UN-Breakable Read online

  UN-BREAKABLE

  S.K. Lessner

  This book is a work of fiction, although some scenes reflect my own experiences.

  The names and places have been changed. Please be aware that this story contains graphic scenes that include rape, harsh language, and sexual content.

  TABLE of CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Copyright © 2017 S.K. LESSNER UN-BREAKABLE

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. UN-Breakable is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  Editing by Stacy Broadbent

  Interior Design by Masque of the Red Pen

  Cover Design by Taylor Sullivan

  This is dedicated to the millions of men, women, and children whose voices are never heard. May we one day live in a world where rape and sex trafficking never exists.

  For those who, like myself, have been the victim and fought the battle in silence ~never give up!

  It is my hope that this story empowers anyone who has been through similarly traumatic situations, filling them with the strength and encouragement to know that they can overcome any evil that is brought against them ~ because our bodies may be broken, but our spirit will forever be

  UNBREAKABLE.

  I’ll kill him.

  One day, I’ll have the perfect opportunity and I. Will. Kill. Him.

  It’s not a lack of courage holding me back. It’s simply a lack of opportunity. The only thing I haven’t decided is if I’ll kill him fast, or make him suffer like he’s done to me all this time. As good as that sounds, I think I want out more than anything else. Seeing as how I’ve unsuccessfully tried to escape countless times, his quick death is the only solution at this point.

  Leaning my head against the cold, wood-paneled wall, I wrapped my arms around my naked legs and pulled them up to my chest. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling grabbed my attention as the string to turn it on swayed back and forth without rhyme or reason. This little closet, bare except for a lumpy, brown-stained pillow, and one thin, cotton blanket, has been my home for the past six months. I’m allowed underwear for one week of the month. Otherwise, I’m to be naked at all times. I’m only allowed out occasionally and almost always to serve a purpose. My master, as he calls himself, determines when those times are and what the various reasons may be. There is no schedule. Nothing for me to predict what might come next. I only know it’s been six months because of the rising and setting of the sun that shines underneath the door, and the tally marks that I’ve carved into the wall with my fingernails. Each line signifying another day in hell that I’ve survived.

  I closed my eyes and drifted to my safe place, my life before I was brought here. Six months may not seem like a long time, but when confined and treated as a slave, it’s enough to drive a person insane. Some days, it took me a few attempts before I could remember who I truly was. Other days, it was all I could do to force myself to forget that, that person ever existed.

  I was so naïve, believing that if I did good then karma would be good to me in return. I quickly learned how untrue that was. At twenty-two years of age, I’d just graduated from the University of Georgia and had decided to experience being wild and carefree for the first time. I’d always been a bookworm, determined to make more of my life than my disastrous, drug addicted family had before me. I refused to end up like them; broken down shells of people that barely existed and spent all of their waking hours in search of their next high. Seeing as how I’d finally made it, had an amazing job offer to begin working for the esteemed Monroe Management Firm in New York City, and a future that looked promising, I agreed to go with two of my friends to Daytona Beach and enjoy a week-long celebration after receiving our diplomas. Knowing I would be leaving from there and flying directly to New York where I’d begin working long hours in order to make my way up the ladder, I let myself go, freely enjoying what every other college student had experienced years before. I’d been having the time of my life, oblivious to anything or anyone around me other than my friends and the few sexy men I’d flirted with here and there. Little did I know, what was supposed to be my last day of vacation and the beginning of my dreams coming true, would soon turn into a nightmare from hell.

  Noise on the other side of the closet door caught my attention, abruptly ending my daydreaming. Pulling the string to turn the light off, I moved into the furthest corner of the seven feet by three feet area and covered myself with the scraggly blanket. I knew I couldn’t hide from him. He’d come regardless. But it was the only form of comfort I had and I refused to completely give in and surrender to him. Even if I did exactly what he asked, he’d still treat me the same way. I know. I tried the obedient route a few months ago. Regardless of my actions, he was the same vile, evil, wicked bastard day after day.

  “No! I’m not gonna settle for that!” His harsh, scratchy voice echoed through the house, sliding under my door, the tentacles of sound reaching for me in the darkness and threatening to tear me apart. I felt sickened from his voice alone. Yet, I had to listen. Knowledge was power. And I had very few opportunities like this.

  Creeping silently on my hands and knees, I moved to the locked door and laid on my stomach. Angling my head, I closed one eye and peered through the inch high gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor. He was in the kitchen. Two rooms away. His shadow dancing across the living room floor as he paced back and forth.

  “Hell no!” he yelled even louder, rattling the door beside my head. I had to force myself to maintain calmness. His voice was like a weapon, permeating with fear and fire, violating me from the inside out. “Fine. Tomorrow at seven.” His voice was angry, yet resigned.

