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WARNING/TRIGGER WARNING (TW)]: This chapter contains descriptions of manipulation, severe hate, blood, physical violence , gore, infantilization, drowning, vomiting, force feeding, incestuous and pedophilic undertones, disturbing, dark and terrible topics in general. I do not condone any of it.
Any organism with life deserves respect and to be treated kindly. Regardless of your belief and faith, you should not disrespect any religion or non-religion. Same goes to our nationality and races, no one should be treated horribly just because we come from different backgrounds. No one is superior or inferior to another, we are all equals and should never belittle anyone of different ethnicity, religion or nationality. May we live in peace and harmony. Kindness, tolerance, respect and acceptance is what makes us all Human, civil and it is what keeps us together. Please do not be mean-spirited and hateful as it will only bring you and others down. Please be kind to animals, they're also living creatures like you and I, they can feel pain and suffer. You are valued and have high worth, do not let anyone convince you otherwise.
The antagonist (the 'yandere') is supposed to be unsettling and immoral (abusive), I do not condone his ways.
This is Horror, not romance.
This book is purely a work of fiction and is not to be emulated in real life. Nor does it encourage others to be like the characters in this book. This book is for entertainment purposes only and It is never intended to be a guide of some sort, so please, in simple English: Do not try or mimic the things you read here in real life.
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Aches.
Aches everywhere.
You let out a soft huff. God, what you wouldn't do for a total 'soul exchange' with someone else. Everything is either causing you pain, going to cause you pain or caused you pain.
You pried your eyelids open. They felt unusually rusty and stubborn today, it doesn't really come off as a surprise to you since you remembered everything that transpired much earlier.
If it wasn't for your exhaustion, you would have shot up from your position and began finding ways to escape whatever conundrum you're in right now. Working hard to formulate an escape plan, riling yourself up with adrenaline...
Hmm. Must be a subconscious thing, you seem to remember what to do in these types of situations... or at least similar types. You can't remember what happened between you and Husband during the past five years, though.
It's like the (y/n) that medic described was a different person entirely.
It's quite the misfortune that you never learnt what her name was. She's probably dead anyways.
Your upper lids trembled as it tried it's best to open. The room you're in right now is dark, but not pitch black. You still can see the outlines of the items present.
The temperature is... normal. Not too hot, so you're not in hell or a scorching torture chamber. Not too cold, so you're not in... hell or a freezing torture chamber. That's all you can think of at the moment, you're too tired. You've reached your physical activity quota for this year, you fear that a singular touch would cause your form to reduce itself to dust.
You fought back the urge to sleep. At the moment, all you can move is your eyes. So you fully utilized it to adjust to the darkness, until you can see clearly.
You can't even gather the strength to let out a scream of frustration. You're back where you started, Husband's bedroom. Square one, all progress, lost.
Clink...!
Looks like he added some extra precautions too. You frowned, feeling the familiar cold pinch of metal around your ankle. The sound of it gently hitting against the bed frame confirms that your leg has been chained down.
You stare at Husband's slumbering form next to you. He's sleeping on his side, facing towards you. His chest gently rises and sinks as he took calm breaths.
There were small cuts and bandages on his handsome face.
There was also a gap between the two of you. He gave you space and didn't cuddle you in his sleep like usual, but a large, warm hand rested on your arm. There wasn't any pressure, it's more like he placed it there to detect small movements from you.
That familiar comforter is loosely draped across Husband's and your body. It's not comforting at all, you oddly felt... itchy. Not exactly the type of itch that resembles a common rash or mosquito bite, but a certain itch that made you wish you can just rip your skin off and scrub it clean.
You felt filthy despite being bathed thoroughly by Husband earlier (while you were unconscious, of course). You felt tatty even though you're in your once-cozy pyjamas. Not a speck of dirt or grime on you, but yet you felt awfully nasty. You hate that the cretin of a man laying next to you is touching your once beautiful skin, now covered in scrapes and bruises from your reckless adventure.
You felt like a whore, a prude, an adult, a child, a stupid girl and a clever woman all at the same time. It was a challenge to waddle through this foul concoction of conflicting thoughts and emotions without letting a few stray drops of tears escape your eyes.
You thought the 'past' you was brainless, letting herself roll over for Husband just like that. All the abuse, the insults...
