The Sun Always Sets in Paradise

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Desiree’s P.o.V.

Maxim had left last night around 7:30 p.m. and I didn’t go to bed until about 1:30 a.m. I was nearly in tears from the fear that I felt. And that fear caused about 20 scenarios involving Haden to play through my mind.

And yet, even though I didn’t fall asleep till late, I woke up at about 6:30 a.m.

I rolled over in my bed with a groan. I was exhausted but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. It would be a valiant attempt though, but I figured that it was just easier to get up and ready for this horrid, fucked-up world.

I reached underneath my pillow for my butcher knife and didn’t find it. I looked over my bed along the crème carpeted floor and still, it was nowhere in sight.

“Did I even grab one last night?” I mumbled, confused, to myself.

I started to panic. Is he here? Do I need to crawl out my window? Or can I get to the kitchen fast enough? It was just down the other hall… No. He’s not here. Stop freaking out.

I took a deep, steadying breath before tenderly getting out of bed and walking slowly to the door. I peeked out into the hallway and saw no one. That was some consolation. I stepped gently out into the hallway and walked, ever so slowly, to the kitchen. Still no one.

My lungs began to burn. I let out the breath I didn’t realize that I was holding. I continued making my way to the utensils drawer when an arm wrapped around my neck from behind and a hand covered the scream erupting from my mouth.

“Shhh…” the raunchy, alcohol laced breath burned my nose and stung my eyes. “It’s just me Dez-bear.”
I was instantly in fear. Haden started to pull me towards the living room. I began kicking and trying to elbow him but he was persistent. I knew that this was going to end badly.

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I was weak. He was strong. I never stood a chance. It’ll keep happening and I’ll never be able to win. I was his and only his. He said so. So that’s how it was going to stay.

Beating. Penetration. Verbal abuse. Leaving.

He seemed to have a routine already…

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I lay, curled up in my bed, staring at the wall. My skin burned from how hot the water was in the shower and how hard I scrubbed my delicate skin.

Bruises seemed to litter every part of my body. It ached so horribly. Everything that had happened that morning was still fresh and stinging in mind. I squeezed my eyes shut to block it out.
It works for the moment, so then I return to staring at the wall.

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I woke up screaming from my nightmare. Sweat made the sheets and blankets cling to my body so trying to scramble out of my bed was difficult. But after a few minutes struggling, I managed to fall on the floor.

I yelp out in pain. My body still ached as if the beating was fresh. Then again, any pain from a day earlier seems fresh to me. I lay, sobbing, on the carpet. I blocked out everything, including the ring of the doorbell and the knocking on the front door.

“Desiree?” An accented voice spoke loudly through the house.

I choked out a breath of relief and began crawling to my door. “Max?” I was sobbing so hysterically that it didn’t really come out as clear as I wanted it to.

His footsteps pounded down the hall to my room. The door flew open and before I knew it, I was wrapped up gently in his arms. I clung to his grey shirt like a dying child searching for comfort.

“Dez…” Max rocked me like a child while I sobbed.

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After my sobbing fits, I had tenderly crawled out of Maxim’s hold and sat far enough away from him so that we wouldn’t touch; even accidentally. He looked pained for a moment but then, immediately hid it behind a cold, hard mask.

I felt horrible. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to be touched. No matter what.

“Tell me.” He whispered while staring at me.

I watched his eyes sweep over my body with undeniable anger. I then realized that all I had on was a thin tank top and my short, loose booty shorts. I felt momentarily self-conscious but it vanished when Maxim’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Desiree. Tell. Me.” He practically growled.

“Haden.” I whispered, broken. “He, he…” Tears fell silently down my already tear-stained cheeks.
I was captivated by Maxim’s arms once more. This time, I was not going to push him away.

My resolve broke though, once again, and I began to push him away.

“Please,” his voice was pleading and pained, “don’t. Don’t push me away again. I hate seeing you pained.”

I cried harder again. This time, for Maxim’s pain, the pain that I caused him.

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I don’t know how long we sat there; him holding me in my room. I eventually asked him to let me stand.
When he did, I had to be careful and make sure that my weak legs would hold me. They ached incredibly but they did their job of helping to keep me upright. I refused to inspect them, for I was fully aware of how badly bruised they would look.

I knew that the ugly black, purple, and blue colors would disfigure the pale and delicate skin for a while. And not just on my legs but on my torso, arms, and jaw.

Maxim could barely look at me when stood. I wanted to die knowing that I looked horrible enough to the point where even the one that had been comforting me would not look at me.

“Max, please look at me.” I whispered.

The anger and pure hatred in his eyes surprised me. “Why? It only fuels my hate for that sick bastard.”

“Oh…” I mumbled.