Claimed [ManxMan/BDSM]

Chapter 1

Claimed - ManxMan/BDSM

|Chapter 1 - Levy|

Bright sunlight penetrates through the partially open window. The yellow stream falling on my face and pulling me out of a restoring sleep. I groan as I move my body to shield my face from the intrusive light and then groan in pain as all my muscle tense. Stretching my arms above my head I let myself enjoy the ache from my overtired body.

My kickboxing class was brutal last night, it kicked my ass instead of the other way around. Feeling my bones pop into place I moan and let my body relax into my mattress. Its nice to wake up to my body aching for a reason I have control over for once. Not the abusive hand of my lover like was the case for the better part of a year.

I sigh and open my eyes, memories from this past year filtering through my mind. Kicking my covers off I sit up and will the thoughts away. There is no use dwelling in something that is part of my past and which I don’t plan to ever go back to.

The hardwood floor is cold under my feet as I make my way to the bathroom to perform my morning ablutions and a shiver racks up my spine. Walking into the bathroom I turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up. My eyes land on the mirror above the sink and I stare at myself.

Tousled hair, the color of overturned dirt, lies atop my head. Eyes the color of summer sky stare back at me from my reflection. A straight edged nose lies above thin lips. High cheekbones encase these features and a slightly round jaw finishes off the look. I’ve always been called handsome but at twenty seven and after the life I’ve had that is the last word that comes to mind when I see myself.

At least the bruises are gone, or at least not as prominent. The thought runs through my mind and I grimace as my eyes land on the places on my face that were purplish blue then yellowish brown for the last month. There was one around my left eye, left behind by a fist that had swollen my eye for three days. Another across my cheek where a palm had connected leaving four streaks, one for each finger. A last one was on my chin where the edge of a belt had caught me, leaving a welt that stung like a burn.

I take a deep breath as I remember the day I got these bruises. As much as I try to forget, it keeps coming back. That day haunts my dreams at night and catches me off guard during the day. Images replay over and over again in my head and I wonder, not for the first time, why I never stopped Shane.

Its not as if I couldn’t have. I have a well built body with muscle I got from all the soccer conditioning I did in high school and college. Not being physically capable to stop Shane wasn’t the problem. It was the psychological factors that prevented me from ever putting an end to his weird, abusive games. Or so Dr. Michaels tells me.

Closing my eyes I let myself bathe in the knowledge that Shane is out of my life for good and won’t ever come back. I’ve had enough of being someone’s punching bag for one lifetime. I open my eyes and stare at my reflection again. Aside from a little discoloration still around my left eye and a permanent scar on my chin, where the belt struck me hard enough to cut through my flesh, my face looks back to normal which is a good thing since the vacation I took from work officially ended yesterday and I’m expected back at the office this morning.

With one last look at myself I turn away from the mirror and head into the shower. No use dwelling on the past. That’s become my motto the past few weeks. If only my mind would listen to the words.

I’m stepping out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist and one in my hand, all my morning necessities taken care of, when my phone rings. I run the towel in my hand through my dripping hair before tossing it onto my unmade bed and picking up my cell phone from the bedside table.