She's the Boss

8

C H A P T E R  E I G H T

N E E D I N G  P A I N 

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*Warning! Triggering and Mature material below!*

His hands gripped my hips, picking me up as he ground our pelvises together.

Hoisting me against the wall, he pressed his length against me, grinding against hard, kissing my mouth roughly.

"Sebastian," I cried, making him smirk against my skin as he trained his lips down my throat.

"You like that?" He smirked, nipping at the sensitive skin of my throat.

"Yes! I like it!"

"You want more?"

"More!"

"Then be a good girl and spread your legs for me. I gotta eat before I put in the work."

Furiously, the bed creaks when he throws me carelessly on it, crawling over to me, covering me with a blanket.

His head disappears under the sheets leaving me breathless while he eats me like a starving man.

Breathless, my sweaty body rises like the dead from the bed, body sweaty, n*****s puckered, p***y wet.

Then, all the desire seeps from my lungs and is replaced with a utter self-hatred.

Why did I leave that night?

Why am I hell bent on ruining myself and everyone around me?

Tears prickle against my lids viscously, but I don't let not one escape.

My eyes catch the light under the bathroom door, the concealed blade inside singing; humming.

Begging me to relieve myself.

To watch the slow drip of dark purple liquid and feed my craving for self destruction.

I don't want to do this anymore. 

I don't want to be the reason why.

I don't want to be a murderess.

But the woman I was inside was slain and sawn sunder by the assumption that she was worth nothing more than the mire of abuse.

I am not who I was; I can't be who I was.

I am a new breed of me, with a fire in my eyes. With a reckless fearlessness in my heart because I've already died too many times to fear anything.

"Layla?" A deep but soft voice says.

I hum in acknowledgment.

"Can we lay with you?"

I catch his eyes, guilt evident.

Nodding slowly, I watch as he slides into the covers with me, putting Addison between us.

"I'm angry at you, Layla. I'm angry I missed the beginning of my son's life,"

He pulls me into his chest, cradling me, holding us all.

"But I don't hate you. I don't hate you, Layla. I don't think I could."

And just that is enough to make the call if the blade dampen, the sweet sting of his confession enough pain to get me through the night.