Rosie's Thorns 🥀|18+|🥀

48 | Compliant

⚠️ Mention of rape and abuse. ⚠️

Drunk Again ~ Song House & Maria Rose

《¤Rosie¤》

One month later -

There are things we as humans do to survive. We say "yes" when all we want to do is scream "no". We shed our clothes to stay alive one more day. We say "I love you" to stop the never ending pain. We stop flinching away and lean into their touch to escape the repercussions. We smile with tears in our eyes and hope they don't see through our perfectly sculpted masks made specifically to please them.

The things I've done to survive has left me shattered in ways I never thought possible. It all started when I woke up handcuffed to his bed completely naked. I fought back. I screamed for help as he came towards me completely naked.

I promise I did everything to stop him. I promise I tried. Those words repeat constantly within my head. Words I wanted to tell Dominic when we meet again. I'm dirty. I'm tainted beyond repair. Could words fix the betrayal I caused him?

Another day passed. The cycle began again. He'd drug me with some sort of solution in a syringe to make me compliant. I couldn't fight back the second time. I just had to lie there, screaming internally from the confines of my own body.

When he was done with me, he promised we'd fix my mistake and give him the child he's owed. There were times I'd be just sitting there as he paced around the room happily talking about our future as if there would be one. He was planning a family with me. He was planning a wedding. He was planning on making me Rosie Rizzo, his obedient and docile wife.

"If only you'd obey, Rosie. I'd take off those."

He had gestured to the handcuffs and then continued to ramble on about how many kids he expects me to give him. He wants six. Six children. Three boys and three girls. He said it was to make up for the one we'd lost and to ensure if any were "messed up" we'd have more to make up for it.

Then he'd leave me. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days. It was hard to tell. The room I was in had no windows. Only a fluorescent lamp across the other side of the room and another that hung from the ceiling like a mini chandelier. There were times I imagined hanging him from it. Then others I imagined hanging myself.

One of his maids, a young girl barely even eighteen would come and tend to me. She'd move a portable toilet to the side of the bed so I could relieve my bladder. Sponge bath me when necessary and then give me a thin nightgown to give me some sort of modesty.

We never spoke. I'd learned within the first day I'd seen her I wasn't allowed. A camera was watching me at all times and when I'd begged her to help me escape, Luca came rushing in with a baseball bat. He ended up breaking my ankle to "teach" me a lesson. Then, as if it would make it better, he had his personal doctor come in and tend to it as he reminded me it was my fault for angering him.

The following day the girl had a bruise on her cheek and a busted lip. She kept her head bowed and I couldn't blame her. It wasn't her fault.

After a week there weren't any more tears to cry. I kept quiet and listened to him ramble. After another week of my compliance and silence, he unlocked the handcuffs. I was immobile. Even if I had the strength, my ankle hindered me from making a break for it. The young girl, who I had yet to learn her name, helped me walk around and preform a form of physical therapy. It did little to suppress the pain as I wobbled around with my arm hooked over her shoulders. He didn't want to give me pain medication. It might "harm" the baby.