Chapter 13

                                    

                                          
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I starred at the outfit, my mind blank. Without putting it on, I knew it was going to be too tight, too short, too revealing. Everything I hated, and all that Deacon loved on me. I cringed as I slid into it, getting exactly what I was expecting out of the clothes. 
Thankfully, I had been left to my own devices when it came to hair and makeup, but I knew what he wanted. So I applied way more makeup than I would have liked, curled my hair, and threw it up in a clip, letting the waves fall around it. 
I stared at myself in the mirror, chewing on my bottom lip and seeing everything that was wrong with myself. 
You're too fat; you need to loose some weight. 
You're so ugly that no one would ever love you. 
You ate nothing.
I had been told things like this my whole life, so believing all of it was easy. It wasn't just outside voices anymore; it was my own brain telling me I was worth nothing.
You're lucky I took you in when your parents died. No one would have ever adopted you with how you look and all the issues you have. 
My stomach twisted, and before I knew it, my head was over the toilet, throwing up the few things I had eaten that day, dry heaving when nothing was left. 
I knew I had problems, and they only seemed to get worse as the years went on. There was nothing I could do. Deacon had paid off some random doctor to give me anxiety medication so I wouldn't act crazy in front of any of his clients. But it was the lowest dose and didn't do much anymore.
I tried to calm myself down by taking deep breaths, but the urge to puke was a constant nagging in my stomach.
I pulled on the heels that I knew would cause blisters upon blisters while trying to calm my stomach to no avail.
I closed my eyes and, not for the first time, considered not being alive anymore. I could just take some pills and fade into nothingness. But I knew I never would. Some small part of me was still clinging onto life. To hope.
So instead, I shuffled towards the door and pulled it open.
Deacon was waiting right outside my door, leaning up against the wall. As soon it opened, he pushed his way inside, the door almost smacking me from his intrusion. 
I kept my eyes down and let him examine me. I could feel his greedy eyes scanning my every feature, lingering on some more than others.  He reached out to ran a hand up my thigh, and it took everything in me not to cringe and flee, to hide. His other fingers grasped at my neck, forcing my head up and my eyes to meet his. 
His eyes held lust, and a sick feeling came over me as he smirked maliciously. 
Deacon yelled over his shoulder, "Give me fifteen minutes. I need to take care of something first." 
I heard the words "yes, boss", then he closed the door with one hand and unbuckled his belt with the other. 
*****
I hated the club. I had been before, since Deacon owned it. The blaring music always made my head throb within minutes of entering. Hands were always grabbing at some part of me- my breasts, my butt, sometimes even lower under the strip of clothing Deacon called a skirt- and I was expected to take it, to smile and act like I was enjoying it. It made my skin crawl and my stomach tie itself in knots knowing I was heading there.