Simultaneously, it hurts to blame 'her'. Because 'she' was you. But, you can't understand what were 'you' thinking back then, that is what made you so angry, so upset. All of this, could have been avoided if 'you' weren't that greedy for positive relationships. 'You' already had a network of friends, you didn't need Husband. But yet, you still 'pursued' him despite all.
You're the same (y/n) who went through whatever the Medic told you, however, it felt like you were berating a completely different person whenever you internally scolded yourself.
...No, it wasn't anyone's fault except Husband's. You are the victim, he is the perpetrator.
You blinked away the tears and gritted your teeth. Your other arm that isn't in contact with Husband's hand clenched in fury.
Indeed, why are you to blame? You were young and still immature even though you're legally an adult, it was Husband's fault for plunging you deep into his cesspool of obsession. He was a full blown adult, he should distinguish between right and wrong. He robbed you of your freedom, your friends, your sanity and your autonomy. And... he even managed to instill a negging thought that you are the only one to blame.
No. You squeezed your eyes shut and contracted the muscles in your neck. It wasn't your fault, you didn't bring this upon yourself, you wouldn't have known that this would happen, you should not blame yourself. You were manipulated by someone who you trusted, by someone who should have known better.
He should have self control. He should have disciplined himself better, you never deserved this. Husband is the problem, not you. He is the parasite, he is the predator, he is the epitome of insanity and derangement. He is the absolute worst to ever walk on this Earth. Husband deserves nothing but an eternity in hell, to be tortured until his mind irreversibly breaks. He deserves all the suffering and horror he brought upon this world, Husband needs to die.
You have never felt the urge to kill someone more in your life. Well, at least the 'life' you had after your memories have been wiped.
Your limbs began to cram up, gathering little energy which you didn't even knew you had left. Hatred pulsed throughout your nerves like electricity in a complete circuit, rushing and pushing to do another round. This looped feedback allowed you to slowly stick your shaky hand out to the side, where the lamp is located.
Your fingers tightly wrapped itself around the sleek design, ignoring the porcelain coldness. You bit back the urge to grunt, it's heavier than usual. It is to be expected since you're sick and tired of everything.
Your arm trembled horribly, struggling to cope with fatigue, the lamp's weight and the mechanical movement of bringing your only weapon up high, above Husband's unsuspecting form. Not to mention, you had to battle with the thick cord attached to it too.
Your arm and the lamp cast a shadow over him, for a man who specializes in doing whatever St. Hedonismus pays him to do, he seem to be oblivious to the imminent danger. The blond continued resting without a care in the world.
You bit back a sob, feeling your joints locking itself together, your muscles begging for mercy. You felt like you're made out of iron that has been rusted a long while back.
Maybe, just... maybe. If you struck him on the head hard enough, you might just kill him. With the help of gravity, the singular ounce of strength you had left and maybe a little bit of physics could do the trick. It could accumulate enough force to kill, if not, injure him on the head, the control center of Husband's being.
Then, maybe you can rest easy before getting back to work. Maybe, maybe, maybe...
You took a deep breath, filled your lungs with air. Maximizing your oxygen intake before shutting your eyes once more, clenching your jaw and swinging your arm downwards.
Suddenly, the warmth on your arm disappeared and the comforter wildly fluttered away from Husband's upper body. A flash of faired skinned flesh shot up to catch your wrist before it can deliver a dangerous blow.
You gasped as Husband immediately snatched the lamp away from your hand and hurl it in the opposite direction.
CRASH!
You flinched, the brittle section of the lamp shattered upon collision against the wall. Sharp shards did not spray too far, so you were safe from it.
"Ngh!" You yelped as Husband hastily straddled your hips, restraining your wrists above your head with one strong hand. You can't kick him as he firmly planted his weight onto your legs, not enough to crush your bones, but just enough to suppress excessive movements. Instinctively, you thrashed and screamed, hoping that whatever he's going to do won't hurt as much as you think.
He stayed in that position, hovering above you. Letting you tire yourself out. It was a terrifying revelation that Husband was half-naked, showcasing his perfectly sculpted, muscular-lean body. His obvious brawn was mocking your weak (body shape), telling you that you can never overpower him in this lifetime. It doesn't matter if he's semi-covered in bloodied bandages or not, he's stronger than you regardless.
The room was silent, except for the sounds of you attempting to wrestle him off you and the sounds of your chains clinking.
Husband sighed softly as he gently and slowly brought his free hand to cup your face. By then, you're too worn out to bite a finger off. All you could do is pant like a asthmatic dog as he tenderly caressed your cheek with a thumb.
