A story of how love can quickly turn into obsession and infatuation.
Zahra Wubit is only twenty three years old when she meets the famous Abel Tesfaye. She falls hard for him and their relationship is picture perfect in the beginning.
But when Abe...
Trigger Warning ⚠️: This particular book contains strong adult themes of domestic violence, murder, assault, and other adult content that may be triggering.
Please read at your own risk. 18+ ________________________________
"I am so infatuated with you... I don't think I could leave you alone if I wanted to. Your love drives me crazy." Is the words that he uttered to me after our first time making love.
I wish then that I would have seen that statement as a sign of who he was underneath the dark surface, and just how infatuated with me he would have become.
Two Years Later:
"'Come here Zahra, sit down, and shut the fuck up!" He barks, pointing to the bed.
He didn't ask anything of me, he always demanded it.
His eyes ignited with entitlement and his voice so jagged and evil. . He towers over me like a skyscraper, and my eyes can't meet his intense stare as I cringe and peered down at the wooden floor.
I'm scared... scared to move, speak, even breathe.
With privileged hands, he shatters me to pieces, and I fly down to the floor with a bloodstained lip.
"I said come here! When I tell your ass to do something you do it!" His voice is as cold as ice.
His command collapses around me and makes me wince and curl into a tiny ball, preparing to feel yet another blow to my body.
"P-Please, please stop, Abel." My voice is caught in my throat as he towers over me with his fists tightly clenched and his jaw tightened.
No words, explaining, or negotiating can save me now.
He clenches my wrists tightly and starts to drag me out of the bedroom we shared, leaving a trail of blood behind us.
Another night would be spent cleaning up my blood from the flooring of the multimillion-dollar mansion that is merely a house of horrors, for a home could never hold the dark secrets and demons that lie behind these walls.
His eyes pierce down on me as I scream for mercy.
My broken mirror of a body is already so shattered from his mighty blows.
I cry, his eyes flicker for just a moment, showing a small glimpse of remorse, but it quickly fades.
The once white, crisp, and clean tiles on the bathroom floor soon are splattered in my red blood.
When he is finally finished with me, my body remains stiff and weakened. All I can do is lay on the floor and cry.
He said that he loves me, some days it feels like he genuinely does.
But the fractured pieces of myself could no longer reflect that sentiment.
So I lay broken, thinking "Why does love hurt so much?'"
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