BROKEN

Seconds of lull ticks into minutes.


As the weight of the tense silence hangs heavy in the air, it feels like an eternity passes, each moment stretched thin with the palpable tension between us. I kneel before him, unmoving, while he stands there, his gaze fixed upon me with an intensity that borders on disbelief. His mouth opens and closes, a silent symphony of unspoken words, as if he is grappling with thoughts too tumultuous to articulate.

For the first time in our encounter, he seems truly at a loss for words, a fact that both surprises and emboldens me. Why? Wasn't he an uncontrollable berserk beast a while ago? He wanted me on my knees to punish me, right? Well, what is he waiting for?

Summoning my courage, I break the silence with a challenge, my voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "Well?" I demand, my tone laced with defiance.


In response, his eyes blaze with fury, and his chest heaves with the force of his ragged breaths. Finally finding his voice, he unleashes a torrent of anger, his words dripping with venomous contempt. "Get your ass up and get the fuck out!" His command reverberates through the stifling quiet, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the tension like a knife.

He shuts his eyes tightly to only him, and the devil knows what!


With a mixture of defiance and bitterness roiling within me, I rise to my feet, a smirk of defiance playing at the edges of my mind. But try as I might, I find myself unable to summon it to my lips; the bitterness of the moment is too heavy to allow even a flicker of amusement to surface on my face. Instead, I straightened my posture, meeting his gaze with a steely resolve, silently vowing not to let his anger break me. His eyes remain tightly bolted, his godly outlines glowing at me.

As much as I abhor it, I can't suppress the craving he elicits in me. His allure is that dominant on me even now. I can feel my pussycat throb with passion after my eyes land on the glorious protrusion beneath his boxer. My hands are trembling with the impulse to delineate this deep v-line down to the tent and massage his balls and shaft. Maybe that will calm him and even get him to tell what exactly all this fuss is all about. I have always managed to calm him down.

I am squabbling with the urge to rip off my fabrics and massage the small square bumps of his abs and the slopes separating them with my nipples. Perhaps I can get him to talk that way and unravel this animosity, but, hell, Naah! Not today! I won't succumb to any of that.

I am blameless! It is just him and his stupid, ungrounded anger. He can go fuck himself with his perceptions, for all I care.

I outlined the fingertips of my right hand on his bulge, arousing him from his deep shuteye or whatever he was doing with his closed eyes. He twitched as he peeled his raged eyes open, shooting at me. Having achieved my objective, I plop my hand and gush all the rage in me into him, my eyes blazing with the intensity of it as I gawk into his detest. "To think that I trusted you even with my deepest secrets. Fuck you, Damian Almeda!"

Before I break down again, I turn on my heels, grab my handbag on the floor, and with a heavy downcast heart, I trudge out of his damn office. I keep my face down as I walk. I don't even turn when I sense the stern gaze of this bitch behind the reception desk. She can go stroke that beast for all I care. Fuck him, if she so pleases. I give no fuck!

Nobody treats Ellie Marrie Riccaford like trash, and this jerk definitely won't be the first.

I strolled out of the building, and the air outside just unlocked what I was holding back. Tears start dropping one by one. By the time I am traversing the road to wait for a cab, my vision is so blurry. I can barely see.

"Careful on the road, bitch!" One bus driver curses as he abruptly presses on the brake pedal to avoid hitting me.

Deeply, I am gratified that he didn't run over this crap I call myself, but did he have to call me a bitch? A bitch? Even that jerk who is making me weep like a crying baby, which I definitely am not, called me a bitch. Well, then, a bitch I am! May the devil lick their stinking asses!

I show the fucking bus driver my middle finger and cross over to the other side. I play deaf to his profanities as he speeds off, while I hail the first cab that pops up into my sight. I settle in, give the address, and play ignorant to the driver's worry on his face.

My phone starts ringing, but I am too messed up to converse with anyone. If it is Grace, I am heading there to my shop. Who else would be calling aside from her? No one! That beast I left back there might have probably erased my contacts as we speak. I am the most horrendous thing he has ever come across, presumably, and I doubt he will ever want to see me again.

I weep at that! Bitterly, for that matter! And I curse myself for being affected this much.

Talk of brokennness, and I deeply torn. This is pain like no other. At this moment, I bet I have ever experienced pain my entire life. This sucks. Things stings! It cuts both side like a double edged daggar. I want to close my eyes and hope that I will later open then and realize that I just had a bad dream. That is is not happening.

What did I ever do to deserve this pain? Just being a freaking Riccford? Come the fuck on!