He watched you panic in lethargy with tired, dull, blue eyes. His lips were neither pulled into a frown or a smile, it was more of a thin, disappointed line. The blond was mildly surprised that the pain in your abdomen made by the gunshot wound wasn't enough to debilitate you. Adrenaline is one hell of a natural drug.
If you weren't in such a pathetic condition, there was a reasonable chance of you successfully fighting off Husband alone. Because he's greatly weakened by the injuries he sustained from being shot square in the shoulder and the explosion itself.
Although the blond doesn't show it, he's in much more pain than you are. Every jerk you make causes his carelessly stitched up wound to open a bit, every scream somehow amplified the incessant ringing in his ears and every tug you do caused the soreness of his entire body to increase.
But he was trained very well to handle and tolerate this, Husband has dealt worse in his career. You? You were trained too, once upon a time in your life. That's why, you could effectively ignore the pain in your abdomen while you're raging.
You choked on your own spit, hacking wildly in desperation to rid the droplets from your windpipe.
Husband hopped off you and picked you up right away, you rested your chin on his non-injured shoulder as you continued to wheeze and cough. The blond patted your back while rocking you back and forth, as if he's trying to... burp you?
He adjusted you on his lap as he sits upright on the bed, cross-legged. You continued gasping for air until everything settles down, by the time that happens, your face and eyes were red from the scare.
That's it. All your precious energy was all spent, it has all gone to waste without producing any desirable results.
You grew limp in Husband's lean, loving arms. He stroked your back up and down to soothe you.
Your cheek was pressed against his trapezius. Your half-lidded eyes were eyeing the gauze pad that was attached to his shoulder. It has a red patch in the middle with a light yellow stain around it.
His supple fingers ran itself through your hair, Husband's blue eyes softened as he relaxes himself. He then went on to massage the back of your neck, you're bound to have soreness from the diminished shockwave. The blond smiled a bit as soon as he realizes that you're melting into his touch again.
You're actually not. You're just... spent. Emotionally and especially physically.
The both of you remained in this position for a while in silence until you earned enough energy to harshly shove him away from you. Husband winced in pain as you played dirty: by digging your thumb into his freshly treated bullet wound.
You also took this chance to punch him across the face with all your might.
THUD!
Music to your ears, you love it when your knuckles make that wonderful sound. Especially knowing that the thing you're damaging is Husband's ego and Husband's face.
Your breath was labored, each cell in your body is working hard to gather as much oxygen to convert the sugar reserves in your liver to keep you awake. You flicked your hand in pain as you watched Husband attentively.
Husband took the strike as if it was nothing, his head was thrown to the side, though. His messy, golden hair obscured his face, however, he couldn't hide the frown and redness on his cheek.
You positioned your arms so that you could readily defend yourself as soon as he tried to attack you. But Husband, for once, kept his hands to himself.
He sat there unmoving, his head still slacking to his side.
Soon after, you noticed something dripping down his face. Tears? No, they're too opaque and scarlet to be mere tears.
It started with one, then two, then a series of successive drops. It stained the sheets red and it spreads out. You scoot away from the source of his bleeding, which is most likely from his nose.
He slowly repositioned his head to look straight, to look at you directly. Husband's entire lower face was coated with it, with his blood. All the way down to his chin, throat and it somewhat pools on his deep collarbones. What an absolutely satisfying sight to witness, you only wished that the blood came from his eyes.
You braced yourself for any retaliation, but nothing came. Husband doesn't even seem to be furious that you attacked him, he just seems... sad. His eyebrows were slightly knitted and his blue eyes harbored such deep, unspoken feelings for you.
"What did that American tell you?" He whispered. It was shaky, unsure and insecure, unlike his usual confident and imposing tone.
"Nothing." You snarkily replied before diving in to hit him again, but this time, he caught your hand.
"Nothing?" He repeated, catching your other hand.
You refused to reply to him after that, you began your struggle again. You wished you can utilize your legs to kick him, but strangely, you can't seem to move your lower body very well and they're numb. You knew that your bullet wound has something to do with this.
"You don't have to defend her." Husband mumbled. "She's gone."
You paid him no mind and continued struggling against his steel grip.
"Don't you wish to hear my side of the story?" He cooed.
"No." You snapped.
"We are both hedonists, (y/n). How can you be so sure she's telling the truth?"
You grunted as you tugged your hands in all directions, trying to remove it from his grip.
