*Trigger Warnings: Rape, Consensual Non-Consent, Manipulation, Abuse, Degradation, Humiliation, Mindfuck, Mild Cuckqueaning, Psychological Mind Games*
I'm sitting at the dining table, with a half-empty plastic wine cup; you know, one of those ones that look like glass but it's plastic because, well... Glass is fragile.
Fragile is a good word to use - for many things, I suppose; most notably when it comes to our ego.
So many of us live in fear of facing ourselves in the mirror; so many of us live without ever fully looking ourselves in the eyes.
Everyone else around you looks in your eyes dozens of times a day though, don't they? So what's so scary about allowing ourselves to look inward?
A soft ding goes off, slicing the silence into pieces. I look down.
"I just pulled up." The text lights up my screen as my eyes feast on each word, my tongue practically out like a dog, ready, anticipating.
I finish the last big gulp of my barely-chilled cheap white wine, and I try my best to take one deep breath before I allow my legs to move.
It's pointless, I know that. My hands and toes are tensing, palms clammy but cold; the signs of my discomfort. I know that a deep breath isn't going to stop any of that. But maybe it could help me just enough that I'm not stumbling out of my door while he sits in his car, watching my every fumble.
I'm up on both feet now. I take a last look at the mirror before I leave, unable to meet my own gaze. The ego is fragile, didn't I say? Especially at this moment.
I pick my purse up from the floor where my feet were just resting a minute ago, and I find myself tightening my grip on my phone as I walk to the door.
The cold air hits my face like an ice bath; uncomfortable, but somehow refreshing.
I take a quick glance at the car in front of me, acknowledge it is him, and then quickly turn back to the door to lock it before heading to the passenger door and opening it for myself to get in.
"Hurry up."
His voice is a bit different tonight than what I expected. It's hard to get a read on him, although I suppose that's been the nature of our relationship since it began.
I quickly buckle up and keep my eyes looking forward, fearful that if I dare take a peek at his face that it could reveal more than what I bargained for.
I put my purse on the floor in between my legs, and he turns on some soft and sensual R&B, and starts reversing out of the parking spot.
My brain is in the eye of the storm right now - calm, yet cautious; knowing that one moment is all it will take for this car ride to turn into a war zone.
The music is certainly a vibe, but I know not to let my guard down that easily with him.
He takes a breath, and I feel the weight of what he is about to say before it is even uttered.
"Do you think you look pretty tonight?" His voice is serious and somber, but not quite condescending yet.
My eyebrows raise a tad, but nothing too innocuous. My face gets a bit red, feeling the attention in the car shift to me while my brain continues running around in circles.
"I had a look in the mirror before I left."
This gets a reaction from him. He takes a quick look at me while he's driving, and I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my head.
I look to meet his gaze. He shakes his head almost like a disappointed father, and then glues his eyes back onto the road.
"That's not what I asked, bitch."
I squirm in my seat, subtle but I know he sees me.
"Y-yes..." is all I can mutter out. I can already feel my heart gaining momentum again, my palms clamming up again.
He lets out a soft but exasperated sigh, as if he's having to lecture a child.
"Look in the mirror again, then."
I can feel the blood in my cheeks and chest rushing to the surface. It's so hard to know what he's going to say or do next - sometimes he likes to laugh or mock me, but tonight feels like he's being much more serious and cold.
I sit with my thoughts, staring at the road ahead. I don't reach for the passenger seat mirror yet. I just sit and stir. I hate when he does this. It feels like I'm cornered and have no room to breathe.
We stop at a red light. Turning his head towards me completely, he takes his arm and uses it to reach over my head and pulls out the passenger mirror. His hand makes one quick movement and it's in my hair; a fistful within a mere second.
"Look."
A simple word. He hasn't seen me cry yet, since this is only the third meetup. But I can feel my eyes start welling up, and I have to quickly ground myself before finally meeting my eyes to the mirror.
His hand is still grabbing a fistful of my hair, but the light has turned green and the cars ahead are starting to move forward.
His eyes turn back to the road, foot is back on the gas, and his hand releases my hair softly. The stark difference between the way he gently let go but forcefully held on made my head turn to mush. He doesn't even know, or care.
"Surely you could do a better job at making yourself look half-decent, don't you think?"
My face was beet red at this point. I'm stuck in a car with him, and there's nothing I can do that's going to make him let up. He's out for blood tonight.
Maybe he took our conversations last time a bit too seriously...
"Close your legs, whore."
I looked down at my thighs. I squeezed them together, and tried my best to make myself smaller in my seat.
"If you weren't such a fat cunt, maybe you wouldn't have to spread your legs out like a man."
At this point, I'm tugging at my skirt, picking at it. I can't even say anything, I feel like I'm in survival mode, trying to weigh my options between fight or flight.
"I'm sorry..." My voice trails off, but I know he heard me.
"You will be."
