Damsel in Control (18+ Only) - The Rogue Pack

Chapter 41

Warning! Mentions of physical and emotional abuse. More detail than previous chapters, so please read at your own risk. I'm also going to use this opportunity to do a bit of safeguarding; if you feel like you are in danger, or are uncomfortable in a situation, please, please reach out for support. This could be the police, a friend or family member, or even a helpline. Moreover, if this chapter brings up uncomfortable emotions or reactions that you'd like to talk through, I would be happy to share some messages about your feelings in an entirely anonymous and confidential way.

Stay safe out there xx

"I'm so sorry Saul, I know you don't need me to fight your battles for you. But that man... he gets under my skin in a way that no one else ever has. And when he went after you..."

I bare my teeth in an attempt to explain my frustration, anger still coursing through my body. My hand throbs slightly, the knuckles reddening from where I punched Rodrigo in the face, but it doesn't feel too bad yet. Although if the gorgeous colour blooming on my skin if anything to go by, I may regret my actions later.

Yeah right. I giggle at Aida. She's right. I'd never actually regret punching that asshole in the face. He's had it coming for years.

"Oh don't worry about that just now Reyna, are you ok? Who was that?" He looks at the small piece of paper clutched in my hand in intrigue. "And what is that?" I stare at him for maybe a second before I decide, knowing that the truth was bound to come out sooner rather than later, and why not for the man who mere moments ago was willing to share his deepest secret, knowing he may lose a friend over it.

And so I tell him. Gulping the tears back as I do. I start at the beginning, and I tell him all of it. The whole story, not the diluted version I told Alice, Maria, or the censored version I told my parents. I tell him the whole truth about Rodrigo. I tell him about the nights I would spend crying myself to sleep when he went out drinking, scared that he would never come back and terrified that he would. The way he would convince me that loving me was a chore, that it was something he had to force himself to do because, through the mating bond, the Goddess had shown him he had to. I tell him about the physical abuse, how he would hit me over and over again, sadness clear on his face as he told me it was for my own good. That it was the only way I would learn to be a proper mate. And worst of all, I tell him how I used to take it all. How I used the accept the abuse, the manipulation, because I was convinced that I loved him and he, deep down, loved me too. I tell him about the sex. How it started off as amazing, mind-blowing sex. The most incredible experience I had ever had the honour to live through. But that gradually, it changed, distorting itself until Rodrigo could use it as a reward, or as a threat.

And then I tell him how I used to think it was all my fault. How I still did sometimes. How I could still remember angry he would get because I had once again failed in my duties. Duties that I didn't even know were mine. And that the next day I would try, try to make sure there was food on the table, that the bedding was clean, that the kitchen had been tidied. Only for him to come up with another duty, another task I had failed to complete. But the worst was that he was never, ever, actually angry. At least not at first. He was disappointed. I can still remember the sadness on his face, the despair he laced into his voice as if he was forcing himself to stay with the hopeless girl that I was, that heartache I felt as he stared at me as if I was a burden. Then, shaking his head, he would fetch his weapon of choice. Reminding me incessantly that it was the only way I would improve. Back then, I was so willing to give him everything, that I thought he was right. Thought that surely I must be making some atrocious mistakes that if I put in some effort, could easily disappear.

"I remember the first day he got angry. Not disappointed like he had been before, but actually angry. He got home, and I had done everything. The place was spotless, pristine. Not a speck of dust out of place. And he'd walked over to the sofa, picking up my book, neatly placed on the side table beside my tea. A romantic novella it was, I can't remember the name. But his face dropped instantly, the way it always did when he finally spotted the issue he was going to punish me for. And his calm voice came out, as he explained that this sort of book was not appropriate for a housewife. I argued back, stating that all books were appropriate as long as I was able to interpret them correctly, to make my own logical, rational conclusion about the story. And that's when he got angry. It was the first time he'd shown how much he enjoyed the punishment, using the book itself to whack me, before forcing himself on me. Pushing himself inside as he repeated 'I love you. I love you no matter how many mistakes you make.' Fucking me as I cried and apologised and begged him to get off me."