"I love you." He whispered tenderly.
"You sick fuck!" Your voice rose tremendously. Salty tears streaked down your cheeks. "You derive sexual pleasure from treating me like a child, don't you? You disgusting piece of shit!" You spat hatefully.
You felt filthier and filthier the longer you bask in his undesirable presence. No amount of showering will rid this feeling of dirtiness, you must kill Husband if you want to feel 'clean' again. Just like how you killed that serial rapist in his own car. You have to end him, you have to end his reign of terror.
"Go kill yourself, worthless pedophilic scum! You made me participate in this fucked up fetish of yours, You wiped my memories away just so you can use me as this 'pure' doll! You ruined my life, you killed my friends, you lied, you- you—"
You let out a frustrated shriek before sobbing loudly.
Husband patiently waited for you to calm down before saying his piece. Bit by bit, you began to mellow. But your burning hate for him is ever growing, like a malignant tumor, it's destroying you from the inside. You have to kill him, he is making you lose your mind.
"I had no choice." He replied quietly. "I loved you too much."
"Fuck you! Stop spewing out bullshit, shut up, Shut up, shut up!" Nothing he says makes sense to you, you can't get his distorted logic and he can't get your sensible one.
"You only saw me as a father figure." He affectionately rubbed your hands with his thumbs. His eyelashes fluttered up and down as he blinked, each blink coated them with more droplets of his own tears.
"Shut up, just shut the fuck up for once! I can't stand the sound of your stupid voice, I can't stand it! I can't stand you!" It was brain rot, his words were complete brain rot. Only making you feel filthier, filthier, filthier...
"I thought... If I gave you what you wanted, you'll stay. You'll love me back the way I need you to." He finally lets go of your hands.
You ditched the intention to physically hurt him, now you're in dire need to protect yourself from his foul words. You brought your hands to your ears and closed them.
"Shut up!" You screamed.
"I'm sorry, my darling little girl." His eyes were downcast. "I can't be that platonic father figure you wanted." Husband wiped the red off his nose with the back of his hand.
"That was the best I can do." He shook his head as he watched you with sympathetic eyes. You were squeezing yours shut and gritting your teeth.
"I can never be that paternal figure you saw me as. The love I held for you is much different than the love you held for me."
You tried drowning his nonsense by yelling incoherently.
Husband lets out a melancholic chuckle.
"I tried to... amalgamate our differences. To create something that caters to both of our needs." He extended his clean hand to touch you.
"Get away from me!" You slapped his hand away.
"It catered mostly to yours... I know, I act more like a caregiver than a true spouse." He leant forward and propped his head up with his elbow.
"I love you romantically, I know you loved me too. But, not in the same way that I do." He absentmindedly played with the hem of your pyjamas. "I had to... I had to accommodate that. I had to accommodate your need for a father figure. So you would willingly stay with me."
You whimpered and trembled, how can someone think of mixing romantic and parental feelings together? Does he not have parents? Was he so love deprived that he didn't know how these work? Did he grow up in a incestuous family!?
"How do you not see that this is completely wrong!? What the fuck!?" You hissed at him.
"...I did. For a while, I did see that something seems to be amiss."
"Then!? What the fuck did you do? Nothing! That's what you goddamn did, you did nothing! You're nothing but a degenerate, Godafrid!" You spat.
He fell silent for a while, hurt was written all over his face but he never act upon it. Husband sighed and shook his head.
"No, no. You did something, alright. You did... all of this!" You gestured toward yourself and especially your ankle cuff. "You're sick in the head, Godafrid!" You aggressively pointed at him.
"I eventually found myself enjoying the role of your surrogate... father..." He whispered, ignoring whatever insults you hurled at him. "It became an integral of me, (y/n). I can't help but see you as this... strange mixture between spouse and child." Husband guiltily ran his fingers through his hair.
"I tried, (y/n). I tried ridding my romantic feelings for you and replacing it with something much more... 'pure'." His fingers are itching to stroke your skin, to relish in the comfort of cuddling you. However, you wouldn't let him.
"I had to keep you pure in order to do that. Hence... making the topic of sex a taboo." He paused momentarily to gather his scrambled thoughts. "I never derived any sexual pleasure from treating you like a child. But I'd be a liar if I said I didn't enjoy it."
You gagged, this is too much.