  Coming to a stop in the doorway, he threw his phone against the wall across from me, shattering it on impact. Straining to see as much as possible, I watched him reach up to his nasty,
coal-black hair, pulling at the roots in anger. “Ughhhh,” he growled loudly, removing his hands from his hair and swinging his arm toward the wall. The plaster and drywall were no match for his wrath. With a sickening, loud thump, his arm effortlessly broke through the material. I watched in horror as the picture next to him teetered back and forth before falling to the floor and bursting into a million tiny pieces.

  Suddenly afraid of his response, my chest heaved in and out, fearing what might be next. Me.

  Yet, I couldn’t look away. With great effort, he twisted and pulled to free his hand, chunks of drywall showering all around him. With his arm bathed in white dust, the blood appeared in stark contrast. Far more than I thought possible from a single punch. Holding his limb out in front of him, he squinted and inspected the cuts, seeming as surprised as I was by the destruction he’d caused. When he turned his body, the glint of light from the kitchen landed perfectly along his arm, highlighting the river of crimson flowing from his wrist, around the inner forearm, and dripping from his elbow.

  I gasped, instantly wishing I could take it back. It was a mistake I knew I’d regret. I’d involuntarily reminded him I was there. His head whipped in my direction and I held my breath, hoping and praying he’d forget about me. No such luck. He tilted his head, inquisitively looking toward my door as if planning his next move. Even though I couldn’t see them, I knew the sable brown in his eyes was disappearing, the pupils growing until they were almost entirely black. I’d seen that look a thousand times. I knew what it meant.

  “Oh, Gwen,” he called in a sing-song voice, taking a step in my direction, all but forgetting about his hand. “Dear, sweet, Gwendolyn,” his malevolent voice sneered, the sound echoing beneath the door and directly to my heart.

  Unable to breathe or stop the thumping in my chest, I reversed to my ‘safe’ corner and tried to hide. It was ridiculous actually. It was nothing more than how a caged dog acts. I knew that, but I couldn’t stop. With my legs pulled as tightly as possibly against my body, I stared at the doorknob, waiting for it to turn. His steps were agonizingly slow, each floorboard of the old house creaking as he made his way closer. Without a doubt, I knew he did it on purpose. He was the master of mind games. Foreplay, as he called it.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You should know better, little bird,” he continued in that irritating, sing-song voice. I absolutely hated his nicknames for me. Each one made me want to claw my ears until I was deaf. When he added his psychotic taunts, I longed for the times he’d knock me out, sleep taking me into its silent oblivion. It was sick how something so terrible could be regarded as a saving grace. Sick, yet truthful. This was the anguish of my life now. Depressing, hopeless, and utterly miserable in every way.

  I watched the light under the door disappear as his feet neared the closet, a floorboard’s creak confirming his location as he came to a stop. The muffled sound of change and keys jingling in his pocket was followed by a metal key sliding into the lock. Pursing my lips, I fought against the desire to cry out in fear. With a click, the key turned, unlocking the door. My breathing, already labored, became even more difficult—my breaths becoming shorter as my chest rapidly rose and fall. The clink of metal upon metal rang out, signaling that he’d dropped the key back into his pocket immediately before the rusty old knob started to turn. My heart beat so fast, so hard, I was sure he could hear it. Closing my eyes momentarily, I took a deep breath, hoping to stay calm long enough to avoid provoking his anger and wrath any further.

  He pulled the door open in agonizingly slow motion, wreaking havoc on my already shattered nerves. My body trembled both inside and out. I dreaded his visits but hated being alone. Nothing made sense in this world, especially not him. Unable to stop myself, I opened my eyes and watched with horror as the closet filled with light. The brightness was blinding as I shifted my legs toward the shadows, fighting to stay hidden as long as possible. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I’d savor every second that I didn’t have to be exposed to him.

  “Now, Gwen, is this any way to greet your master?” he scolded me. “I’m injured and in need of help. But you’re refusing to assist me. Why is that?”

  I should go to him. I should assume the position he’d forced me in to so many times before. But I couldn’t. The small amount of self-esteem that remained refused to give in and bow to him. Fight or flight? I was all for both of those options. I’d fight until the day I died or until the day flight was possible.

  With a deep sigh, he shook his head, bending down to grab my blanket. A flick of his wrist and he yanked my protection away, leaving me naked, trembling in fear. I knew it did no good to hide from him, but self-preservation was difficult to ignore. Regardless of how many times he’d punished or tried to teach me the correct ways in his world, my mind ignored it all and fought to hold on to the tiny part of me that still existed.

