Darkness surrounded me as I lay in the large white bed. The night was peaceful, the silence serene instead of stifling. Moonlight shone through the window, the light bathing the soft white drapes in a dreamy silver glow. My school uniform, usually made up of a navy jumper and matching tartan skirt, now looked grey as it lay scattered on my teenage bedroom floor. The trail of clothing led like breadcrumbs to my naked form in the bed.

I uncurled my body from the cramped ball I had been sleeping in. As I unwound my limbs, the door drifted open, and I felt my heart quiver eagerly as Atticus walked towards me. His eyes burned into mine with a need so deep that I could almost feel it pulling me towards him.

Pure gravity.

Slow and steady, I rose from where I lay, reaching for him in my sleepy state while his scent drifted in the air around me.

He came to me easily, his lips seeking my own like a missile to its target.

My whole body relaxed at the contact of his lips on mine; lost to the feeling of sanctuary he gave me. Almost too lost to register that something was different, that something tainted the feeling of refuge.

The realisation squirmed under my skin like a parasite, uncomfortable and unwanted. His lips were too rough and heated. His tongue forced its way through my lips to plunder my mouth.

I gasped away in revolt, but his hands held me in place firmly as I struggled beneath him. My young, childlike body was too weak against his own.

My frightened eyes locked with his, but they weren't his beautiful cerulean gaze anymore, he wasn't Atticus anymore. He was Mr R in all his hideous glory.

"My beautiful Belle," he murmured in my ear. The faint smell of stale smoke caught at the back of my throat.

His hands wrestled with my squirming body as if I was merely a naughty child. His sick laughter echoed in my ears, and my world swirled and distorted as he touched me. This wasn't like all those times before where he would gently caress my skin and whisper sweet words in my ear. There was no love here.

In this world of dreamy hindsight, it was clear that this echo of a memory was the start of the end for us. The night the tides changed and started to suck me out of my depth. Out to the dark deep water which threatened to drown me.

Every attempt at causing Mr R harm was futile. My actions passed straight through him as if he were just ghost. Only he wasn't a ghost because I could feel him, I could feel his hands all over me. It was so real. Too real. I couldn't take it; I wasn't strong enough, not this time.

"Play nice, Belle. Be the good little girl that I know you are." His words made shivers of disgust shake my body.

My eyes flew open when I felt the sting of his slap on my face.

We weren't alone, not anymore. My eyes darted around the smug, laughing faces of my friends and family as they watched me fight beneath Mr R.

I was helpless against them.

They were going to do again.

They were going to destroy me again and I could do nothing about it.

My head jerked to the side as I felt a consoling hand press into mine, it was warm and comforting until I saw the owner's expression.

"Anna, I thought you were perfect. My perfect storm." Atticus's hurt eyes bore into mine, and I felt the tears burst from my eyes as I tried to clutch his hand. He was pulling away from me. He was going to leave me here with Mr R. He was going to leave me with the nightmare, alone to battle my demons.

"Atticus. She's broken," Mr R's voice slithered through my mind, and I saw his second self standing behind Atticus' crouched form, his hand on his shoulder, pulling him away.

"I'm not broken. Please don't leave me. I'm not broken."

My voice broke and cracked because my words had no effect on the statue before me. His face twisted from hurt to anger and disgust. He dropped my hand as if it burned his skin, standing to look down on me.

Mr R stood beside him, his smug eyes full of false sorrow as he stared down at me.

"These things catch up to you, Belle. You can't run from the darkness inside you."

I scrabbled on the sheets as I grasped for Atticus. He was always out of reach. I was straining against an unknown force, my legs heavy as if treading through treacle. My body was being pulled back by the grotesque caricatures of the people I'd known. Each of them clawing at me, trying to keep me in their world of torture and torment. Their hold was heavy and thick and eternal.

"Please, I'm not broken. Please...Please," I pleaded but nothing changed.

"You're dirty, tainted, used." Atticus's voice was cold and emotionless as his eyes gazed down at me, dead and flat.

