Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 51: "Stopping It"

June POV:

I got home around 7 a.m.

I guessed by that time they’d be gone — off to work, rushing through their perfect little lives, pretending I didn’t exist.

The house looked normal from the outside.

Silent.

Still.

Dead, almost.

I slipped my key into the lock, careful, cautious. The door creaked when I opened it, the sound far too loud in the heavy morning air.

I winced.

Waited.

Nothing.

Good.

I crept inside, heart hammering against my ribs.

Shoes off at the door.

Bag pressed tight against my side.

I didn’t breathe until I made it halfway down the hallway.

Then—

The sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor.

I froze.

The air changed.

Got thicker.

Got colder.

And suddenly I knew—

I knew—

I wasn’t alone.

"Where the fuck were you?"

His voice came from the kitchen.

Low.

Razor-sharp.

Full of a kind of anger that promised pain.

I turned my head slowly.

There he was.

Sitting at the kitchen table.

Half a cup of black coffee in front of him.

A cigarette burning in the ashtray.

Eyes bloodshot, wild, drilling into me like knives.

He hadn’t gone to work.

He’d stayed.

Waiting.

My stomach dropped to the floor.

My palms started sweating instantly.

Fight or flight slammed into me, but my legs were too frozen to do either.

"I asked you a question," he growled, pushing back his chair so violently it screeched across the tiles.

He stood up.

Took a slow, deliberate step toward me.

I swallowed hard, tasting the metallic edge of fear in the back of my throat.

"I—I fell asleep at a friend’s house," I lied quickly, my voice barely a whisper. "I didn’t mean to—"

A sudden, harsh laugh cut through my words.

"Didn’t mean to?"

He echoed, tilting his head like he was hearing something funny.

His hand slammed down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the ceramic bowl there jump and shatter, pieces raining onto the floor.

"You think you can whore around all night and sneak back in like nothing happened?" he barked, the veins in his neck bulging, his body coiled with violence.

"No—no, I swear, I didn’t—"

"LIAR!"

He lunged, grabbing a fistful of my hair, yanking me forward.

I gasped, stumbling into the kitchen as he dragged me closer, closer to that cold table, closer to whatever sick punishment he had stewing in his rotten mind all night.

"You’re gonna learn, little bitch," he snarled, spittle flying against my cheek.

"You’re gonna learn what happens when you disrespect me."

My heart slammed against my chest so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to run.

But survival kicked in.

Years of survival.

I didn’t scream.

I didn’t fight.

I just went limp, like a ragdoll.

Let him think he’d won.

Let him think he was in control.

Because I needed time.

I needed one second — one second to figure out how to get out of this.

I wasn’t that helpless little girl anymore.

Not entirely.

And Justin—

Justin had reminded me of that, even if he didn’t realize it.

My eyes flicked to the counter.

To the knives.

Just one second.

One breath.

One chance.

And maybe I wouldn’t be the one bleeding this time.

******

"You knew I’d be waiting for you," he snarled, his fingers tangling cruelly in my hair, yanking my head back so sharply my neck screamed in protest.

"And you didn’t come."

His breath hit my ear, hot and sour, soaked in rage so thick it made my skin crawl.

I could hear the blood pounding between my ears, feel my heartbeat in every bruised inch of my body.

"Now," he hissed, voice splitting into a low, hateful rasp, "we finish what we should have done yesterday."

My stomach twisted violently.

The world seemed to tilt under my feet, a trapdoor opening beneath me — only there was no bottom, no end, no safety net. Just endless falling.

My mind screamed at me to do something. Anything. Fight. Run. Scream.

But my body was frozen, paralyzed in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

He shoved me hard against the kitchen counter.

The sharp edge drove into my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. Stars exploded behind my eyes. Pain shot through my side like lightning.

I gasped, a broken, choked noise escaping me, but it didn’t stop him.

It never stopped him.

He was already pulling at my jeans, rough hands yanking at the fabric, peeling it down my legs in frantic, jerky movements.

Not this again.

Not again, not now, not when I’m already broken. Not when everything inside me is already ash.

The denim pooled uselessly at my ankles.

I tried — God, I tried — to disappear inside my own mind, to find some corner of myself untouched by his hands.

But there was no safe place left.

Even the memories I used to hide in — Justin’s warmth, his arms around me, his voice promising safety — were poisoned now.

Tarnished by yesterday.

By the way Justin had looked at me after he confronted me.

Disgusted. Betrayed.

That was how he would look at me again — if he saw me now.

If he saw how ruined I really was.

I heard him fumbling with his belt buckle, muttering curses under his breath.

I could feel him — hard, heavy, pressed against me, grinding against my bare skin.