"I'm sorry. I can't be that platonic paternal figure you wanted me to be. I can try my best to emulate it, but I cannot remove my romantic feelings for you entirely." He repeated.
You said nothing. Anything you say wouldn't register in his mind anyways.
"I wish you saw me as a romantic partner in the first place." A stray tear rolled down his cheek. He discretely wiped it away.
"I wish we never met." You coldly replied. "You ruined everything."
He remained silent with an unreadable expression.
The both of you didn't speak to each other for quite a while. Until he decided to break the ice again with his words of insanity.
"I love you." He mumbled.
"SHUT UP! Shut up, shut up! I hate those three words, you don't even know what the fuck it means! So shut up!" You threw a hissy fit as hearing it instantly made your ears and body feel grimier.
"I do—"
"No, you don't! You don't mix spouse and child— what the fuck is wrong with you? Everything is wrong with you!" You went on to try and hit him, but he blocked it before you could break his nose.
The blond remained silent, you don't know what he's thinking. Is he feeling guilty, happy, indifferent? You don't know.
"(Y/n), do you remember a precious teddy bear, with a red ribbon tied to its' neck?" He asked, fidgeting with the edge of his fluffy, bloodstained pillow.
"You didn't deserve it. I shouldn't have given you that." You venomously snarled at him.
"And yet, you did." A soft smile graced his face. Husband's eyes drooped as he yearns to hold you tight and never let go. But... seeing your current state of sanity hanging loosely on a piece of frail string, Husband knows better than to act on his desires. "I cherished it very much."
You did not respond or even look at him. Making Husband's patience chip away, he does a scarily exemplary job at hiding it behind this somewhat remorseful, darling and meek façade.
It's time for you to tread carefully, but the hurricane inside your mind prevents you from seeing clearly, preventing you from picking up the signature rattles of a rattlesnake: Husband's body language and subtle tones.
"...Do you wish to know what happened before you lost your memories?" He cooed.
"Not from you." You inched away from him.
"Why?" He pouted. "You were so eager to know a while ago."
"I don't want to." You tried your best to limit interactions between yourself and Husband. Although you're much more informed about your situation now, you still can't underestimate Husband. You might just fall into one of his manipulative traps and continue the cycle of horror... where you involuntarily indulge him in his disgusting fetishes.
"I suppose you heard about... Sister Abigail, 'Abby'? Do you remember her?" He asked 'innocently'.
You refused to answer, his sly behavior now makes you wonder if his tears a while ago were crocodile tears.
"She manipulated you." He mumbled. "Abby poisoned your mind, telling you awful things about me that aren't true."
You trembled on the spot. Husband is just spouting lies, but to be safe, you will not participate in this thinly veiled attempt to sway you. So, no words will ever leave your sealed lips.
"She's a hedonist too. Sister Abigail never liked me for petty reasons, she had plans to use you against me." Husband moved closer to you.
Petty reasons? You're sure the entire German branch of St. Hedonismus hated Husband for being the worst human being they'll ever meet in their shortened life spans. However, for the sake of spiting him and for the sake of your mental safety, you decided not to argue.
"I loved you so much, I can't bear to lose you over some ridiculous rumors. You wouldn't listen to me, so I had to do some firm 'telling-off' to Sister Abigail." That struck a major nerve in you.
"Firm 'telling-off' my ass, You fucking drowned her!" Husband's visage instantly became blank and distant.
"I had no choice." He replied. Before that, you could tell that he was about to say something entirely different. Perhaps, he was about to deny it?
It's not like you're getting out of this hell anytime soon, might as well extract information from him too. For sure, you're going to take his words with a grain of salt.
"Why?! Why were you such an asshole!? Why did you have to make everyone's lives a living hell?! Are you that depraved?!" You shouted.
Screeching Music to Husband's ears, not the most melodious, but it's something that he wanted to hear.
"That is just who I am." He seemed level headed. "Not everyone has to like me, I don't have to like everyone either."
"Blatant racism, misogyny, bigotry, discrimination, zero regards for your co-workers' lives and feelings, animal cruelty, superiority complexes, backstabbing, heartlessness and a-all the other crap you did... you're proud to say that these represent you!? You're speaking as if people hated you for no goddamn reason!" You were absolutely baffled. "I don't care what sob story you can come up with, nothing can excuse you for being such a shitty person!"
"I'm far from being the model citizen. My past may have shaped me to be who I am, but it's irrelevant." He softened his eyes. "And... I'm working for St. Hedonismus. Where money is our god and morals are unheard of. Expecting me to be a saint is like expecting pigs grow a pair of wings and fly." He retorted.
