Evil requires the sanction of the victim.

Ayn Rand (1905 to 1982)

To say I am messed up is like saying the devil is evil, simply a matter of fact. I am me, myself, and London. At least that's how it's been since I discovered five years ago that I wasn't alone. Recently, I'd become aware of her activities, and it makes me wonder if I want to know all that I don't. I'm weak. She is strong, though, tries to convince me otherwise.

My perception of the world deviated at an early age. I don't remember being left in a shopping centre at the age of two. I do recall worrying that those around me would leave, which made me clingy. So I avoided people. The Williams had been trying to have a child for many years when they saw my story on the news. They adopted me. My father's failing career picked up.

I was six when Mrs. Williams died. I remember sensations of her more than anything else. I think she was kind to me. Upon her death, my father's career took an even sharper spike upward. That's when the sitters, nannies and friends pitched in with me. I learned to be quiet and not bother adults.

I was nine when the devil incarnate saw his opportunity and deceived me into becoming his consenting victim. There was nothing I wouldn't have done or given to him, all for the attention and praise he lavished on me. I gave him every last shred of my soul. I was a cheap whore.

London commands her weight in gold.

Do you still wonder why I can't stand to be me?

These are the confessions of a daughter . My confessions.

 

 

January 9

I pulled my legs up to my chest and cradled them. The sparse countryside that surrounded us faded as we neared the city. Silence hummed in the car. Though the streets were near deserted, Rhys focused on driving and didn't bombard me with questions. Perhaps he had yet to formulate his inquiries.

I didn't have any answers. My folds still tingled from the memory of Rhys inside me. I pressed my face to my knees. The coolness of my satin dress resembled Rhys' temperament. Odd that he'd be provoked to strike Cade.

Rhys had gotten me off and still my physical reaction to him did nothing for the numbness in my mind. Actually there was a definite lack of sensation, besides that of my flesh. The other times, when I'd tried to be with a man, I'd freaked or zoned. Shame and guilt didn't plague me like they had after Caden had pleasured me. A good sign.

If this ended badly I'd have no one. I refused to let that be the outcome of the most normal sexual encounter I'd ever shared.

Both of us had to know there would be consequences we hadn't yet considered from today's events.

Our ride was nearing its end. That sounded final as though I'd lose Rhys when we got to my flat. A lot of friends had sex and things worked out between them. Rhys and I could be like that. We were important to each other.

Rhys pulled into my building's car park. "So--"

Jitters fluttered inside my stomach. My hands were clammy.

London would know what to say to get a man's attention. I wanted Rhys to be mine, not hers.

The past four and a half years had been a long road of self-discovery. Less than a year ago, I couldn't tell when she took over, I simply lost time. Over the last few months, if I didn't like something or wasn't comfortable I'd let her take over.

Despite knowing how many ways this train could derail, I wanted to explore what was developing physically between Rhys and me. I wasn't about to let my growing anxiety conjure her presence. So rather than fade away, I held on.

"I don't want you to go... yet."