Chapter 164: Awake in the Dark

Chapter 164: Awake in the Dark
April 2009, New York
Nina's POV
It was slightly dissolved from being in my mouth, but still mostly intact. I flushed it down the toilet and lay down on the bed, closing my eyes and trying to slow my breathing.
For the first time in months, my mind stayed clear. I could think properly, without the chemical fog that usually clouded my thoughts during these encounters. And as I lay there in the dark, pretending to be sedated, I started to plan.
I didn't know how long I waited. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours. But eventually, I heard the door handle turn, and soft footsteps entering the room.
The sharp scent of Raymond’s cologne flooded the room, laced with the faint burn of cigar smoke.
The door clicked shut, sealing us in the dim space.
I lay still, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady, mimicking the drugged haze he expected. My heart pounded, but I kept my body limp, draped across the silk sheets like a rag doll.
He flicked on a lamp. Its soft glow cast long shadows across the room. The bed creaked as he sat beside me, his weight sinking the mattress. His fingers brushed my arm, cold and probing, testing if I was truly out.
I didn’t move.
He muttered something under his breath, his voice rough with anger, probably from whatever argument he’d had earlier. He thought I was gone, lost in the fog of those pills, just like every other time.
His grip clamped onto my wrist, hard and sudden. He yanked me toward him, my body sliding across the smooth sheets. I bit the inside of my cheek, the sharp pain keeping me grounded. I stayed silent.
He grabbed my dress, tearing it with a loud rip. The fabric fell away, leaving my skin bare to the cool air. His hands were rough, digging into my shoulders, my thighs. I could feel the bruises forming, hot and tender under his touch.
He flipped me over. My face pressed into the pillow, the silk muffling my breath. His hand came down on my ass—once, twice, each smack harder than the last. Then I heard the faint snap of leather. A whip. He struck my back, then my thighs, then my ass again. Each lash burned like fire, sharp and relentless. My body twitched, but I forced myself to stay still. No sound, no flinch, nothing to give me away.
For months, I’d woken up with bruises I couldn’t explain. Now it clicked. He’d been doing this all along, thinking the drugs kept me clueless. My stomach twisted, but my mind stayed sharp, unclouded for the first time in ages.
The whipping stopped. I heard him take a drink—water or whiskey, I couldn’t tell. His footsteps paced the room, calm and unbothered, like he hadn’t just torn into me. Then came the clink of metal on the nightstand, cold and heavy.
He came back with something smooth and icy—glass or metal, I wasn’t sure.
He pressed it between my legs, slow at first, then rougher. The cold seared through me, a sharp, burning pain that tore at my core.
Each movement was cruel, like he was staking a claim over every inch of me. My body screamed, but I focused on my breathing—one, two, three—counting to stay calm, to stay in control.
I couldn’t hold it in. A soft moan slipped past my lips.
He froze. “You awake?” His voice was a low growl, edged with suspicion.
I clamped my lips shut, forcing my body to relax. My heart raced, but I kept my eyes closed, praying he’d brush it off.
Silence hung heavy. Then he laughed, cold and sharp. “Let’s see how much you can take,” he said.
He twisted the object deeper, the pain spiking through me like a knife. I bit my lip, tasting blood, fighting to stay still. My mind clung to the count—one, two, three—anchoring me against the agony.
Finally, he pulled it out. It hit the floor with a dull clank. He stood, adjusting his clothes, his breath heavy and uneven. The room felt too small, the air too thick.
“You done?” I said, my voice cold as ice.
I pulled the blanket over me, covering my bare skin, shielding myself from his gaze.
Raymond froze, his eyes narrowing. “When did you wake up?”
“I didn’t take the pill,” I said. “I’ve been awake the whole time.”
He stepped closer, looming over me. His jaw tightened, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t like disobedient women.”
“I’m done with the pills,” I shot back, my voice steady despite the ache in my body.
“They’re for your own good,” he said, his tone flat. “You can’t handle this without them.”
“Why do you do this to me?” I asked, searching his face for something—anything—human.
He didn’t answer. Just stared, his eyes hard and unreadable.
“Do you even like me?” I pressed, my voice softer now. “If you care about me, why not act like a normal couple? Why all this?”
I reached out, testing him. My hand brushed his crotch, feeling for a reaction through the fabric. Nothing. No hardness, no stirring, no sign of desire.
A bold idea flashed through my mind.