u/katrina_kaur_8888

Im 20F I curl up in the fetal position, my body aching from last night’s brutal fucking session. Alex had been rougher than usual—his hands gripping my hips like vices as he slammed into me from behind. I can still feel the sting of his belt against my ass, the way his nails dug into my skin when I cried out too loudly.

But it isn’t just the physical pain that has me sobbing uncontrollably now. It’s the text I woke up to this morning: "I’m done with you." No explanation, no apology—just those three cold words that shattered everything I thought we had built together.

I remember how he’d whisper "I love you" in my ear after every fuck, how he’d hold me close and tell me I was perfect. But now? Now it all feels like a lie—a means to keep me compliant while he used my body for his own twisted pleasure.

My phone buzzes again—another text from him: "Don’t contact me again." The finality of it makes something inside me break completely. I scream until my throat is raw, pounding on the bed with fists bruised from gripping sheets during his relentless thrusts.

The worst part? I still want him—even after everything he’s done to hurt me. That realization makes fresh tears spill down cheeks already puffy and red from crying all morning. How pathetic must I look right now? A broken girl clinging to memories of being fucked by someone who never truly cared about anything but his own selfish needs?

With shaking hands, I reach for a bottle of vodka on the nightstand—the one Alex bought for our last drunken fuck fest—and take long swallows straight from it until the burning numbs some of the pain inside. Maybe if I drink enough, I can forget what it felt like to be discarded like trash after being used so thoroughly… but deep down, I know nothing will ever erase those scars completely—not even time itself could do that fully.

I am 20F I curl up in the fetal position, my body aching from last night’s brutal fucking session. Alex had been rougher than usual—his hands gripping my hips like vices as he slammed into me from behind. I can still feel the sting of his belt against my ass, the way his nails dug into my skin when I cried out too loudly.

But it isn’t just the physical pain that has me sobbing uncontrollably now. It’s the text I woke up to this morning: "I’m done with you." No explanation, no apology—just those three cold words that shattered everything I thought we had built together.

I remember how he’d whisper "I love you" in my ear after every fuck, how he’d hold me close and tell me I was perfect. But now? Now it all feels like a lie—a means to keep me compliant while he used my body for his own twisted pleasure.

My phone buzzes again—another text from him: "Don’t contact me again." The finality of it makes something inside me break completely. I scream until my throat is raw, pounding on the bed with fists bruised from gripping sheets during his relentless thrusts.

The worst part? I still want him—even after everything he’s done to hurt me. That realization makes fresh tears spill down cheeks already puffy and red from crying all morning. How pathetic must I look right now? A broken girl clinging to memories of being fucked by someone who never truly cared about anything but his own selfish needs?

With shaking hands, I reach for a bottle of vodka on the nightstand—the one Alex bought for our last drunken fuck fest—and take long swallows straight from it until the burning numbs some of the pain inside. Maybe if I drink enough, I can forget what it felt like to be discarded like trash after being used so thoroughly… but deep down, I know nothing will ever erase those scars completely—not even time itself could do that fully.

I curl up in the fetal position, my body aching from last night’s brutal fucking session. Alex had been rougher than usual—his hands gripping my hips like vices as he slammed into me from behind. I can still feel the sting of his belt against my ass, the way his nails dug into my skin when I cried out too loudly.

But it isn’t just the physical pain that has me sobbing uncontrollably now. It’s the text I woke up to this morning: "I’m done with you." No explanation, no apology—just those three cold words that shattered everything I thought we had built together.

I remember how he’d whisper "I love you" in my ear after every fuck, how he’d hold me close and tell me I was perfect. But now? Now it all feels like a lie—a means to keep me compliant while he used my body for his own twisted pleasure.

My phone buzzes again—another text from him: "Don’t contact me again." The finality of it makes something inside me break completely. I scream until my throat is raw, pounding on the bed with fists bruised from gripping sheets during his relentless thrusts.

The worst part? I still want him—even after everything he’s done to hurt me. That realization makes fresh tears spill down cheeks already puffy and red from crying all morning. How pathetic must I look right now? A broken girl clinging to memories of being fucked by someone who never truly cared about anything but his own selfish needs?

With shaking hands, I reach for a bottle of vodka on the nightstand—the one Alex bought for our last drunken fuck fest—and take long swallows straight from it until the burning numbs some of the pain inside. Maybe if I drink enough, I can forget what it felt like to be discarded like trash after being used so thoroughly… but deep down, I know nothing will ever erase those scars completely—not even time itself could do that fully.