"I'm not expecting you to be a real saint, but what kind of person antagonizes literally anything with a heartbeat?! You actively hate on others and burnt down so many bridges that it becomes a wonder how you're not killed by everyone long ago. No friends, no allies, no one coming close to even liking you! What the fuck is wrong with you!? Why couldn't you just be a decent human being!? Why weren't there any more of 'me' who treated you nicely even though you're a piece of shit!?" You sobbed, upset at Husband's actions that lead you to this. Upset that you were naïve enough to be the only one who is nice to him. Upset that you got into this mess thanks to your kindness.
"There is no such adjective as 'decent' for humans. It's either you are biologically a human, or not. I am human, but I am far from being the model citizen." He whispered.
You were too busy crying in agony to feel his hands gently stroking your hair.
"You were the only one who stayed although I was less than ideal. Such a darling thing to do and such a rare occurrence to experience. Who wouldn't want to keep you to themselves? I was no exception, I wanted you safe, protected, happy and blissfully ignorant of the ugly world." Husband pressed a pair of soft lips against your temple. You shrieked and thrashed around, pushing him away from you.
"Why!? Why didn't you just act nice and get more people like 'me' instead!?"
Husband let out a low chuckle.
"I do not want those in my life who do not fully accept me for who I truly am." He answered smoothly.
"I don't... I don't understand..." You whimpered, wiping your tears away. "Why? What stops you from having at least an ounce of compassion!?"
He sighed. "(Y/n), my love. There is no deeper meaning to my... extreme 'rudeness' to others. It is just who I am. The fundamentals of my personality."
The term 'rudeness' is a criminal understatement to the things he had done.
"Why didn't you change then!?" You struck your fist against the mattress in frustration.
"I simply do not want to. This is who I am and I am content with myself. I do not change to accommodate things I do not care for, I only changed for you. You are truly special, my one and only (y/n)." He delicately held your hand and stroked your knuckles with his thumb. "I am a hedonist, and accordingly, I act like one."
You wanted to explode into bits and pieces. That is it? The reason behind Husband's behaviors and actions are just because he 'feels like doing' it? It's because he can? And not because of a long and elaborate answer that heavily relates to his dark past? It's just because... he wanted to and he ultimately could?
"Are you hungry, (y/n)? It's almost noon and you haven't eaten since yesterday. Husband will cook up a bowl of yummy chicken soup for you."
That mode of speaking, that dreaded, high-pitched, baby-talk. It disgusted you down to your core. You shuddered and held back the tremendous urge to gag.
Is he doing this on purpose? Yes, he must be. He does it because he feels like it and he can.
"I fucking hate you. I hate everything about you from head to toe, I hate you for who you are."
An eerie silence hung over the dim room. You refused to make eye contact with Husband.
"Huh— ack!" His hand flew in and firmly wrapped itself around your neck. You immediately started clawing at his skin, however, it did not deter him at all. The blond tug you closer towards the bed post.
Husband isn't trying to choke you to death though, he's just holding you still as he quickly unlocks the ankle cuffs. But you're quite suffocated with his strong, veiny hand squeezing the linkage between your head and the rest of your body.
Husband then tossed the key far away from you as he got off the bed, dragging you along with him by your neck. You struggled to pry him away from you, from pulling, scratching, pinching, hitting... it doesn't matter how much skin you ripped off his limb, he still wouldn't let go. Instead, he only wound it tighter. Discouraging you from harming him further.
You got warm blood under your nails and on your fingertips, it made the surface of his flesh slippery.
He dragged you out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom wordlessly. You could not see his face as he has his back turned against you and his hair obscured it as well. But you can hear him breathing heavily with a few sniffles here and there.
You stumbled along, until such a point you fell on your knees. But he continued dragging you without a care in the world.
You began to see blinking spots from the lack of oxygen going into your brain.
He swung the door open and head to the bathroom sink, placed the plug in the drain and let the tap water flow.
He lets go of your neck, giving you a small window to breathe before having something bitter, slippery and foreign jammed into your mouth.
Some of the suds made its way to your windpipe and suffocated you. Your body's natural response was to hack it out, but it was nearly impossible with an entire soap bar blocking the exit.
