Attraction: A MFM Menage Romance

by Maverick, Henley

  “Yes, I understand,” Jolie said, a little louder this time. She hated Kyle with every fiber of her being and vowed to herself, in that moment, that she would find a way out, no matter how long it took or what she had to give up. The bastard had taken too much from her already.

  However, much to her dismay, her moments of clarity, of fierce and righteous indignation, only lasted for a short time. After that, it was back to living in fear. In the past, she had never understood how a woman could stay with a man who beat her; it perplexed and angered her to no end. But, that was before she became one of those women and understood how helpless the situation really was.

  Kyle had the ability to get inside her head, capitalizing on every single weakness she’d shared during a vulnerable moment and use them against her, twisting them to get what he wanted. Predators were usually like that. They weren’t big and sinister, lurking in the shadows with thick moustaches, cackling evilly as people make them out to be.

  No, in most cases, it was the golden boy in high school, the one with the picture-perfect smile, who was the real threat. Kyle was no exception. No amount of vigilance could’ve prepared her for this, and she was struck with a renewed sense of sympathy for those women who felt stuck, paralyzed by their own fear, unable to escape.

  Kyle grunted and loosened his grip. “Make sure that you remember that next time.”

  “I will,” she promised, hoping her voice didn’t tremble with fear. This was usually the part where he threatened her life and ranted about how she should be grateful he was supporting her, even though she brought nothing to the table.

  Kyle stood up and narrowed his eyes, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. Suddenly, and without warning, he began to kick her again with renewed vigor, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. There were days when he was like that, running on fumes and his own perverse desire to inflict pain.

  Jolie curled up and turned her head away, angrily dashing away the tear that slid down her cheek and onto the floor. She could feel her body grow immune to the pain, folding in on itself with each blow, until her body spasmed and she started coughing.

  Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as blood gushed from her mouth. Finally, the bleeding stopped and Kyle made a small noise of discontent in the back of his throat, put off by the red liquid he was witnessing. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She tried not to choke on it, convinced that if she died in a pool of her own blood, Kyle would try to bring her back just to clean up the mess.

  She heard him leave the room, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging forward as she struggled to push herself up; her muscles ached in protest. She froze when Kyle entered the room a while later, holding a dark towel in his hand.

  Wordlessly, he held it out to her. She took it, not daring to question this sudden lapse of humanity. More likely, he was worried about the mess she was making. Whatever the reason, she didn’t care. It made him stop.

  In the back of her mind, she worried about the kind of damage he’d inflicted upon her because of the blows, but that was tomorrow’s problem. She’d deal with it in whatever way was necessary, as efficiently as possible.

  “Don’t get any blood on the carpet,” Kyle said, coldly. He gave her one last, long look, shook his head, and glanced around the room. “And clean up this mess.”

  The chair she’d been sitting on was toppled over on the other side of the room and there was a red stain where her head was. She ran the towel across her mouth, resisting the urge to stare down at it, and nodded.

  A minute later, she heard the stairs creak as Kyle climbed them and the sound of running water filled the house. Tears began to spill steadily down her cheeks. She pushed herself to her feet, her arms trembling with effort as she walked over to the sink, and washed the towel, wringing out the blood. The sight of it didn’t faze her as it should’ve, but she focused on the mechanical gesture, how soothing it was.

  Once she was done wringing out the towel, she washed out her mouth with warm, salty water and spat, her chest heaving with effort. Her head fell forward as she leaned over the sink, breathing heavily through her nose.

  She’d been through this before, so she knew what to do, but tonight was different. Usually, Kyle was more careful about where he inflicted his blows, mindful of what people would think, but today, he didn’t care, almost as if he’d been possessed.

  For the umpteenth time, Jolie wondered where he’d draw the line. Would he only stop if she was nothing but a corpse beneath him? Maybe not even then. The thought made her shudder, and she angrily righted herself, reaching for the dishes and turning on the water.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  Someday, soon I’ll get out of here.