  “Do we really need to go over the rules again?” He sounded tired, disappointed, and angry. “I thought by now you’d be compliant.”

  Without any further warning, he took a large step inside and grabbed my hair by the roots. The long strands were tangled in his fist, and he was furiously yanking me toward the door. I’d once loved my long blonde hair, but now it was nothing more than a torture device, the pain burning and cutting along my scalp. Realizing I’d already tested his patience, I set aside my fight for the time being and began crawling as he pulled me toward him. The relief along my scalp was instant, even though he didn’t release his hold.

  Coming to a stop in the door frame, I assumed his favored position—on my knees, head bowed, arms tucked inside. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, afraid that anything I did at this point would only aggravate him more.

  “Sorry?” he yelled, his voice again echoing throughout the house. “You’ve been sorry for the past six months, Gwendolyn!”

  Yanking my hair backward, I was forced to look up and into his soulless eyes as he tightened his hold even more. Blood coated his arm from elbow to wrist, spreading to my hair, and dripping onto the floor as he continued to bleed from his wounds. He seemed completely oblivious to his injury now. His complete attention was focused on me as his nostrils flared and his face contorted in fury. With eyes that shone deathly black and red flashing in the center, I knew it was a warning, a beacon burning brightly inside the darkest recesses of evil.

  “Sorry doesn’t begin to cut it, beautiful. I’ve had about all I can take from you,” he whispered in disgust, his breath hot and smelling of brandy, right before his free hand reared back and slapped me across my cheek.

  Tears sprung to my eyes. My face stung in agony. And I could taste blood beginning to flow from my lip. But I refused to give him the satisfaction. Tightening every muscle I had, I fought against the sorrow and pain and stared unwavering into his soulless eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit me. And I knew it wouldn’t be the last. But I was fighting with all I had not to give in to his manipulation.

  Staring at me in shock, surprised I still refused to admit his supremacy, his entire body began trembling. The motions ricocheted down his arm, through the hand that continued to hold my hair in a vice grip, and against the back of my head. I’d never seen him so intensely angry before. He was completely ferocious. Whatever had made him so upset before, combined with my current form of rebellion, must have pushed him over the edge. For the first time since I’d arrived, I truly feared what might come next.

  “Enough!” he bellowed loud enough to rattle the nearest windows. Spittle flew across my face and combined with the blood in my hair, as I watched in horror as his body continued to shake before me.

  I was terrified. He’d yelled, slapped, kicked, even burned me many times before, but this was different. I saw the final transformation, the shift in his eyes, and knew this might be my last day alive. I’d pushed him many times before but had never seen such a deadly glare from him. Without saying the words, I knew my time was up. I had the urge to beg, plead, promise to do anything he asked of me. I suddenly wanted to be
what he wanted, hoping that one day I’d find a way out. But seeing the steel determination in his eyes, my spirit waved the white flag. He’d won. He could have me, hurt me, kill me. Whatever he chose. I was done fighting. Death was a welcomed escape I’d never truly considered before.

  “Yes…Master.” I whispered the words he’d begged and demanded me to say every day for the last 180 days. I lowered my eyes, hopelessly staring at the floorboards, and let the tears fall. My body released its fight, my muscles relaxing and accepting what I’d fought so hard against.

  Unable to do anything else, I listened but dared not lift my eyes again. He gradually released my hair and stood motionless in front of me for an extended time. The silence slowly eating away at my already broken state. With a loud sigh, he crouched down, his knees bending and appearing in my line of sight. Sliding two overly warm fingers under my chin, he lifted my face to look at his. I felt the wetness sliding down my cheeks. I felt the lingering sting from where his palm had connected with my cheek. But I was done. He could have whatever he wanted.

  “Yes, what?” he asked quietly, his eyes wide in surprise.

  “Y-yes, Master,” I replied, allowing another tear to escape and roll down my cheek.

  Tilting his head to the side, studying me, his eyes returned to their normal brown, the evil temporarily restrained. Lifting his free arm, he brought his hand to my cheek, cupping it inside his calloused and dirty palm in a deceptively tender way.

  I wanted to be sick, remind myself that, that was the same hand he’d used against me only moments before. But I was numb. Completely and utterly numb.

  “Now that, Gwen,” he said softly while his finger wiped the tears off my cheek. “That is what I’ve waited so long to hear.”

  I wanted to look away. Look anywhere other than at him. But he continued to hold my face, sliding his fingers from under my chin, along my jaw, and cupping my other cheek. With my head now firmly resting between the monster’s hands, his eyes roamed my features as his alcoholic stench and sweaty palms seared my senses. He seemed to be searching for some answer, studying me like he’d never seen me before.