pathological possession

My wrists were cuffed, spread wide, shackled to opposite sides of the bed. My skin was a tapestry of purpling bruises and angry bite marks.

Damien lay sprawled by the bed, lazily dragging on a cigarette. Then, with a practiced ease, he gripped my jaw, prying my mouth open before leaning in to kiss me.

He watched my face flush crimson as I choked, a slow, dark smile spreading across his lips.

“I told you,” he purred, “run again, and I’ll break your legs.”

1.

The dim lights of the bar cast a hazy glow over the counter, the air thick with the thumping bass of music and the roar of a hundred…