TW: rape

I remember the first time I "defied" him. I was thirteen and fragile still from my mom's third husband. Stephen's remarks had never failed to cut me to the quick, reminding me again and again of how weak and pathetic and dumb I was, and his special brand of sadism was no match to the blazing fire of Christian's rage.

My mother has filed for divorce, so I stay with my dad during the separation period so as not to be caught more in the crossfire of Stephen's cruelty. My phone buzzes with a barrage of texts, growing in frequency and aggression as time passes. I can hear my mom speaking with her lawyer, beyond pissed. She hadn't known about Stephen's…past time…of tormenting me, so you can imagine her surprise when she returned from work early to find him and I in the living room, me cowering into the couch cushions while he berated me relentlessly.

She was beside herself that all this had been going on under her nose, so I wonder how she'd take my daily torture by Christian's hands. A family friend, someone she trusts as much as my dad. It would destroy her.

I'm hiding in my bedroom, trying to focus on my weather-beaten copy of Twilight, when there's a knock at my door. I'm expecting my mother when I call out, "Come in!" and I feel my hands grow cold and the blood rush out of my face when the door swings open and my own personal nightmare fills the door space. His face unreadable, his eyes hard.

When he speaks, his voice is deceptively calm and concerned as he croons to me. "So your mother told me something interesting." He takes a large step, surveying my bedroom—for what, I can't tell but his very presence sends my heart hammering, blood in my mouth—and then his eyes find mine. They're so dark and vast, I can't pull my gaze away from his. Prey meets predator. Mouse gazes at starved wolf. Moth dive-bombs into flame. I try to make myself small, so small he can't see me but it doesn't work; he's latched onto my scent.

My breathing is quick and panicked, sweat dripping down my back. I can't swallow. I don't reply, knowing it'll only make him angrier. Icy fear and adrenaline courses through me, spikes ripping through my body.

He's looking at a snow globe my dad got me when I was six. "That your stepfather's been abusing you." His voice is steely and it makes me tremble all over, shiver all over. Each word is a blade beneath my nails, driving my heightening anxiety and fear higher and higher.

I'm going to vomit all over my bedsheets. I'm going to be sick. My eyes start to water as my stomach churns.

"That's funny, though. You're mine, Anastasia." He turns and his face is a livid, twisted, horrible thing. Rage seeps out of every pore.

I'm going to cry. I'm going to piss myself. I'm frozen in terror, watching him stalk closer, until he's standing in front of me. He's a mountain, towering over me. He doesn't speak again, simply reaches down and curls a hunk of hair around his finger. Before I can react, his hand dives deep into my hair and he yanks me upright by the roots.

I swallow the scream. Screaming always makes it worse.

"You think you're such a big girl now?"

He pushes me down, and I bounce on the mattress, and he crawls on top of me, pinning me. He reaches for his belt, his steady hand popping the button of his slacks. My blood runs cold as his hand shifts from my hair to my throat, squeezing hard enough my vision spots.

"I'll make you remember. And it's your own fault; if only you'd told sooner. If only you'd been brave." His breath is hot and wet as I thrash to no avail, trying to free myself, when his hand shoves down both his underwear and his pants.

He grinds against me, snarling and huffing in my ear like a wild animal, as I claw and kick my feet wildly, trying to throw him off. Without warning, he hits me—slaps me—across the face so hard my ears ring and I can feel the cuts from my teeth inside my cheek. "STOP SQUIRMING!" he commands, and my body locks up. I can't speak.

"Now…let's begin." His hand gropes at the waistband of my sweatpants and against my will, I start to cry and tremble. He pulls them down. I close my eyes.

That was the first time but not the last. He'd desecrated my safe haven and ruined even that tiny slice of peace for me. Like it was his mission to ruin me, to destroy me, to rip me apart from the inside out.

I can never brace myself against his attacks; some nights, he's back to "Uncle" Christian, other nights he's a wicked, girl-eating beast with an insatiable appetite that only little girl flesh can satiate. One minute he's sweet, almost gentle, and the next he's got his hands around my throat, choking me, as he yanks my thighs apart and makes himself at home inside of my tender, raw insides.

When class lets out, Elliot, Kate's twin brother, walks with us to Kate's CLK Mercedes—a present from her rich parents—and he squeezes an arm around either of us, proudly calling us his "girls." My skin crawls. I pull myself out of his grasp and try hard not to imagine the hell that'll be surely waiting for me.

The only man who's girl I'll ever be is Christian's, until I die.