"Don't leave, please." My voice was weak and whispered as the tears continued to fall. I could feel them creating a salty taste in my mouth.

"I thought you were special," Atticus stated before turning his back on me and disappearing into the darkness. The pain of watching him walk away was excruciating.

My limbs shook as I collapsed to the ground.

"I'm here, Belle. I'll always be here." I felt Mr R stroking my hair in comforting sweeps, but they seemed more like how an owner stroked their pet.

"Always," he whispered against my cheek as his lips grazed the skin. I felt his lips skate across the surface, drifting down to the place where my collar bone met my shoulder.

I shivered with disgust, but I knew there was the ghost of delight hidden below the surface. One by one he peppered kisses along the bone, slowly working his way up my neck. Each kiss searing my skin, branding me. But with each repetition the kisses changed. What were once too hard, too rough, slowly morphed into the kisses of our early days: tentative and gentle. Each one a question to be answered.

"My beautiful Belle," he hummed against my skin.

"Beautiful Annabelle."

"My Anna." The timbre of his voice dipped, losing the crackle of cigarettes and replacing it with a tone that made me think of molten dark chocolate. The kind of voice I could swim in.

"Anna?"

Another kiss brushed my cheek and my eyes snapped open.

"Atticus?" I gasped before his lips met mine softly.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he chuckled between kisses.

Still frozen from the remnants of the dream, my hands hung limp at my sides as he kissed me. It was the kind of kiss every girl longed to wake up to, soft and sensual, but I couldn't shake the feeling the nightmare had left. It was rooted in my chest, tight and crushing, stealing my breath.

Before Atticus could deepen the kiss, I pulled away. "I've got morning breath!"

"Who gives a fuck?" he murmured against my skin as he worked his way along my jaw. The profanity sent a shiver of desire down my spine, like it was a glimpse of what he might sound like if I ever had my wicked way with him.

I wanted to give in there and then, just wrap my arms around him and surrender to a morning of kisses and friction. But when I closed my eyes to enjoy the way his tongue swirled over the sensitive skin on my neck, I saw Mr R in his place. I could almost smell the rancid odour of old smoke and cheap aftershave.

"Seriously, I feel rank," I argued as I made my escape. "Just hold that thought while I go grab a shower and brush my teeth."

Before he could see the nightmare reflected in my eyes, I dashed from the room and grabbed a towel from the cupboard on my way to the shower.

The bathroom door slammed behind me, followed quickly by the thunderous sound of water hitting the cheap plastic bath as the shower roared to life. I threw the once white (now grey) towel on top of the toilet seat and pulled at my pyjamas.

Pyjamas was a loose use of the word given my top was a threadbare, old band vest I'd rescued from a charity shop filled with pastel cardigans and worn-out loafers. The bottoms were an old pair of boxer-trunks some steroid popping wanker had forgotten about when he'd fled in the middle of the night, too embarrassed to deal with the fact his 'supplements' had broken his ability to perform.

By the time I'd stripped off, the water was starting to run hot, but not hot enough. Instead, I inched the thermostat up a few degrees. My skin itched like I could feel dirt slicked across its surface and I needed the heat to melt that feeling away.

I hissed as I eased myself under the weight of the water. It was scolding for a second or two, but then it was almost euphoric to feel the water wash away the sweat, dirt, and remnants of the nightmare.

I reached for the soap and a sponge that had seen better days and lathered up, each pass erasing the memory of the night before. I started at my ankles and by the time I reached my thighs I could almost feel the relief like it was some palpable thing, a warm cloak draped around my shoulders whispering that all things would be OK from now on.

But as always, my hands passed over the scars that webbed across my inner thigh, a remnant from my tumultuous teenage years. Back then it was a coping mechanism, but now it was just a reminder of how miserable I had allowed R to make me. How far my own weakness had let me fall.

In hurried movements I scrubbed over the remaining skin. Covered in suds, I turned and twisted the thermostat higher, until all I could feel was red hot water raging against my skin. I could see the pale expanse turning pink, but I didn't turn it down. If anything, I revelled in how the heat burnt away any thoughts of last night.