You Took It All Away

Chapter 9: Jane

He shot me a confused look, "I thought your name was Adriana. Sebastian mentioned so."

Nervously, I dared not to look at Sebastian. "Adriana is my middle name," I lied, hoping my eyes didn't betray me.

"Jane then," he said, "It's a pleasure meeting you. Hopefully I'll see you again under better circumstances," Demetrio bid me goodbye and walked out the door, glancing at Sebastian at what I thought was anger, before leaving the room.

The second the main door slammed shut, I felt Sebastian's icy glare on me. Ignoring him, I pulled the blanket tighter to my body and proceeded to lie down from my half sitting position.

"Your real name is Jane," he stated from behind me, his voice quiet yet deadly at the same time.

"Yes," I replied in a clipped tone.

"So, Jane, mind telling me what's going on?" he asked, emphasizing my real name.

I sat up, ignoring my throbbing head and glared at him. "Do not call me Jane. My name is Adriana to you," I said coldly.

"I can call you whatever I want, Jane," he replied with a smirk.

"Then don't wait too long when you don't hear an answer," I responded back.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that, bitch. I own you so act like it," he growled, taking a few steps towards to the bed.

I snapped. I couldn't take his attitude any longer.

"Or what? You'll rape me? Beat me?" I laughed humourlessly. "Trust me, I've already went through all of those things." My voice was sarcastic, a pleasant surprise to my own ears. "You can't threaten me. You don't have anything on me. For all I care, You can take me back to Varo." I drawled out defiantly. My boldness continued to shock me, the words coming out of my mouth like spilling water. It felt so good.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch. Or I'm going to make you," he hissed, a dark shadow passing over his features.

"Go ahead, rape me, hit me, kill me. I don't give a damn anymore. But no matter what you'll do, I will never respond to you calling me Jane. Ever."

Without a warning, I felt his heavy weight on me. His eyes glared at me darkly, the rage clear in his eyes. I closed my eyes when I felt his hands on my skin, pulling the blankets from my body. He ripped my shirt off, just like he had done so countless of time, grunting at my every protest.

Pig.

It was easy ignoring him now. I felt better that I had finally let out what I wanted to say. I looked away from him, staring at the half empty glass of water that lay on the bed stand. I studied it, taking notice how it shook as the large bed moved.

He was rougher than he had ever been, probably rougher than the first night he raped me. But I knew why he acted so. I knew that it was the only thing that he could control of with no questions asked. It was his only way of marking me, no matter how animalistic it was.

I dared not to stare, knowing it will satisfy him more if I let him see my pain. I knew all along that it was his goal. I long ago realized that what he was trying to do was shatter me to pieces so he could get over his wounded ego and at my cold rejection toward him.

What he failed to realize though, for the past couple of weeks, as he continuously took me in any shape or form, he had long managed to achieve his goal.

I wondered why I hadn't made him see it, why I had let myself endure the pain mixed with pleasure. Why the back of my head told me that he may have been a different person if I told him the truth about me. But it was over now. He had taken everything.