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Bullied: Stockholm Syndromed Series

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"you know, most girls beg for this" he yanks me by the waist to meet his excited member. "and here I am giving you for free" he unbuckles his belt then goes for my underwear, ripping it at his grasp. "Hunter p-please" please. someone, something... just... please. He gave a breathy laugh that sounded like I just cracked the world's lamest joke. "haven't you learnt that begging gets you no where?" he growled and the intensity made me shrivel. Satisfied with the reaction gotten from me, he smiled to himself then positioned at my entrance. With one last pleading look from my eyes, I tried to beg silently, but the windows to his soul seemed clouded with the fog of desire. All it took was a few seconds and I felt him slam hard into me, without caring about the barrier of pain I would face. Iris Shawn was a girl who's seen a side of life she'll never forget. Being a victim of a bully. A typical example of a broken girl with a broken heart, she tries to pick herself up again. But then, he made sure to tear down every wall of courage she'd manage to build. Hunter McConnell. The schools very own bad but golden boy. The one who's family owns the most of Saint Alamos. Her bully. Iris was about to give up, but then she didn't. Instead she thrived. He broke her but she survived.

CHAPTER 1 Hopeful

“ cause am hopeful

yes I am, hopeful for today”


The school bell rang for the last time today. Nobody can understand my anticipation for this hour. It signified the end of my misery.

Covering my face with my hoodie to hide my black eye of yesterday, I jumped out of my seat and began my usual race for the door.

My heart was thumping slowly, yet so loudly that anyone close enough to me would have definitely heard it.

In my escape, I accidentally bumped into someone which sent my glasses flying off my face.

Oh great, now I am blind!

Okay, not blind but no! I have no time for this.

I crouched to feel the ground for my glasses when someone's voice came into my hearing.

"Looking for this?" The person says and I'm sure it's a guy because of the baritone nature and that honestly made me fidget.

Guys in my school don't necessarily talk to me except in extreme circumstances.

You don't want to know the extreme circumstance.

"Uh... Y-yeah I g-guess." I stuttered as I replied, squinting my eyes to know if I can glimpse who he is.

I felt a hand touch my face and slip on my glasses for me. After much blinking for accommodation, a cute brown-haired guy was standing in front of me with his hands in the pocket of his jeans.

"T-thank you?" It came out as more of a question than a statement.

"You're welcome?" He responded with the same tone I used and that kind of made me laugh a little.

I stood rooted and watched as he just smiled and walked away.

Unknowingly, I stared at him as he retreated to wherever he was heading.

On the first encounter, he seems nice.

The sound of a locker being jammed shut brought me back to my senses, and I began running again.

I whizzed by my locker and dropped my AP history text then shutting it and taking off.

He must not see me today...

I chanted that to my inner self while still running but I knew it was a waste.

Every day had become a cursed cycle, all because of him.

I got to the parking lot and to my surprise he wasn't there, as usual, waiting for me to come out of the building so I could choose which punishment suited me most.

My relief quickly developed into fear as Hunter had never missed a single opportunity to torment me.

I slowed my pace this time around since the coast was clear and stylishly scanned the area for any traces of him.

I successfully got to my bicycle without having seen him and I was about to unchain it when I heard the devil I was avoiding.

His laughter.

He had the guts to laugh, the effontry. While I was here, with my inner self writhing in pain both past, present and anticipated.

I turned my head ever so slightly, to see how far away he was from me. As this had become such a routine, I had gotten used to calculating how much time I have left to escape him.

It's not like he can't catch me even if I run.

He was with his clique, seated on the bumper of his matte black Mercedes car with another hoe standing in between his legs practically rubbing his thighs and her hands going a little high to his illegal area.

With a cigarette in one hand and the other caressing the large buttocks of his lady, he was laughing at what one of his friends said.

They were not very far away from where I was. Looking back at my bike that was chained up, I played a 'guessing game'. A game where I guess how long it would take them to see me. Probably any minute now since I stand out from the crowd. I'm the kid who walks around like a scared puppy.

"Miss Shawn!" A voice boomed out.

I turned my head agonizingly to face my caller also known as my Devil.

"Be a good dog and come over here, okay?" He purred with bitterness and ego as a smirk landed on his lips.

He motioned with his finger for me to go to him. But I don't want to.

I have never wanted to.

But do I have a choice rather?

I sighed and moved grudgingly to where he was and my eyes never leaving the ground.

Why would I go? Why not make a run for it?

