The Backwards Angel

She hadn't always spent the night sobbing in both physical and mental agony, ready to make a clean cut across her wrists and end everything. All the suffering. All the pain. She'd tried to think back on a time when she didn't wake up terrified.

She came up blank every time. Maybe it was because she couldn't remember a time she didn't work for him. She must have had actual parents at one time, but she never knew them. She had only ever known him. She'd worked in his factory for as long as she could remember.

He never paid her in wage, but rather in room and board. From an early age she worked. Hard. Every morning from sunup to sundown. It was physically brutal on her and often times she went days without proper food or rest.

More than one occasion she'd fallen asleep on the job. If one of her coworkers caught her, she was fortunate enough to be woken up before he saw her.

But that didn't always happen. Whenever he found her slacking, he made sure she paid for it. There was a sick pleasure about hearing her screams and seeing her in pain that he must have loved. He became stricter with her than he was on anyone else; driving her to exhaustion nearly every day just so he could justify hurting her.

She was small; barely five foot two, fifty-four kilos. The quiet and timidness of her character, combined with her physical attraction, was what held his attention. He liked meek, beautiful women.

Or girls, in this case.

She was only ten when he started paying special attention to her. It started out seemingly innocent enough. He would graze her shoulder when he walked past, touch her back, or give her a subtle, lustful smile when she chanced to glance his way.

She ignored him for a while, not sure what to do and afraid of doing or saying something to encourage him.

The idea of running away was always in the back of her mind. It was the last thing she thought about before she drifted off to sleep. But she couldn't. Where would she go? She had no family, no money; nothing on which to get by. So she bore his obscure and pointless beatings. She couldn't risk standing her ground for fear of him dismissing her to the streets. She wouldn't survive five days on her own.

Most of the time when he had meeting with his business associate or private investors, he'd keep her in the room with him. She wasn't sure why, but he did.

"I'm done screwing around here, Maxx. I want that shipment of Roelyx by tonight." He kissed, keeping his voice low and leaning over his desk

"I'm doing the best I can, Slate," the other man replied. "I just need more time. I almost got caught last night and I don't want to risk—"

"You really think I care?" Slate murmured, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He laughed. "I have no issue turning you over to the authorities."

"Hey, you turn me over I'm dragging you and your whole operation down with me!"

"My name as no association with your firm." Slate snapped, keeping his hands firmly planted on his desk as he brought his face closer to Maxx's. "You really think I'd be that stupid? I use resources, cloaked and masked and buried beneath layers and layers of false identities and pseudonyms."

Haven chewed her lip, chills shooting down her spine. Though she knew Damien—that was his real name, not Slate—wouldn't get caught, she said a silent prayer that Maxx would just agree to get the shipment before he really got mad.

"Get me that Roelyx," Damien snapped, pushing himself up and leaving his threat unfinished.

Maxx's eyes held a flicker of panic. He merely nodded. Damien gestured towards the door and his visitor stood up and scurried away.

Haven glanced up at Damien. His eyes were dark as they turned to look at him. He crooked a finger and she stood up as he crossed the room and slammed the door shut.

In a flash he raised his hand and backhanded across her face. She fell to the ground, her cheek stinging.

Damien drove the toe of his book into her stomach several times before yanking her to her feet and abruptly shoving her against the wall.

She tasted blood, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

"Had enough, Haven?"

There was never a right answer to that question, but staying silent was somehow worse.

Haven shook her head, her eyes filling with fear as the corner of her mouth started to bleed.

Damien let her catch her breath before releasing the rest of his pent up frustration out on her. For the first few moments Haven was able to keep silent but after only a short period of time she couldn't keep her screams in.

Damien finally grew tired. His face glistening with sweat, he sank down on the edge of his desk. He studied Haven, waiting for her to get back up.

Her head swimming, Haven struggled to stand. Her arms and legs were completely limp and both her sides throbbed. One, if not more, of her ribs were probably broken again.

Using the edge of Damien's desk for support, Haven pulled herself up.

Damien raked a hand through his hair before lighting a cigarette. He glanced at Haven, eyeing her. "Go."

Haven turned and slipped from the room. As she stepped into the hub of his factor, no one even looked up. By this time everyone had figured out the young girl was some combination of Damien's pet and slave and no one had the nerve to intervene. For the most part, she was ignored.

Stifling a groan, Haven waited until the last of the employees had filed out before flicking the lights off and shutting down the rest of the machines. She kept one arm around her side as she started up the narrow wooden stairs towards her room. Stumbling inside, Haven pushed her door closed.

It creaked back open.

Haven turned, sucking in a startled gasp. Damien was there. Just seeing his face in the darkness sent shivers down her spine. A rock dropped in her stomach.

Before she had the chance to say anything, he lunged forward, gripping either sides of her face and roughly forcing his mouth against hers. His force was strong as he shoved her into the wall, slamming her head against the stiff wood and almost suffocating her.

"Damien—!" Haven cried, pushing against him as hard as she could. He didn't so much as flinch at her protest. His hands slid to the collar of her shirt and he started undoing the buttons. He gave up half way and instead moved his hands beneath the hem of her shirt and around her waist.

"Damien... please, stop," Haven begged, her heart hammering in her chest and panic clawing up her throat.

"Stop talking," he ordered.

Haven whimpered. She pushed against his shoulders, barely aware of what she was doing, but his hands gripped her wrists and pinned them behind her back. She involuntarily cried out, struggling to breathe against Damien's increasing pressure. His fingers fumbled with the waist of her pants.

"Stop it!" Haven screamed. Without thinking, she drove her knee up. He slackened his hold and she raced around him towards the door. Damien recovered quickly and slammed the door shut before she'd made it through.

Now he was mad. And his anger was not something to be easily diffused. Despite Haven's desperate attempts to get away, he wrestled her to the ground. She screamed, feeling his cold hands on her bare skin. Her scream only spurred him on and he laughed, sliding his hand down her leg.