A Billion Reasons To Hate You

“Don’t hold—” The whip snapped across Renee’s thigh before she could finish her sentence. Her body jerked under the impact, a bloody mark appearing as a shameless moan slipped from her lips. Evan stepped back to admire the work he’d done. The ropes securing her were a masterpiece: layered knots that were tight and unforgiving, binding Renee’s wrists high above her head and forcing her onto her knees. Another set of knots secured her thighs apart, stretching them apart just enough to expose her but not enough to let her shift away from anything he was going to do to her. Every line of rope pressed into her skin with perfect precision. Evan exhaled as he circled her slowly, the soft crack of the whip against his palm a warning wrapped in patience. “You don’t want me to hold back?” he asserted. He stood behind her and dragged the tip of the whip along the curve of her hip, letting her feel the promise of the next strike. “I’ll make you regret asking for it, filthy slut.” Renee shivered, a full-body reaction she couldn’t hide even if she tried. He drew his arm back again without hesitation. The next hit landed harder, the leather dragging across her already-prickled skin. It split just slightly under the force; a thin, sharp line of red rising instantly. Renee gasped, the burn becoming pleasurable straight away, dragging a helpless whine from her throat. Evan crouched beside her, studying the way the blood welled and glistened. He ran a finger slowly through it, then moved around to her front. He grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes up to meet his. “Open.” She obeyed instantly, lips parting, breath uneven. He pushed his blood-slick finger into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue, making her taste her body submitting to him. She moaned around him, sucking eagerly, desperate and shaking in the ropes that held her perfectly still. Evan’s eyes darkened with satisfaction as he watched her. “Good girl,” he murmured, sliding his finger deeper, controlling the pace. “You take pain like you were built for it.” He pressed his thumb lightly against her lower lip, testing how readily she would open for him again. Her tongue flicked out instinctively; a soft, needy sound spilling from her throat as she leaned into his touch. Evan’s mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. “Always so eager for Daddy,” he observed, letting his finger drag over her lips softly. Evan took a step closer, his hard d**k in his right hand. He brushed it across her lips, and when her eyes lifted to his, there was no hesitation; only need. “Use me,” she whispered. Renee jolted awake to the blare of her alarm, breath catching hard in her chest. The dream left her mind within an instant, but left behind a soaking-wet reminder between her legs. She lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling, her skin hot and damp with sweat, her pulse still thudding like she was still there in the moment with Evan. “Oh holy f**k, that felt so real,” she muttered to no one. Dragging herself upright, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She rubbed her palms up and down her face, yawning into them, trying to scrape the lingering haze of Evan out of her skull. “f**k you, brain, stop making me have s*x dreams about Evan,” she said under her breath. “Urgh, I do miss being treated like that though…” Renee sighed as she reached for her phone on the nightstand. It was 10:30 p.m. It gave her plenty of time to get ready for work before the graveyard shift at 1:00 a.m. Renee shoved herself to her feet and dragged herself toward the kitchen, the chill in the air making her rub her arms. She flipped on the light, squinting as the room snapped into brightness, and started making a coffee strong enough to wake the dead. While the machine sputtered and hissed, she checked the mail piled on the counter. Bills, ads, junk and more junk. Nothing felt of importance until she came across an envelope from Westbury Royal Infirmary. Her stomach sank; she already knew what the letter was going to say. “Let’s see what the damages are then.” She mused whilst opening the envelope. A printed statement stared back at her, crisp black letters spelling out something that still kept her up at night. Balance due: $9,302.00. OVERDUE, FINAL NOTICE: PLEASE MAKE PAYMENT. FURTHER ACTION WILL BE TAKEN. A laugh with nothing but bitterness slipped out of her. “Only in America do you have to pay to lose your own f*****g child.” She tore the paper straight down the middle, then again, and again, until it was nothing but confetti. She dumped it into the bin without giving it a second thought; it was at the bottom of her list of priorities at the moment. “f**k it,” she muttered. “Something stronger to drink should make me forget about this again.” The coffee machine beeped behind her. Choosing to ignore it, Renee reached for a bottle of wine she kept in case of emergencies like this. She poured a glass way past reasonable, nearly to the rim. As she reached to switch off the kitchen light, something on the floor caught her eye. There was a single envelope lying by the door face down. She frowned as she was confused; she didn't remember dropping anything, and she could have sworn she hadn't seen it earlier either. She bent down to pick it up, noticing the handwriting on the front. It had her full name and address, written carefully in a style she didn’t recognise. There was no return address, markings or any kind of hint as to who might have sent it. Something felt off about it, but it made her more curious. She carried it to the counter with her wine glass in hand, running her fingers slowly over the textured paper. There was something strangely intimate about handwriting nowadays. It felt more personal, like the sender wanted her to feel their presence. She took a long sip of wine, bracing herself, then hooked her thumb beneath the flap and tore it open. She couldn’t wait another second. The paper inside was stiff, folded with careful precision. As she opened it, she realised it was a clipped newspaper article—dated just seven days ago. She gasped as her eyes landed on the headline, each word hitting her like a blow: Deadly Drug Kingpin to Walk Free: Four Officers Dead, Evidence “Planted,” Release Imminent. The article slipped from her fingers and fluttered onto the counter. “No… no, no, no.” Her heart started racing, her pulse thundering in her ears. She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, tapping the screen too fast, nearly dropping it as she frantically searched for more information. Anything to prove this was a joke, a mistake, someone’s sick idea of messing with her. However, the search results loaded instantly, and every headline conveyed the same message. Evidence was planted, he’d be released and walking free in less than a month. This cannot be happening. Not him. Not now. Not after everything. She grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself. The wine glass beside her rattled, shaking just as badly as her hands. She tried to breathe, tried to force down the panic climbing up her spine, but it wasn’t working. For the first time in years, she felt that part of her past crawl up from the dark and wrap its hand around her throat. Everything in her just dropped; the thought of someone wanting her to see this headline tonight at this exact moment made her feel sick to her stomach. What the f**k am I going to do?