I've tried, it never ended well. Whenever I got caught next would gruesome.

I guess, sometimes, you can't escape.

"Now, were you planning on running away without saying goodbye to papa bear?" He pouted mocking the fact that I thought I could evade him.

Everyone around laughed. Not a tiny giggle or an inconspicuous snicker, but loud roaring laughter of mockery.

They all knew the relationship Hunter and I had, but I believe they concluded it was none of their business or were okay with whatever was going on.

To be truthful, challenging him on anything was equivalent to putting your signature on the devil's death contract. I had watched it happen first hand and learnt not to try that in my life.

Even now, I was still admiring the floor; it was a lot safer than looking him in the eye.

"Here, have a cigarette." He said, breaking the silence that had just begun.

I peeped at him without raising my head. His eyes had evident blood shots and a yellow tinge and he was offering me his half-blown cigarette.

He was high again. He was always high whenever he demanded my presence. Like it was an impulse or reflex. When he's not in his right senses, my image pops in his head.

Dealing with that was always dreadful. You don't know if you should just keep silent or retaliate.

"T-t-thank you h-hunter b-but I d-don't s-smoke," I responded like a shivering stray.

His eyes narrowed at me as I had just slapped him twice on one cheek.

"Did you just reject my offer?" Hunter said sounding a little aggravated now.

"N-no! I didn't, I'm sorry." It came as a whisper but it was loud enough so he could hear me.

"Good." He responded as he jumped down from his car bumper and stood right in front of me with irritation dancing in his eyes.

"I will say it again, have a cigarette."

I was still staring at his shoes when I felt a slap so hard it made my neck crack a little and the wound in my mouth from two weeks ago re-opened.

"Are you deaf?" He was shouting now and slapped me again.

This time I fell to the floor.

I still couldn't look him in the eyes, he had warned me against that several times and I am no longer willing to bear the consequences.

I just laid there like the weakling I am, silently sobbing because according to him my sobs should never be heard.

He might be right.

He bent down and held me by the neck to pick me up. His grip was incredibly tight and I am sure he is doing this intentionally to suffocate me.

He lifted his hand again but this time my hands shot up to block my face and my eyes squeezed shut to reduce the impact.

But I didn't feel any hit rather I felt something hot approach my skin.

I opened my eyes and saw him holding his cigarette stick a few inches from my neck.

I looked up to him and I saw that smirk he put in whenever he had an idea.

This time the tears I thought would wait till I got home before exposing themselves began pouring from my eyes.

I glanced between him and his hand after realising what he was planning to do my mouth vomited words on reflex.

"P-please." I mustered the word in between my cry.

But my plea only made him glare at me, I believed there was no heart underneath this bad boy to have mercy.

"Shut the f*ck up." He whisper-growled into my ear and took his time in observing my face.

"Little do you know, a black eye suits you." He teased and seconds later he jabbed the burning stick on my neck.

I let out a loud cry as he pressed the cigarette harder so the stick could burn me through. The pain was infuriating.

The hot stick was burning me so deeply I began to perceive the smell of roasted flesh and felt blood trickle down my neck.

Please God, make him stop.

Still strangling me, I started choking, and that was when he threw me down to the ground and threw his cigarette stick some distance away.

I brought my hand to my neck to numb the pain, but I just felt a deep dent of flesh on my neck with blood seeping through it.

I closed my eyes to cry and get myself back together as I waited for him to leave so I could leave also.

"Next time you don't reject my offer." He glared at me as he said his last words for the day before hopping into his car and driving off.

It took me a while to calm myself down but after regaining my composure; I got up from the floor and walked to my bicycle. Still sobbing and sniffing and made my way home.

Where were the teachers? Same question I ask myself everyday.

And it's the end of a normal day for me.

CHAPTER 2 don't say you love me

“ don't promise me tonight

without tomorrow too,

don't say you love me

unless you do.”


After I had gotten home from school, I ran straight to my room to avoid my parents.

I really don't know if they're home anyway, but the front door was open so I suspected.

Why am I hiding from them?

It's not like I haven't complained to them about what is going on. I have but they just told me to 'endure it.'

They claim that with time he would give up on what he's doing.


It all started when I moved into this town in third grade. Hunter would walk up to me and break my pencil or pour water all over my lunch or push me off the swing set so hard that I always had a chance to break my arm.

And I have broken my arm four times because of this and I think right now I have a bad case of 'swing- o-phobia'.

My pare

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