Deviant Addictions

Prologue The year is 1710.. Amidst a circle of dark cloaked figures, a man knelt in despair. His face smeared with blood, and his right arm grievously wounded, exposing the bone beneath. The hovering figures seemed to emanate an otherworldly presence, detached from the ground. "Please, I have nothing left to offer," the man pleaded, his voice choked with tears. "I have fulfilled your every command. All I beg for is to return to eternal slumber. I am of no use to you in this weakened state. Please, grant me rest. I beg of you." His words trembled as he closed his eyes in desperation. The entity's voice echoed from each cloaked figure simultaneously, "You shall find no mercy. Your soul is now bound to me, and I shall determine your fate for eternity. You do possess a purpose, and that is to serve me and carry out my bidding." As the figures raised their arms, the ground tremored beneath the man's feet, threatening to consume him. In a desperate act of defiance, he lunged toward one of the cloaked beings, but a searing wall of fire emerged, violently repelling him. A chilling laugh reverberated through the air, growing louder like thunder, while the ground cracked beneath the man. An infernal ring of fire formed, entrapping him in its scorching embrace. The man raised the hood of his own cloak to shield himself from the searing flames, but the laughter only persisted. "You were nothing before me," the resounding voice bellowed with pride. "Foolish mortal! You dared believe my words held value? Gratitude for your eternal servitude is the only reward you shall receive!" As the ground split open, it swallowed the man whole, condemning him to an eternity of servitude. The night air rang with deafening silence. The earth healed, and the dark figures seemed to dissipate into the wind. All was as it was before. No evidence left to give any say what had happened that night. And so the man was forever forgotten. .......................................................................................................................................................................................................... The year is now 1954 "Sit still," Robert hisses, his fingers digging into the soft underside of my arm. I suppress the urge to yelp in pain, and endure his grip silently. Robert was already in a foul mood before church, upset that I had taken too long with my makeup. But I knew it was his fault, as he had gifted me a fresh bruise on my cheek the night before. It had only been six weeks since our wedding, and he had already begun to lay his hands on me. A record time, surely. He had deceived me from the start, his words like silk, promising me the world, the life of my dreams. I had fallen for his empty vows, just as my mother had done before me. "I swear, El, if you don't stop your leg from moving," Robert warns, squeezing my thigh tightly. I couldn't help my nervous habit of bouncing my legs. I despised going to church, I had since I was a child. Robert knew that! He had claimed we didn't need to attend, understanding my aversion, as he didn't believe in God himself. Yet, this was his way of punishing me. "And that, my dear saints, is why we gather here this morning—to give thanks. Please rise and bow your heads as I lead us in prayer," the pastor addresses the congregation. I roll my eyes. Robert stands, and when I don't immediately follow suit, he snaps his head back to glare down at me in my seat. "Rise," he snarls. Arms crossed, I reluctantly comply, sighing heavily as I stood to my feet. Leaning down to my ear, Robert whispers, "You will obey me, El. I will break that will of yours." Disappointment wells within me. How did I end up here? I was educated, the first woman in my family to obtain a degree. This situation was embarrassing. "Your hair is a mess," Robert says in a voice filled with fake adoration. He tucks a stray strand of my deep auburn hair behind my ear. The touch of his fingers sliding down my cheek sends shivers down my spine, but I clench my teeth, determined not to show any weakness. He wouldn't break me; he'd have to kill me first. I feel a lump in my throat and stinging in my eyes, the urge to cry suppressed. I knew I was fighting a battle I might not win, but I refused to give in. Having braced myself for the inevitable hell during the car ride, I was taken by surprise when we arrived home in silence. As we pulled up to our new two-bedroom house, Robert finally spoke, his tone bitter and dismissive. "Get out. Do your chores. I won't be home till tomorrow night," he spat, refusing to step out of the car to open my door. I didn't bother asking any questions. I didn't care how he chose to spend his free time; it merely granted me a moment to devise a plan. Divorce wasn't an option. My mother had made it abundantly clear that I was unwelcome in her home, having disapproved of my decision to marry and move several states away from the family. She had never supported my aspirations to become a renowned psychologist, believing it was no place for a woman. My beliefs and conduct only fueled her disapproval, leaving me with no one to turn to but myself. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I made my way up the driveway. The engine of Robert's car roared back to life, and I waited until the sound faded before looking back from the front door. I could run, but where would I go? I had no resources or savings left; everything I had was invested in buying him that damn car. I couldn't attempt earning my own income, Robert would never allow me to work. He had made that abundantly clear when he tore apart my hard-earned degree, proclaiming that I would have no need for it now that I had him. "You are my wife! No wife of mine will be working!" he had screamed while shredding my dreams before my eyes. How had I not seen this side of him? Where were the signs? As someone educated in matters of the mind, how was I unable to recognize the sickness within him? Perhaps my mother was right, and psychology was no place for a woman like me, at least not in the world I found myself trapped in.