I wake up in strange place, a heavy arm clutching me for dear life.

Yesterday's events flash in my mind, but I press my nose into his chest, using his scent to fight them off.

He groans at the contact, squeezing me closer.

"Mm, Sei così morbido, amore."

(You're so soft, love.)

I let my hands drift down his ripped torso, groans and moans escaping his mouth.

"Cazzo. No more. No more touching, Kitty."

"I want you," I pout.

Whiskey eyes reveal themselves to me.

"I don't think now is a good time-"

"Please, I need you."

His eyes rove my face, looking for a sign in the ridges between my eyes.

"I will give you what you want, but I'm telling you now, it's not what you need,"

His fingers start gingerly lifting the t-shirt he put me in, leaving me bare.

He turns me over roughly so that my back faces him.

"You want me to fuck you?" He breathes in my ear.

I whimper a yes.

"Tell me. Tell me you want me to fuck you. Tell me you want me to pound into your pussy til you can't feel your legs. Tell me."

"Please, fūck me. Please-"

With a swift thrust he's buried to the hilt inside me.

My walls grip him for dear life, making him grunt.

"Like coming home,"

He pounds into me roughly, holding my throat whispering dirty things in my ear.

He tells me how good my pussy feels around his cock.

He tells me it's his, and if I let anyone touch it; he'll kill me.

He tells me how beautiful I am, leaves tender kisses wherever he can reach.

When I clamp down on him, he curses, slewing Italian left and right.

"Sono così debole per te." He pants as he let's go, my name and one phrase on his lips as he climaxed.

(I'm so weak for you.)

"Il tuo. Tutto tuo."

He chants this like a prayer as he fills me with his seed.

Even after he comes down, he keeps saying it, as if he couldn't believe it.

He pulls me closer, keeping his cock deep within me and drifts off to sleep.

I follow.

(Yours. All yours.)

I wake up alone, with a note on the nightstand

I wake up alone, with a note on the nightstand.

Eight.

My mind blanks.

After everything we just went through, he wants me to return to being his whore?

He kisses me, holds me, than summons me to his room like I'm some common paid slut?

I glance at the clock. It's noon now. At eight, I'll do my job, and get back as soon as I can.

I'm too emotionally drained for this shit. If he wants to treat me like a blow up doll, that's what he gonna get.

I have no energy for fighting. No energy for chasing my elusive dignity.

Since I was young, this is what I've been used for.

It's the hand I'm dealt.

About time I acknowledge, accept it, and move on.

Let the numbness win.

Numb is good.

Numb is safe.

Numb is breathing.

Because if I felt everything I used to, I wouldn't do it; breathing.

I'd stop that shit cold.

I'm tired of fighting.

I'll survive, and that's it.

Maybe that's all I've ever done.