process. I listened to whatever I could before promptly passing out again, still doped up on morphine and heartache and grief to care about the intricacies.

I didn't even care about Tobias at the moment, even if he had 'so mercifully' changed the rules pertaining to my treatment.

Thus far: I'm no longer beaten or raped, my scars, cuts and bruises were all healed, I was allowed to be washed and cleaned properly, I was fed and given water and an IV drip to aid the process of reintroducing me to proper nourishment again.

I'm really shaping up to feel like the well-looked after prized heifer, before she's slaughtered for meat.

I can never trust Tobias. He may have changed the game but he's volatile and I am waiting. I will wait forever for him to snap and I need to be poised and ready so this time he can finally fucking kill me and let me go—.

.
.

Some downsides to not being allowed to move is that I have to lay plank straight in mine and Tobias' new shared bed, until I am fully healed. According to Tobias, this no-movement regime means that I have to be fed, washed and taken care of by the male who has tortured me all these years. So demeaning.

Maybe this is a new method of torture?

He's with me right now. I'm not even spared my own time to think, to amuse myself, to mourn. All my hours are now occupied by him. He thinks he needs to watch over me, to protect me, to save me. I only ever needed saving from him. So much irony.

I allowed myself to turn my head just slightly out of the view of his watchful eye because I needed just a moment, because when the pain gets too much I can't control how it seeps across my features and I don't want him to see. To see what he's achieved. Tears welled in my eyes as my face scrunched up pitifully.

A large hand engrossed my chin, and I was gently tipped back to lying straight. Within nanoseconds my features schooled themselves, blurry tears at least obscuring me from seeing him. I kept them at bay.

"You can't move your head if you want to get better, my little one," Tobias spoke softly as he brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes with his knuckle, gazing at me so intensely that perhaps he saw my pain all the way through the back of my head. I gulped.

This man was in complete control and he knew it. I couldn't move my limbs, my dominant hand suffering the bone break, agony shooting through my ribs with every breath despite Tobias' medical interventions.

So much for being healed, as I still very much felt like dead weight. Perhaps he was poisoning me, to keep me immobile for him, his little fucking doll, I thought cynically.

Tobias carried on smoothing my cheek as if I was a baby chick in need of coddling, and then leaned forward slightly, resulting in me to cringe. He only kissed the clean skin of my scarred cheek, before retracting slightly.

And the affection. He hadn't stopped since the switch in his persona. Fleeting touches and caresses and stolen kisses and I just wanted it to stop. This was somehow worse than the sexual violence because there was feeling behind it. As if he thought what he was doing was loving.

Luckily, I was saved from suffering through another kiss as I suspected he was gearing up for one more, when the midday clock chimed it's presence loudly from the hallway.

"Ah, lunch time. Allow me to collect your food and then I'll be back, safe at your side, alright, my pup?" Tobias questioned, clearly not expecting an answer as he climbed out of his seat and was already headed downstairs where the food was surely awaiting.

A shallow breath escaped my mouth. This was the worst part. I could take that, that, that unattached abuse, I could close myself off from it, but the belittling act of being fed, of having to rely on my abuser for nourishment, was just far too humiliating and soul breaking. I hated it.

Moments later, Tobias returned with a sandwich and slices of fruit. He settled himself back at my bedside and plucked a sliced piece of apple of the platter and brought it to my mouth.

"Open wide."

Would dying really have been worse?

#

Don't Copy!

Edit 2022 — "dOnT cOpY" no one's gonna copy this shit, Mia.