Book of BxB One Shots

Save Me From The Monster

He swore, and I felt his muscles tense as he released his load in me before pulling out and leaving the room as if nothing happened. I could feel the milky liquid drip out of my hole and leak down my leg, but I didn't bother to move. It hurt too much to even pull my comforter over myself. So instead, I opted for wrapping my arms around my pillow and silently cried myself to sleep. 

------------------------2

I woke up the next morning to a throbbing pain in my lower back and crusty cum covering my hole and trailing down my thighs. I sighed, and carefully stood up.

The walk to the bathroom across the hall was almost unbearable, but I made it there with little more than a handful of pauses and more than a dozen whimpers. I was proud of myself, I didn't burst out into tears this time. 

Climbing into the shower, I relaxed under the soft spray of warm water. It beat against sore muscles and washed away the feeling of last night. But even the soothing water of my morning shower couldn't get rid of the horrible memories that plagued my mind each day and haunted my nightmares every night. 

Sometimes I would think back to my childhood, how I used to listen to my Gran as she told me about my mother and how I was born. My mother was seventeen and in love, she thought she was going to get married and have kids with her boyfriend of the time, my father. Ultimately, they had sex. Gran said my mother was so afraid of how her parents would react, she was literally shaking as tears streamed down her face while she explained everything to Gran and Gramp. My grandparents supported their daughter throughout the pregnancy, because they loved her. My father, however, was a coward. Gran told me that when my mother surprised my father with a positive pregnancy test, he flipped. He screamed at her to have an abortion, to 'kill it'. To kill me. My mother wouldn't do it, so he left her. When it came time for me to be born, Gran said she held her daughters hand throughout the ordeal with Gramps standing beside her. There were complications. I was small for my age. My mothers heart rate was dropping. There was so much blood. I was screaming bloody murder. She was dying. 

The heart rate monitor flat lined, and her heart wouldn't restart. I was born June twelfth, 1997, at eleven-fifty-seven PM. My mother died at twelve-o-two AM of June thirteenth that same year. I didn't even get to be held by the woman who gave birth to me. 

For the next six years of my life, I would live with my grandparents in the home they raised their three kids in. My aunt Evelyn, who was sixteen at the time of my birth, still lived at home and often babysat me. Uncle Dave, who was two years older than my mother, moved out before I was born, and went off to join the police force. When my grandparents died, I was only six-years-old. They were killed when a drunk driver plowed through a red light and crashed into them. Being the oldest meant that Uncle Dave got custody of me. I was fine with that at first, especially when he kept reminding me that Aunt Evelyn was still in college and didn't need a pesky brat like me around. 

Now, I was seventeen and still living under the same roof as the man who I once lovingly called uncle. He was a monster, disguised as a caring brother, grieving son and loving uncle. It all changed the minute I moved in with him and he brought out his belt because I had dropped a plate. The first whip of his brown leather belt across my backside confused me. Gran would only ever give me plastic plates because I could carry them without fear of breaking one, and if I did break something Gramps never whipped me. It was always timeouts and earlier bedtimes, maybe the loss of a dessert or no TV. Never this.

The cooling temperature of the water brought me back to the present, and I quickly scrubbed up and washed my hair. Once finished, I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist before stepping out of the tub. The mirror was fogged up, so I swiped a hand across it a few times until I could see myself clearly. Brown cinnamon hair that was in desperate need of a trim, blotchy purple bruises covering the pale skin like a boxing match gone wrong, and mint alabaster eyes staring back at me. The faint outline of the Monsters hands around my neck was visible, meaning I would have to use concealer again to avoid questions. The bruises on my face could be chopped up to a fight with someone, possibly a mugging, but the marks of hands wrapped around my neck would be a bit harder to explain away. Not that anyone really cared in the first place.