Prologue.

"Dying is a troublesome business: there is a pain to be suffered, and it wrings one's heart; but death is a splendid thing — a warfare accomplished, a beginning all over again, a triumph. You can always see that in their faces." 

– George Bernard Shaw

"How dare you!" He spat, his blue eyes were as frosty as an iceberg. She feared what was going to become of her.

"You piece of trash. You belong under me, I bought your filthy a*s and every f*cking part of you, how dare you puke on me? Who gave you the audacity to be irritated?"

She whimpered, a cold shiver ran down her spine as she saw the sickly, maniacal expression hovering on his face.

When they said 'the devil does not walk around with horns', she failed to understand. In her mind, an evil being is spotted at first glance.

That notion, however, changed the first time she came face to face with the man who had been haunting her life to the path of utter tragedy.

He had the face of an angel, so beautiful that her husband whom she thought was handsome did not hold a candle to the man.

His heart was another case entirely. It was an ugly shade of black, destroying everyone with the kind of thoughts it conjured. A beautiful face and an ugly heart, what an epigrammatic combination!

Every part of her body hurt from his daily 'work of art' or 'experiment' as he liked to call it. Perhaps, even her bones included. 

"Release her," he commanded.

Two burly men came forward and untied her wrists. She fell to the ground, in front of the substance that escaped her stomach. 

"Eat it." He pointed his chin to the mess she made on the floor. 

Her eyes widened and her insides went cold.

"I-I can't. Please h-have mercy sir," she pleaded in an inaudible tone. Unfortunate she was, as her pleas reached his ears.

He barked his usual 'merry' laughter. "You can't? Very well then, I shall have mercy."

"Bring me the whip!" He roared.

The weapon of destruction was presented, he retrieved it with a smile like that of a child who was given sweets. The extent of the man's psycopathy was unfathomable to her.

She trembled like a leaf in a raging storm as he inspected it with gleeful eyes. 

"Tie her up."

The first lash of the whip was maddening, drawing blood from the part it hit. A bloodcurling scream erupted from her throat, one she could hardly believe was coming from her. 

There was blood beneath her. The stench of the place mixed with the fresh, crimson liquid filled her nostrils and she swallowed back the substance that made it's way to the base of her throat.

The whipping continued, the pain drove her crazy. The torn skin at her back exposing her flesh stung. 

She needed someone, anyone, even if it was death. At least when there was death, pain was absent.

At that moment, she prayed earnestly for death. 

And when her vision was blurry, her soul leaving her body, she pulled her lips into a wide smile. Finally, the end had come. No pain, no pain at all.

Prologue of 'Torn within' Done! What do you think? 

Thank you for giving this book a chance. Your votes, comments, sharing, and following is highly appreciated. Do keep in mind that there will be some disturbing events in this book.

Please refrain from reading if it will be a trigger. 

Feel free to point out typos and grammatical errors. Thank you once again.

Chubiley;-*