A/N: WARNING: Vulgarity, provocative, UNDERAGE PAIRING, violence, perverted, crude, alcohol reference, drug reference, tobacco reference, action, dark romance, melancholy, sexual abuse, sexual, explicit, smut, drama, tragic, well... TOXIC
I will update randomly. Follow if you like the story. I know my writing isn't perfect, so any constructive criticism won't offend me. Enjoy:)
Prologue
The Institute
"It's been six months since you've been here. Are you ready to experience the outside world again?"
White rooms… White Walls… They are all the same…
The past cannot be forgotten. The pain still exists. It lingers in my bones. My memory. No matter how hard I try to forget, I cannot forget what was done to me. Why can't anyone accept that? Will my father ever accept that I won't be the same again? Every night I tremble. My hands flinch with the slightest sound of a man speaking. The doctor in front of me makes me tremble. My eyes fall from the psychiatrist to my hands that have spasms.
"I just want to go home?"
The response is genuine. Maybe it would be good for me to move on from my dark experience. What was taken away can never be restored. I accepted that. Can they? Things become complicated when the doctor clears her throat while going through the pages in her folder. The ticking of the clock is giving more anxiety more than her voice at this point.
"Ashley? You were beaten and raped. You were left for dead. One of your attackers felt remorse and shot his partner twice. What happened to you was very traumatic. Are you sure you're ready to reconnect to the outside world again?"
Why am I even here…?
"Are you sure it's remorse that he felt?" the question is asked quietly while making eye contact with her again. "How could it be remorse?"
The silence takes over when she starts jotting down notes into her book, "he dropped you off at the nearest hospital, didn't he? I'd say that is a sign of remorse."
All I could do was sit quietly and recollect my thoughts. When the hour hand lands on three, I move forward in my seat with relief, "are we done yet?" I ask finally.
The doctor just stares at me quietly as if she's wanting to ask more questions. A sigh escapes through my departed lips when she uncrosses her legs. The session is over. That's what I thought until she closes her book and leans forward, sighing herself.
"I want you to know something. Your father requested that you are protected adequately. I understand that you are the president's daughter, but that won't stop you from experiencing the harshness of the society we live in today. Please know that it is expected that you will have protection," the doctor finishes once she closes her book.
The thought of being around men horrifies me. Whenever I look at a man or he looks at me, my body quivers. The session does end thankfully. It felt like eternity as I walk down the white hall to the mental institution. The first thing I do is pack the rest of my belongings. Ever since I arrived here, I yearned for the day I walk outside the building as a free woman. Being cleared is breathtaking. Although I am free to leave, somehow I still feel broken. Everything seems to be going okay until I take one last look at the mirror hanging on the wall. Reflections are the one thing I avoid. The thought of looking at myself reminds me that I was the girl who was raped and beaten.
Am I ready to leave this place if I can't stand the sight of my own reflection…?
"Ashley?" that voice…
With so much to do, I turn around to see my father looking at me while standing at the door. The moment couldn't be contained when my legs move on their own, running up to him and embracing the man who is the most important thing to me in the world with open arms.
"Daddy!" my shrieking voice is sad, as if I am almost about to cry as I embrace the fatigued man who is the president.
The pure comfort of feeling his embrace tightening around sends me through a wave of calmness. We hold each other comfortingly as we take in our moment together. My head rests against his chest to smell his expensive cologne. The same smell he's been smelling like for years. Sad eyes close lightly as I tighten my embrace as my arms hook from under his arms and we lock hands together behind his neck. Even his hair feels rough yet satisfying. Just the thought of my dad coming to me directly makes me feel like that I am blessed. Am I?
"Let's go home," is all he says comfortingly.
I've been waiting to hear that from you for a half a year…
Six months ago I was gang raped and beaten. I was left for dead. One of my attackers wearing a ghostface mask ended up shooting his accomplice twice when he prepared to kill me. I was dropped off at a hospital. It seems like a blur after that. All I know is that they haven't been caught yet and what they did to me will forever be sketched into my memory. Now I suffer from night terrors because of that night. When will my life begin? On the way home from the mental hospital, my father brought up how I am to be protected twenty-four-seven. Who would agree to be by my side for twenty-four hours, seven days a week? Nobody.
It's been two days since I returned home from the mental institution. My father thought it would be best to go through candidates that applied for a bodyguard job to protect me. So far, the interviews aren't going well. Unfortunately, my father is very adamant about finding the best suitable candidate for me which means, they will be with me twenty-four hours of the day. It's been an hour since my father started interviewing people. He thought it was best that I meet the candidates too. They are all men. It's terrifying. Just one look from a man makes my body tremble uncontrollably. The room is silent when a candidate leaves the office. There are no words exchanged between me and my father for the longest time until his voice breaks the silence.
"I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone. You do understand why we must do this? It's for your own protection."
Just the thought of a man being with me every moment of the day is horrifying…
"What happens if we don't find someone soon? Am I going to be a prisoner in this building?" I ask quietly, my eyes staring at the floor without moving.
"The White House is the most protected building in the world. You know this," it is a response that I wasn't looking for.
It's silent again between the both of us until my dad starts to go through a file for the next candidate. It's going to take a long time for me to be comfortable again. When will I learn to laugh and smile again? Are all men the same? No matter the situation, I could always avoid whomever he hires.
"That was the last interview. We will try again in a few days when we get a few more candidates."
Of course… Why do I feel like you will not like anyone that walks through that door…?
"I'm going now. I'll be in my room doing absolutely nothing," the words hit my dad like daggers when I rise from my chair.
The room became melancholy like a dismal cemetery so quickly when I open the door and walk out. The moment the door shuts, I run into a man who feels like he is made out of iron. The sudden collision makes me stumble back as I look up in shock. In front of me stands a man who towers over me, as if the last of my sunlight has been deprived from me. As I collect my thoughts while moving a step back, I notice that the man wears a black suit as if he's prepared for an interview. Strands of his brown hair fall over his brown confused eyes as he looks at the door I just walked out of.
"My apologies. I didn't see you," his voice is deep and resonating. Almost as if it's poison to my ears, infecting whatever is left to infect inside my body.
What's uncanny is how the man stares down at me with shock as if he is seeing the parting of the sun. Just the sight of the man makes my body quiver. Without saying anything else, I move to the side awkwardly before I start walking down the hallway. Not once do I look back to see if he's staring at me. Somewhere in my mind, I get the feeling that he's possibly here for an interview with my father. The man looks intimidating and adamant for some reason.
Is he here for my protection…?
"Why is she so special? Why did you target this girl?"
"I—I don't know."
Why… Just why… Did I target this girl… She looks so tasty… So vulnerable… So delicious…
TO BE CONTINUED…