"Ghk!" He repeatedly 'scrubbed' the insides of your mouth with the soap bar as you tried to punch him. Unfortunately, you're still weak and the oxygen cutoff earlier did not help. Moreover, Husband controls the position of your head by forcefully pulling on your (h/c)(hair type) hair.
More and more soapy foam formed in your mouth, throat and lungs. Your teeth scraped softened soap and a coating was formed on your tongue, making you gag and heave. Soapy water dribbled down your chin and onto your pyjamas, lowering the temperature of your skin.
Yes, the soap stings Husband's open wounds. But your words pains him even more, and you must pay for that. You must know that those words are unacceptable to him, he must teach you a lesson.
He did not stop until half of the bar broke off from the friction and the crushing of your teeth. He pulled the remaining soap bar out with a mixture of bubbles, saliva and a bit of stomach acid dripping from it.
SPLASH!
He shoved your head into the sink where water accumulated, the tap is still running, so the stream of steady, fast flowing water sprayed all over your hair and pyjamas.
Huge bubbles of air rose from your orifices, as quickly as it formed, it popped to the surface. releasing invisible fumes of carbon dioxide and mildly audible screams of fear. Your arms pushed against the sink counter, attempting to lift your head up from the pool of now-soapy water.
Do you really think you can overpower or outsmart Husband?
He pushed your head down further, letting water pour into your ears and making everything sound muffled. The pressure the water was making on your eardrums was awfully uncomfortable.
Your throat, nose and eyes burn as if you're inhaling glass dust or tobacco. Maybe, it is you who is burning up. You're possibly coming down with a fever.
You're losing consciousness, with no oxygen and high stress levels, no one can expect you to last this long. Your legs and arms began to go limp as you felt light headed and nauseatingly dizzy.
SPLASH!
After what seems like forever, Husband yanked on your hair to pull your head up. Excess water splashed everywhere, even Husband wasn't exempted from the spritz.
You gasped and wheezed, coughing copious amounts of water out of where ever it's not supposed to be. You sobbed loudly, incoherently begging Husband for forgiveness and mercy. You cower before the monster holding you by your hair, you are deathly afraid of the man who can end your life in a heartbeat.
You can't believe how someone this cruel is allowed to exist.
You couldn't keep both eyes open at the same time, so you stared at Husband with your right. Your vision was still distorted and blurry from the sink concoction, but you still can identify Husband nonetheless.
"You do not speak to your Husband that way." He growled lowly as he brought your face close to yours. His blue eyes were teary and bloodshot, filled with years of suppressed anger and hurt. His eyebrows were dipped together to form a terrifyingly hostile expression as he barred his teeth to you. His dried blood from his nostrils crusted his chin and neck, some was smeared to his cheeks.
All of these were too much for your body and mind to handle. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as your brain shuts down on itself. You felt like all the pressure and stress is slowly cooking your poor being.
You never felt yourself colliding against the hard, unforgiving floor. Husband must have caught you before you fell, then.
[PATH A] (link to be added, chapter coming soon!)
[PATH B] (link to be added, chapter coming soon!)
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Author's Note: Hello, MoonlightTofu here. I hope this makes up for the lackluster chapters I published earlier. However, I do feel like this chapter was quite rushed and not properly written. I apologize if the quality is not very good, but I'm sure this chapter is much better than Ch.14. I feel like Husband at this point is a little.... flat. Character wise, I'm sorry. I'm still trying to learn how to build a proper, memorable character. Same goes for reader, I do think the way she handled this is a bit... oddly? I'm honestly not quite sure what to say about my characters anymore, they seem to have mutated into something strange over the course of two months. Oh well, it's the cost of spontaneous and messy writing, I guess.
Just like chapter 13, I will add clickable links as soon as the chapters are out. (Quotev edition, unfortunately for Wattpad, you will have to manually move to that chapter.)
As usual, please do tell me what you think about this chapter. Any feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Please do tell me what you think about Husband/Godafrid now, I'm just curious as to how he looks like in your eyes now. However, I cannot guarantee that I will reply or react to your comment immediately, I may even get back to it quite late as my schedule is extremely packed. For that, I apologize, I do value what you have to say about this book very much.
We are moving near towards the end of the book! I'd like to thank everyone who made it this far, I appreciate the reads, hearts and support very much. You are all very hospitable towards me and that keeps me going. Thank you, I am grateful that you are here, reading this author note.
I hope you all have a wonderful day and may good things come your way. I love you and I will see you in the next chapter.
Status: Unedited.
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