His game (being rewritten)

A feeling of change

She had built quite a high tolerance towards alcohol in the year of living in terror. It helped her to drown out the world, to silence it for a while, to forget. And if she was honest with herself, she would admit to herself, that it was more about getting Grant out of her mind than anything or anyone else. As if she had someone else. She was sneaking around with her girl-friend Evelyn, but she knew it would not be much longer until he found out and put an end to it. It would very likely be an end that would stay well remembered on her body as well as in her mind. But another thing she had to admit was that whenever she wasn't out with her, she was going about her day alone, most of the time stumbling into bars, downing the strongest drink they had. It was a daily thing, and she wasn't proud. But there were too many things in her life that she couldn't be proud of. First on the list: not being able to stand up for herself. "Scaredy cat, scaredy cat." - it kept on going, nonstop in her mind as if her inner self was mocking her as well.

She had a tipsy smile on her lips as she was rounding the corner, only a minute before she was back "home". The thought of it, of facing Grant, sobered her up immediately and before she knew it, she was standing in front of the heavy black wooden door, not ready to put the key in the lock and turn it. She felt more like running, but she didn't know where to. She took in a deep breath and it felt heavy in her lungs, as if she had breathed in lead intead of air. Somehow she found the courage, or maybe it was stupidity, to put the key into the lock, when a fresh autumn breeze blew through her braided hair, making stray clumps of it dance around her face. The hair was already messed up before the wind started to play with it, that's why she didn't mind it, and even if she wanted to, she couldn't be angry with it, because with the fresh breeze, the wind also covered her with a blanket that sparked a feeling of change inside her heart.

...

"As long as I get a piece of this big ass cake I don't care what you do with her." she had just opened the door to the apartment, but she knew she had f****d up. Grant was home, on the phone already, talking about business. "To be honest, for all I care you can burn her,-" shady business. "-it would be quite the irony with her name anyway, wouldn't it? "How did she die? Well, she went up in flames.", it would be the joke of the century." And now, she was frozen to the spot. "Run!" But she didn't, she couldn't. Her muscles turned to concrete and concrete was bound to dry where it was poured and she was poured into Grant's apartment. Menacing laughter erupted out of him after he had spoken the last four words. She didn't dare to breathe. Death. That's what it was. She had to get out of there before he realized she had heard everything. The laughter had died down and the dark cherry parquet that graced the floor of every room in the apartment, was known to creak even at the lightest step. There were only two options. Stay and definitely be discovered or go, with a small chance of getting out of whatever she just got herself into. As she had just made a decision, shifting her weight, to turn to the door, there were no options anymore. The floor announced her presence and, just like that, Grant's large looming figure came into sight. It obviously wasn't the first time she saw her doom in front of her, but this time, it really felt like exactly that. Whenever he was surrounded by this weird white light and darkness, she could swear he looked at least five years older than the age he was supposed to be.

"Eavesdropping are we?" his deep voice made a shiver run down her spine. "I just ... I just came in." She was never the best liar. "So now you lie to me. A lot of confidence for fragile little you." He took a step forward. It didn't feel like it. There must still have been about three meters between them, but it felt like centimeters. She could basically feel his breath on her face as she closed her eyes, trying to wake up, because she was certain that it must all just be a nightmare. But there was nothing to wake up to, and before she knew it, she could feel his real breath on her face. "I will ask you again. Were you eavesdropping?" she pushed down the pressure he felt build up in her throat. Tears prickled at her eyes as she felt his hand slowly sliding from her wrist up to her throat. Paralyzed from fear, she didn't answer his question and she could feel that the pressure in her throat was back, but this time it was his hand that was causing it. "f*****g answer me or I swear to god ..." his lips were at her ear, she could feel the droplets of his spit as he emphasized every word, his nails digging into the skin on her throat. "Y-yes." there was no other right answer to his question. At least not in his world. "Was that so hard?" stray tears were running down her cheeks, but the smile in his voice was undeniable. He wasn't satisfied yet. He spun her around, hand still on her throat. Only a light click of the lock echoed through the apartment. She could have sworn that at that moment, it was the loudest sound she had ever heard in her life. And it kept on repeating in her mind as she finally opened her eyes, looking at the beast that stood before her. It felt like hours. Hours. As his hand crept up towards the base of my head, his fingers gripped onto my hair. "Ain't it fun?" was the last thing he said before he yanked my head back with all the force that was in him, making me fall to the ground. He stood over me, one of his legs on my chest, applying pressure, again. "Hope this teaches you your place. It was and always will be beneath me." He pushed himself off before bending down, grasping her hair in one hand and then dragging her body behind him. She tried to get up, tried to get her legs to work for her, anything, something. "You should've never heard that conversation. But since you did, I'll just have to make you forget." He had dragged her to the kitchen. "Please, please Grant, don't... I-I-I don't know an-any-anything..." she was sobbing and pleading, her head was empty and the only word swirling around was coward. He crouched down, a smirk on his lips, her head held tightly in his hand by her hair. "That won't do darling." he didn't even finish his sentence before he banged her head into a cupboard. "We'll have a light start. I think we'll finish hard though. Seems the granite kitchen counter will be of good use after all." it was apparent he was enjoying himself. "P-please I-I beg-beg you." It was too late when she realized that beginning like that sparked something gruesomely perverted in him. He pulled at her hair, lifting her body into an awkward position as he rubbed the back of her head on the granite. "You have no idea what you do to me when I hear you beg me like that." he was rocking her head back and forth, lightly hitting it back at the stone. She was preparing herself. Who knew if she would survive tonight? Somehow she found herself wishing she wouldn't though. She tried to find something in her mind, her memories that would be worth hanging on to life for, and she didn't seem to find it. Suicide never crossed her mind, not even in the year of being with Grant. The voice in her head was right after all. She was certain, there was not one human being on this earth that was as scared as she was. Scared of her voice, of his voice, and if she was completely honest, she'd probably be scared of the sun if it didn't emit the warmth that was the only thing that could sooth her. Before she knew it, her head hit the edge of the granite. Hard, yet not hard enough for her to lose consciousness. She felt dizzy, so dizzy she could throw up, so dizzy black spots were dancing in front of her eyes. "Count." he said in a low voice, but she disregarded it as she tried to get in a breath through her mouth to steady her head. "Count, goddamn!" he let her bod fall back on the ground, just so he could bang her head in to the cupboard door. He wanted her to stay conscious as long as she could. He loved to prolong suffering and she found herself wishing he would someday have a prolonged death full of suffering and pain. And she felt ashamed of the thought, of the wish, because that wasn't her. "One," she breathed out. "Good girl." So he pulled her back up into the awkward position, and he banged her head at the counter and she counted, and it went on until it felt like her head was raw and her bones were brittling off; like her head was bashed-in. And she could taste iron on her tongue, but then her dizziness finally faded away, leaving unconsciousness to grab hold of her. Finally the pain and taste of iron vanished. Finally the voice that was telling her to fight back dissapeared, just like everything else.