Chapter 10: First Blood

That was my first time—and Derek’s first time too.

Not in the way most people mean it. It was the first time I fought back, the first time he bled because of me. It was messy and painful, but it was ours.

My first time fighting back; his first time getting his head split open.

The motel room was small, the air smelled like mildew and fear. My heart hammered so loud I couldn’t hear the traffic outside. I knelt on the carpet, tears streaming down my face, begging for mercy. Derek loomed over me, his eyes cold and unyielding.

And our first time in bed…

It wasn’t romantic or sweet. It was raw and brutal, a power struggle masquerading as love. I closed my eyes and prayed it would be over soon.

In a dingy motel, Derek sat like a god.

He stretched out on the bed, legs spread, eyes locked on mine. He looked invincible. I hated him, but I couldn’t look away.

I knelt before him, tears streaming down my face, begging for mercy.

My voice was hoarse, my throat raw from crying. I would have done anything to make it stop.

"If you want me to let Caleb go, fine—sleep with me, or die."

He yanked my hair, his lips spitting out a cruel ultimatum.

The choice wasn’t really a choice. I was trapped, cornered, desperate. I looked for a way out, but there was none.

Back then, I didn’t know Caleb came from money. I just thought he was as pitiful as I was.

We were both outsiders, both fighting to survive. I thought we could save each other. I was wrong.

To protect him—and my own pathetic pride—I ran straight for the window.

I didn’t think, didn’t plan. I just wanted to escape. The window was my only hope, but Derek was faster.

I chose death, but Derek wouldn’t let me.

He caught me at the last second, dragging me back. His grip was iron, unbreakable. I knew then I was truly trapped.

At the last second, he grabbed me, forced himself on me, and left me with a wretched life.

The pain was sharp, blinding. I closed my eyes and waited for it to be over. I told myself it was just another nightmare, that I’d wake up soon. But the nightmare never ended.

The price: I became his plaything.

At his beck and call, there for him to vent his anger.

I was his outlet, his punching bag, his toy. I lost count of the nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing for a way out.

I was inexperienced and terrified.

I’d never been with anyone before, never even kissed a boy. Derek took everything from me, and then blamed me for the mess he’d made.

When Derek kissed me, I instinctively fought back.

I scratched and clawed, desperate to escape. My nails left marks on his skin, but he didn’t care. He just laughed, enjoying the struggle.

I grabbed a beer bottle from the nightstand and smashed it over his head.

The bottle shattered, glass flying everywhere. Blood poured down his face, mixing with sweat and tears. He looked like a monster, a demon straight out of a nightmare.

Blood streamed down half his face, making him look like a demon straight out of hell.

He wiped the blood away, a twisted smile on his lips. I’d never seen him look so alive.

Shards of glass cut his brow, adding a dangerous edge to his model-perfect features.

The scar never really healed, a permanent reminder of that night. He wore it proudly, a badge of honor.

"You made me bleed—so you’ll have to bleed a little too…"

As soon as he finished speaking, a tearing pain ripped through me.

I screamed, but no one heard. The world outside went on, oblivious to my pain.

On the sheets, blood blossomed like red cherries.

The stain was bright, impossible to ignore. I stared at it, numb, unable to process what had happened.

Derek looked at his handiwork with satisfaction, then tossed me some cash.

"Buy yourself some ointment. And… don’t forget Plan B."

I counted—it was exactly $30…

Thirty bucks—the price of my dignity, my future, my hope. I took the money, because I had no other choice.