*Warning: This chapter contains material that you may find distressing, including coarse language and depictions related to themes of rape, abuse and violence. ***** “There are no accidental meetings between souls.” ~Sheila Burke I'm Rose Cintilar. Eighteen this year. And I'm about to be raped. But I don't know it yet. Because right now, I'm knocked out. The thing about being knocked out is this: you think you're awake—you feel awake—but you're logged out of memory, so it registers nothing except darkness. Black darkness. But you feel things. And I feel that something bad is about to happen. I can feel it in my bones. They are trembling with a chilling sense of fear—the kind that you want to escape from, because you know it'll give you permanent damage… but you're too helpless to run. Or perhaps I'm dreaming… and it's the cold, damp air of the hour blowing through the open window of my bedroom. A cold wave washed my chest. And a hyena—no, hyenas... there a
ROSE 12 hours earlier… A tear slipped under my thick brown rim of specs and rolled down my left cheek as I stared in yet another disbelief at my work, beautifully blown up on the screen, presented by the head of the styling team to B.A.D’s management team as another one of her creations. They did it again. Those so-called stylists—veterans in their own rights of knowledge, skills, and years of experience—had once again played me. Just to steal my styling idea. An idea that was woven from my father’s gift of creativity. My name is Rose Cintilar. Eighteen. Three years ago, I came to B.A.D, the top talent agency of the U.R.T, with hopes of becoming a famous stylist. My father had always wanted to be one when he was alive, and since I inherited his vibrant creativity, I saw it as my life goal to make his wish come true. It was the least I could do to make amends for what I'd done. If it wasn’t for me, my parents wouldn’t have died. This, I heard from my aunt ever since she took
*Warning: This chapter contains material you may find distressing, including coarse language and depictions related to themes of abuse and violence. ***** ROSE I can’t believe this is happening! This is my chance! Imagine working for Rum! I can carry his bag, tell him his schedule, talk to him… watch him as he crafts his music… as he eats and drinks… exercise… I wonder if he exercised. Oh! I can be backstage while he performs—I get to have an exclusive view of him! “Assistant? Me?” The model laughed in a glorious chime. “I’m too good for that, don’t you think?” The bombshell swivelled back to the front and her finger stroked her phone screen once more as she continued mooning over Rum. “But I do like the idea,” she muttered absently. “Those electrifying blue eyes. Being near them 24-7… ooh! Just the thought of it makes my skin tingle! But why are they getting someone from the company staff? Rum's a superstar! Shouldn’t they hire a professional from the outside?” The stylist ch
*Warning: This chapter contains material you may find distressing, including coarse language and depictions related to themes of sex, rape, abuse and violence. ***** RUM An hour earlier… “HARDER! HARDER, RUM BABY!” My hand shot out to cover those pretty red lips as I continued slamming into her, hard and fast… and wild. “Shut the fuck up!” I hissed. “You want people to hear us!” She shook her head as more moans slipped through her greasy lips. “Oh God… fuck, you’re so good, baby! It’s so big… it’s tearing me apart!” “Really?” I got onto the conference room table, clamped her knees together and pressed her down, and pounded into her, swift and rough. “How’s this? Like this, Annie?” “Mmm!!!” She nodded fiercely. “Mmmm!!!!” “Who says you’re loose down here, huh?” I lifted and plunged into her, deeply and viciously. “Take all of me, you slut.” “Yes, I’m your slut! Give me, Rum baby. I love it so… OOH!” The thirty-something divorcee groaned, tormented bliss spread across h
*Warning: This chapter contains material you may find distressing, including coarse language and depictions related to themes of sex, rape, abuse and violence. ***** RUM They took the first turn. Which means they'll end up at the alleyway a few lanes from B.A.D's back alley. That's the darkest corner around here, easy to miss, and even easier to rob, take a sniff, kill… and rape. I stepped out from behind the lamp post. Stingy motherfuckers. Can't pay the hookers so they grab any pussy from the streets. I clicked my knuckles and turned my neck. Yeah…it's time for these powerful fists to meet some flesh and crack some bones. I've got nothing against thugs, but I hate people who don't pay for sex, especially when I have to pay for it–with every bit of what I have on me. I halted as a familiar voice sprang out like jack-in-the-box. Mind your own business, Rum… Stay out of trouble…. I gripped into fists and winced with a reluctant obedience. "Argh!!!" Fuck you, Danny! I s
ROSE Something warm and glowing fell on my eyes. I pushed open my lids and my small, cluttered desk greeted me. I was back in my own room. What happened? I rubbed my eyes and tried to recall the most recent events. I sent out my application to be Rum’s assistant… then I left B.A.D by my usual route… and then… and then something–someone– covered my nose and mouth, and there was a strange smell, and… voices! My eyes flew open in aghast, and I screamed a piercing scream. “AH!!!” The door flew open and my roommate, Joy Fairchild, a 24-year-old chemistry grad student of M.A.D. University, crashed through in her pink piggy-print pyjamas and boyish short hair, shouting frantically, “What is it? What’s wrong?” She knelt in front of my bed and I grabbed her arms. “They took me!” “Who’s 'they'?” “T-the team!” Joy jolted upright to hug me and started rubbing the back of my head soothingly. “Those half-ass carbon monoxides? No. They didn’t get you, Rose. Not this time.” But I coul
*Warning: This chapter contains material you may find distressing, including coarse language and depictions related to themes of sex, abuse and violence. ***** RUM “YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!” Annie’s screams blasted from my phone. “YOU JUST INSULTED ME IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY!” I stared at my own reflection in the mirror of the male restroom, my face deadpan, my arm stretched far enough to keep my ears away from the horrible blaring. Another screamer. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Why can’t they come to me and scream in my face? Why must they always scream into their phones? Did my ears do something wrong to them? I placed the phone to my ear again and said calmly with the smile of Mother Mary, “Calm down, babe. You know I never mean to insult you.” Fuck you, bitch. If I was truly insulting you, I wouldn’t be this kind. She scoffed condescendingly. “Then give me one good reason why you chose that dipshit over me.” My eyes narrowed into
ROSE “Where the hell were you?” Those electrifying blue eyes glared at me. “And–.” A hand clamped half his face as his brows furrowed in horror. “And what the hell is that smell?” Shit water. A special concoction made by an extraordinary team of professional stylists. That’s right. Instead of perfecting their concepts of style for their artistes, they perfected their recipe for dirty water—the stench is stronger and more powerful; it doesn’t come off even after multiple washes, which was what I had been doing in the past hour since Rum called. But standing before him, I find myself stumped. I can’t tell him the truth. I don’t want him to think that I’m full of excuses. I’m having a fresh clean start with my next favourite person on Earth. He stood. And all movement and sound halted. “Did you hear what I said?” His voice was soft, yet low and threatening. I couldn’t look away. A chilling fear was creeping up my back. “Y-Yes…M-Mr.—.” “THEN ANSWER ME!” he roared. Terro