Why me?

Why does it have to be me over and over and over again?

When will it end? When will someone make it stop?

Tears blurred my vision. I didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

There was no point.

I heard the clatter as his trousers fell to the floor.

He pressed against me, sickening and sweaty and eager.

"You’ve kept me waiting so long, June," he whispered, words slithering into my ear. "Daddy isn’t happy. So you’re gonna make him feel good, yeah?"

I flinched, bile rising in my throat.

I wanted to be anywhere but here.

Dead, even. Dead would be better than this.

His hand slid under my panties, ripping them down with a savage tug.

My body shivered involuntarily.

"Kill him."

The voices again.

"Make it stop, June. You can make it stop."

I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate, desperate for anything, any escape.

But there was nothing.

Just the voices.

I felt him rubbing himself against me, pushing, demanding, taking.

"Look ahead," the voices said.

"There’s a jar of spoons. Take a fork."

I opened my eyes, blinking through the haze of tears.

There it was.

A glass jar on the counter. A clutter of spoons sticking out the top.

But it was far.

Too far.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Despair clawed at me.

"Stretch. Reach. Try harder, June."

The voices were urgent, desperate.

He slapped himself against me — once, twice — the sick sound of skin on skin.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

I reached, stretching my arm as far as it would go.

Fingers scraping the counter.

The jar just out of reach.

"Stretch harder!" the voices screamed.

"You have to!"

My muscles strained, the counter edge bruising my ribs deeper with every breath.

And then — my fingertips brushed the jar.

It wobbled.

At that exact moment —

He shoved inside me.

One brutal thrust.

Tearing, splitting.

I screamed — a raw, broken sound that was smothered by his sweaty hand clamping over my mouth.

He didn’t even notice the jar tipping over. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Didn’t care.

He was too busy thrusting, pounding into me with mindless force.

Tears streamed down my face.

Everything blurred.

Pain. Shame. Fear. Rage.

"Make it stop, June."

"Only you can make it stop."

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t think.

I could only feel every jagged, blinding stab of pain as he used my body like it was his right.

I don’t even remember when I grabbed something — just that my hand closed around cold metal.

A fork.

Sharp. Solid. Real.

For the first time, something real was in my hands.

I turned, twisting against his iron grip, my fingers locked around the handle.

I didn’t think.

I just moved.

The fork plunged into his face — into his eye — with a sickening crunch.

His scream ripped through the kitchen, high and shrill and animalistic.

Blood spurted from the ruined socket, splattering across my hands, the counter, the floor.

The door slammed open —

And there was Justin.

Frozen.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.

Taking it all in.

My monster staggered back, clawing at the fork sticking out of his face, shrieking, a wounded, thrashing beast.

"Finish him."

The voices roared in my head now, triumphant, electric.

"Finish him, June. Finish what he started. Kill him. Stab him again and again and again."

I stumbled forward, fueled by something feral, something born of all the years he stole from me.

I drove the fork into his chest, his throat, his belly — anywhere I could reach.

Each stab punctuated by his gurgling shrieks, each one spraying more hot blood across my skin.

Justin stepped toward me slowly, carefully, hands raised.

His face was a horror mask — shock, horror, confusion.

"Killer."

"Murderer."

"June is a killer now."

The other voices sang, lilting, mocking.

I stabbed again.

And again.

I didn’t even feel my own screams tearing from my throat until I realized the air around me was vibrating with them.

Blood coated everything.

Me.

The floor.

The counter.

The walls.

The monster crumpled at my feet, twitching, gasping, clawing at the fork jutting from his face.

Still, I raised my hand again, the fork slick with gore.

Justin was in front of me now, so close I could feel his breath.

"June," he said — softly, carefully, like he was approaching a wild animal.

"June... it’s okay. You can stop. You’re safe now."

Safe?

There was no safe.

There was only the pounding in my ears, the chant of the voices, the endless loop of killer, murderer, monster.

His hands closed over mine — firm, steady.

The fork clattered to the floor.

My legs gave out.

Justin caught me before I hit the ground, pulling me against him.

I sobbed into his chest, huge wracking sobs that felt like they would tear me apart from the inside.

The monster lay at our feet, twitching once, twice, then still.

Dead.

Gone.

But I didn’t feel free.

I didn’t feel anything except hollow.

As if he had hollowed me out so completely there was nothing left but blood and bone and screams.

Justin stroked my hair, murmuring words I couldn’t understand.

"Murderer," the voices whispered.

"Broken thing," they hissed.

"You’re ruined now. Forever."

I buried my face in Justin’s shirt, trying to drown them out.

But they were inside me now.

They weren’t going anywhere.