Right Through Me Day6

[MATURE CONTENT 21+] I'm not sure if I'm here, at the moment, I don't know if I'm screaming or begging him to stop as the weight of his hands on my back feels more apparent. Maybe I'm just helplessly drowning in my despair with only silent tears running down my face. Nothing matters because even my mind could not wander off and protect me for long enough to silently surrender to a horrific situation. "You lied to me, You lied to me! You said you wouldn't do this if I " The words slip away as I sob and cry out in pain. "Hm..”" Alejandro lets out a breathless chuckle, "I did?"One of his hands leaves my hip, reaching down to wrap around my throat, forcing my back into an arch so I'm faced with the reflection of myself in the mirror. It is so I can watch the deranged, lustful look in his eyes as he roughly thrusts himself in and out of me while choking me against his hand at my throat.This is cruel. This is disgusting. This is shameful. But it makes Alejandro smile in pleasure, in pride, that he's able to break me and bend me into his will. "I believe I said that I was fine if you wanted to wait, " he admits. "However, I never said how long. "The reflection of myself in the mirror is someone unrecognisable; she's broken, and angry. I can see my eyes darken in misery, in hatred. The mirror also provides me with Alejandro's expression, filled with contentment and satisfaction. "I HATE YOU," I spit out with every inch of dignity that I may have left. The statement left no mark on Alejandro, instead, he thrusts into me harder, making me cry out but I didn't care, not anymore.

*Daily updates*She felt as if she were floating. Her eyes were closed, and everything about her felt soft, a luxuriating fluffiness like the satin down comforter her grandma used to have. She thought she must have been sleeping. There was a not-unpleasant heaviness to her limbs, like the time she could finally sit down after standing and walking in the market for hours.Then her brain started to focus in a peculiar sort of way, powerless over thoughts that surfaced unbidden. Abubakar suddenly came to mind...how he had gotten her this way, and how she longed to tell Maama, but couldn't. Maama. . .As her consciousness began to return, she tried without success to open her eyes. Something tight and sticky was holding her lids together. Now she knew she was sleeping. She'd felt that strange paralysis before when wrapped in layers of her dreams, her legs turned to lead as she ran from shadowy pursuers and her eyes became inert shutters. She was scared, what frightened her most was her breathing. Her hand blindly went to her mouth, where she found the tube.Yaa Rahman! She was in a hospital!Her heart was thunderously racing, filling her chest with explosive fear. She blindly pulled at the tube, ripping it from her throat, gagging violently as it made her gasp and choke. But finally, finally, It was free, and she flung it far away.

"I had a one-night stand. It wasn’t my first, but it would be my last.A gun to the head.A trained killer.A deadly conspiracy.Kidnapped and on the run, my life and death is in the hands of a sadist captor who happens to be my one-night stand. Armed with countless weapons, money, and new identities, the man I call Six drags me around the world.The manhunt is on and Six is the next target. Can we find out who is killing off the Cleaners before they find us?Two down, seven to go.When it’s all over he’ll finish the job that dropped him into my life, and end it.Stockholm Syndrome meets bucket list, and the question of what would you do to live before you died. The questions aren’t always answered in black and white. Gray becomes the norm as my morals are tested.Death is a tragedy, and I’ll do anything to stay alive.Are you ready for the last ride of your life? Six has a gun to your head—what would you do?This isn’t a love story.It’s a death story.**Due to the dark and explicit nature of this book, it is recommended for mature audiences only as some scenes may be particularly disturbing.**"

"Did you kill him?" The detective asked again."I've already answered you like a thousand times... Yes, he was a monster. Yes, he beat me up a lot but I didn't do it. I didn't kill Jude!" Amanda replied."I'm sorry. I know what it's like to be a victim of abuse and all that, but you need to understand that murder is a serious case too. You'll have to forgive us for asking you continually it's just that you were the closest to him we've got here.""I wasn't. There was someone else he was seeing that knew a lot about him than I ever did," Amanda replied.*******The night was growing colder and the rains seemed to have agitated in full force. Amanda sat on one of the soft leather chairs that squeaked with her every move in the living room with tears in her eyes as she watched the rains drop on the floor forming small pools and waited for Jude to come back. She was worried sick about his whereabouts even though all his presence caused her were pain and more tears. The protruding bump on her stomach, made it quite difficult to move around at ease so she was stuck with calling his busied line while she watched the clock tick its way into the midnight mark.*****A heart rending story told differently. Stronger than Pain captures a dysfunctional Nigerian home where a callous man, beats his wife on a daily basis. Time flies and now he is dead. All the characters have a reason to kill him, but she's their number one suspect. The Question still remains, who pulled the trigger?

I discover Quilton Fuller's affair before our wedding, so I lie to him about having aborted our child. He hates me for that and gets engaged to a woman who looks just like me. On his wedding day, he video-calls me, wanting to show me his bride. However, he's greeted by the sight of me bloody and battered after being tormented by abductors. I beg him to at least save the baby in my womb, but he says to the abductors, "You'd better kill her and her child."

I'm eight months pregnant when I suddenly faint on the train. My husband panics and cries for help as he kneels beside me. An interning doctor hurries to me. She doesn't bother checking my condition before saying, "The patient needs to undergo a C-section! We have to get the baby out now, or it might die of suffocation!" Then, she slices me open with a fruit knife—she doesn't take any precautionary measures before doing so. She takes my child out. I'm in so much pain that I don't even have the strength to scream. My blood flows everywhere. Yet, a photo of her holding my baby while standing in a pool of blood goes viral. People call her the prettiest doctor alive. My husband and his family are eternally grateful to her. They don't go after her for causing my death; they even make her my child's godmother! Meanwhile, I'm given a simple cremation. No one cares about me. After my death, all my assets go to my husband and his family. Only then do I hear my husband and the doctor talking to each other, sounding smug. "This plan killed two birds with one stone. We got rid of that woman and made ourselves out to be heroes!" That's when I learn the interning doctor is my husband's junior from high school. They got together when he accompanied me to my prenatal checkups! She failed her internship, so my husband came up with this idea—he wanted to use my death to boost her reputation and help her! Even my child eventually died under their "care". When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day we get on the train.