Owned by Him (Editing)

Sick Reconciliation

Had I been able, I would have wailed in utter despair. Jordan Gray, the psychopathic narcissist that used to beat me on a daily basis, had kidnapped me. Hopelessness had not reared its head until this point. I had been minimalistically optimistic that I would be able to break free but now I knew there was no chance for me. I would never be free from him. Jordan had vowed to me on the day that I had left him, three years ago that he would never let me go. Turned out he could keep that promise, just not the promise where he would never beat me again. 

After hearing enough of the succession of obscenities I had thrown at him, Jordan had clamped his hand across my mouth and told me to shut the fuck up. He hadn’t changed at all. He smirked his cruel leer with a triumphant glint in his eyes as a single tear, one of self-pity and fear, dribbled from my eye down to his hand.

Jordan had removed the blindfold but I wished he hadn’t. Seeing that sick smirk and that boasting glow he always had whenever he had me under his complete control, somehow made the situation feel real. My brain now had no choice but to accept that I was back with the man who made my life hell and this time I could see the determination in his eyes, I would not get away so easily again. 

I tried to look everywhere where his face wasn’t, though my peripherals still caught the features I had once found so deliciously alluring. The forest green shade of his eyes hadn’t changed, his hair had been recently trimmed but was still just as short and as well-kept as it always had been. His lips were still their rosy pink colour and looked soft to touch and the mole I had once kissed was still imprinted in his right dimple and showed whenever he grinned. Nothing had changed. He was still well groomed, he was still handsome and he was still just as lethal and psychotic as when I left him.   

“Look at me, baby.” He whispered. 

I didn’t. There was a patch of mould in the corner of the room and it was that which had my full attention. When I failed to comply, Jordan became angry. 

“Look at me.” 

Again, I didn’t obey. The mould was in the shape of a black rain cloud and whilst most people despise rain clouds and the thunderstorms that usually followed when one appeared, I loved them. I love the refreshing feeling the raindrops leave after that fall onto your skin, I love the power of the lightning in the thunderstorms and so I sought some solace in staring at the mould. 

Jordan didn’t ask a third time and decided to throw a swift backhand across my cheek as incentive to do as I was told. The impact had left a vicious sting in its wake and it had been sometime since I had last taken a slap from Jordan. By the sharp gasp of breath I sucked in, it was apparent that I had become woefully unaccustomed to how much it actually hurt. I didn’t relish the idea of taking a second hit so I snapped my vision to him. 

His snake-like eyes beamed with triumph. He had gotten me to obey with just a small, half-assed smack. I could see the cogs working behind those ominous eyes, he was thinking of what other things he could force me to do. 

“That’s a good girl,” He slithered, smirking that twisted smile I had always despised. 

Jordan leered at me because he knew that beneath this portrayal of resistance and rebellion was the same woman he could silence with a single glare. He knew that whilst I stared at him with every intention of punching him in the throat, the woman who had once cowered away from him whenever he raised his hand, was still lying just beneath the surface. He just needed to coax her out again with a few beatings. 

The most infuriating thing about it was the fact that deep down, I knew that once the beatings resumed, and they surely would, Jordan would have me compliant once more. The thought was a maddening one but one I could not fool myself to be inevitable.