He brought the knife up and sliced deep through the tendons of her right hand. Bella screamed, over and over again, crying against the pain so intense that it was unreal.
“See if you can cook with your hand all fucked up. Always carting around these stupid knives. You love them so much, bitch. How do you feel about them now? How much will people love you if you can’t cook anymore?”
Bella tried to kick the knife out of his hand with her feet, but he easily blocked her attempts. Sobbing now, she struggled to breathe. Dropping the knife on the bed, he got up and stood next to the bed. Slowly he began to remove his clothes, watching her struggling form before him as her eyes widened in horrified recognition of what he was going to do. He grabbed her legs and rose up over her to sit on her as her ripped her shirt open.
“We were supposed to make love the first time on our wedding night, but you left me no choice. I could have loved you forever. Now, you pay!” he screamed as he slapped her across the face again and again. “You want to be treated like a whore, and now you’ll die like one. If I can’t have you, no one will.”
His right hand came up around her neck, covered with her blood. “I always did like red on you,” he whispered evilly, laughing in her ear as his hand squeezed tighter, cutting off her air. The pain was unbearable, sharp, and so strong she prayed to break away from the reality of what was happening. As his other hand moved down to undo the button on her pants, she was thankful for the blackness that came to claim her.
* * * *
Bella jolted awake, woken by the sound of her own screams. Drenched with sweat, she fought to beat the cold, stark terror back from her sleep-weakened mind. It was just a nightmare.
The same nightmare she had repeatedly for the past year.
Early morning sunlight streamed past the creamy lace curtains through the window of Bella’s bedroom. Cheerful sounds of autumn from the world outside forced the nightmare back into hiding. Bella’s sobbing breath caught in her throat as she tried to gasp in air. She forced the hands that held the bedding in a death grip to release. Dammit, she was safe, safe in her own bed.
Breathe, just breathe.
She had had the nightmare every time she closed her eyes after she had woken up in the hospital after the night Victor Dane had tried to kill her.
Bella had tried to respond to fan mail as much as she could, always getting a kick out of the fact that people thought of her as a celebrity. At first, Victor Dane had seemed like a nice, normal man who had sent her letters expressing his interest and appreciation in her craft. She had responded with a polite thank-you letter as she did with most of the letters that she received.
Bella was a little shocked when Victor continued to write, his letters becoming more insistent that they meet. She had written a letter politely denying his request they meet and kindly telling him that, as flattering as his attention was, his efforts were not welcomed. He had continued sending her gifts and letters, which she continued to ignore until they had stopped. She never gave it a second thought, until he had started to call her. She had reported the calls to the front desk of the hotel, and they had blocked him from reaching her.
Until that night.
Over the past few months the dreams haunted her less frequently, for which she was grateful, but they still came. She looked down to her shaking hands, staring at the deep scar on her right hand where Victor had cut her. It had taken her months to regain the use of that hand after the damage he had caused, but she had survived. She had scars on her neck where he had cut her, though these were faint, mostly healed, and now barely visible. Other, deeper scars graced her lower abdomen where Victor had buried the knife, those would always be there. But that was nothing compared to the deepest scar she carried which could not be seen.
The scar on her soul that was deep inside her.
She had drifted in and out of consciousness that night, and finally he had left her for dead. Luckily, he had missed most of her vital organs when he had stabbed her, giving her the precious minutes she needed to live. The night manager of the hotel had gone up to Bella’s suite to visit that night. Seeing blood on the door handle, she had keyed in after Bella didn’t answer, sensing something was very wrong. If not for her friend, Bella would have died.
Bella had woken up in the hospital surrounded by her family, alive but barely feeling it. The anguish on their faces was burned in her memory as they discovered what had happened. Victor had been stalking her for months. The police had discovered that his apartment had been filled with pictures of her everywhere, walking on the street, with her friends, and he had even stolen pieces of clothing from her suite in the hotel. She gave her statement to the police, reports were filled out, but it was no use.