Status: New story
Addicted to You
The War Inside
There was a major throbbing in Louie's head when she came to, and after quite a while of disorientation, not able to remember the last event that took place, not wanting to open her eyes her head throbbed so bad, the fog finally cleared and the memories came flooding back. Her eyes snapped open and she began to look wildly around her for any sign of Jason, for any sign of another blow to the face for hand around her throat, but there was no sign of him. She went to pull at her restraints, but instead her arms moved freely from above her head. She was no longer restrained, though as she looked at her hands she noticed the angry bruises the rope had left on her wrists.
She put her hand on to her head and winced at the tenderness before next trying her legs. They were also free from restraint. She groaned as she pulled her legs up. They were so stiff, and her sex ached from the abuse.
She should have gotten up, made a run for a phone just in case Jason was still in the house, but she had no fight left. She didn't know how long she had been out for, but she was absolutely drained. So, instead, as the memory of what had happened to her flooded her thoughts, she turned onto her side, pulled her knees up to her chest, and began to sob.
She sobbed for what seemed like hours, large, body racking sobs that choked her and made it hard to breathe. She hated herrself. She hated him. She hated the universe for allowing him to do it to her again just when she thought she was free.
She opened her eyes back up, puffy and red with tears, and noticed in front of her on the nightstand laid a piece of paper that hadn't been there before, held under the empty beer bottle Jason had left. And the only reason she grabbed it was in the hopes it held proof he was gone for good.
Slowly and shakily, she pulled herself up and placed her legs off the side of the bed so she was sitting on the edge of the mattress, wincing with the pressure on her abused sex. With a shaking hand she reached out and grabbed the note, and as she did something else fell onto the floor. She looked down to see a large bag with brown powder laying on the floor, and she knew exactly what it was. She looked back down to the paper and tried to focus her blurred vision on the words scribbled on it.
Thanks for the good time. Don't bother calling the police, I will be long gone by then. But don't count on not seeing me again. You will always be mine and mine alone to do with as I please, you little bitch, and don't forget it. But for now, I left a little parting gift. Its strong, so don't do much at a time. I want you alive the next time I visit.
XOXO
Louie screamed in anger and crumbled the note in her hand before throwing it as far across the room as she could before breaking back down into hysterical sobbing. After a while, when there were no more tears to cry and her sobs turned to croaks, she took her hands away from her face and took in a deep, shaky breath. Once again she spotted the bag of powder on the floor, sitting there, calling out to her. She stood on wobbly legs and bent down to pick it up. A war raged in her head as she stared down at the devil's powder, and the addict in her was begging her to grab a needle and inject it directly into her blood. And for a moment, she almost did, but the recovered woman in her took over and she shook those thoughts out of her head.
Louie grasped the baggie angrily in her fist and began to quickly make her way to the bathroom. She threw up the lid of the toilet, opened the baggie, and held it over the bowl, ready to pour it all out. But, the war inside her still raged and the other side of her stayed her hand. After all that had happened, she knew that just a small amount of that shit colored powder could make her forget for a while. She could pass out on her bed and be transported into complete euphoria. The other side of her knew it was only a temporary fix, a moment of forgetfulness, and she would only awake to find nothing had been solved, that the memories still lingered, and she would hate herself even more for relapsing. And so to forget again, she would do more. And so the cycle she worked so hard to break and keep broken would begin.
But what did she have to live for anymore anyway? Jason would just come back and torture her again, and she would be broken again, and never able to function properly again anyway. The fight against herself was too hard, and she couldn't bring herself to pour it down into the sewer or shoot it into her bloodstream. And she was tired. Too tired to make the decision. So, instead, she sealed the bag and placed it in the medicine cabinet. She would fight it as long as she could, and sooner or later make a desicion on what object the powder would be dumped into: the toilet, or herself.
She put her hand on to her head and winced at the tenderness before next trying her legs. They were also free from restraint. She groaned as she pulled her legs up. They were so stiff, and her sex ached from the abuse.
She should have gotten up, made a run for a phone just in case Jason was still in the house, but she had no fight left. She didn't know how long she had been out for, but she was absolutely drained. So, instead, as the memory of what had happened to her flooded her thoughts, she turned onto her side, pulled her knees up to her chest, and began to sob.
She sobbed for what seemed like hours, large, body racking sobs that choked her and made it hard to breathe. She hated herrself. She hated him. She hated the universe for allowing him to do it to her again just when she thought she was free.
She opened her eyes back up, puffy and red with tears, and noticed in front of her on the nightstand laid a piece of paper that hadn't been there before, held under the empty beer bottle Jason had left. And the only reason she grabbed it was in the hopes it held proof he was gone for good.
Slowly and shakily, she pulled herself up and placed her legs off the side of the bed so she was sitting on the edge of the mattress, wincing with the pressure on her abused sex. With a shaking hand she reached out and grabbed the note, and as she did something else fell onto the floor. She looked down to see a large bag with brown powder laying on the floor, and she knew exactly what it was. She looked back down to the paper and tried to focus her blurred vision on the words scribbled on it.
Thanks for the good time. Don't bother calling the police, I will be long gone by then. But don't count on not seeing me again. You will always be mine and mine alone to do with as I please, you little bitch, and don't forget it. But for now, I left a little parting gift. Its strong, so don't do much at a time. I want you alive the next time I visit.
XOXO
Louie screamed in anger and crumbled the note in her hand before throwing it as far across the room as she could before breaking back down into hysterical sobbing. After a while, when there were no more tears to cry and her sobs turned to croaks, she took her hands away from her face and took in a deep, shaky breath. Once again she spotted the bag of powder on the floor, sitting there, calling out to her. She stood on wobbly legs and bent down to pick it up. A war raged in her head as she stared down at the devil's powder, and the addict in her was begging her to grab a needle and inject it directly into her blood. And for a moment, she almost did, but the recovered woman in her took over and she shook those thoughts out of her head.
Louie grasped the baggie angrily in her fist and began to quickly make her way to the bathroom. She threw up the lid of the toilet, opened the baggie, and held it over the bowl, ready to pour it all out. But, the war inside her still raged and the other side of her stayed her hand. After all that had happened, she knew that just a small amount of that shit colored powder could make her forget for a while. She could pass out on her bed and be transported into complete euphoria. The other side of her knew it was only a temporary fix, a moment of forgetfulness, and she would only awake to find nothing had been solved, that the memories still lingered, and she would hate herself even more for relapsing. And so to forget again, she would do more. And so the cycle she worked so hard to break and keep broken would begin.
But what did she have to live for anymore anyway? Jason would just come back and torture her again, and she would be broken again, and never able to function properly again anyway. The fight against herself was too hard, and she couldn't bring herself to pour it down into the sewer or shoot it into her bloodstream. And she was tired. Too tired to make the decision. So, instead, she sealed the bag and placed it in the medicine cabinet. She would fight it as long as she could, and sooner or later make a desicion on what object the powder would be dumped into: the toilet, or herself.
♠ ♠ ♠
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