Cellmates

6

Trigger Warning(s): Rape

Naomi didn't move until she heard the door lock behind them. She didn't move until she was sure they had gone. Until the room was bathed in absolute silence, she left her face buried in the sheet of the mattress. She waited until her breath settled slightly, but as soon as she sat up, her chest swelled and she sobbed uncontrollably. After a few moments, she took the reigns again, wiping her eyes that were already red and raw and puffy. She smothered the last of the sniffles as she hung her legs over the edge of the cot.

This was a new level of pain for her. Her face throbbed. Her head ached. Her wrists burned. And everywhere else just felt violated. Horribly, horribly violated. She fingered the tear in her shorts – they had barely survived. She had barely survived. She glanced to the door in a sudden panic, as if they might return again. But the room was still quiet. She swallowed another sob, trying to ignore and forget the enormous ache between her legs, the sticky wetness that was hardly her own. Bile crept up her throat as she failed to push the images from her mind – fragments of the most horrific moments of her entire life. The guard's hulking form pressing her down, his weight crushing her everywhere. The taste of saliva and sweat and dirty skin. The other guard holding her down by the shoulders as he half-consciously touched himself. Everything after that was only a sensation as she clenched her eyes shut, trying to block out the horrors ensuing around her.

The feel of a tongue, teeth, suction. Hands clutching with bruising force. Her hair was forcefully yanked, her neck exposed and bit. The taste of blood as she bit her own lip. The sound of a scream – her scream – as she lost the very last scrap of dignity she withheld in this place – as he took her – claimed her – marked her in a way that she might never heal. The pain of him violently thrusting against her – into her – was still radiating through her entire person. And then, when he was done, when he'd taken his fill, he beat her until bones broke and flesh bled. And then they were gone, though one assured with a kiss on her very bruised cheek that they would return again.

Naomi prayed that by morning they wouldn't even remember she existed. If only she could be so fortunate.

She tried to stand, instead finding a place on the floor. She could feel where her ribs had cracked, where bones had bruised, and where muscles had been torn with the strain. Her hand came to her face. Her nose bled, a dry trail marking her lips and chin. She moved her hand to her cheek, but she nearly screamed, stilling all over until the pain stopped. Her eye radiated heat and pain. She'd smeared blood on her fingertips for the brief moment they'd rested upon her cheek. It was swollen to the point that blinking was not worth considering.

Her bloodshot eyes refocused, taking in the room that was remarkably unscathed from their encounter. She pushed it away from her mind again almost to a point of success until she took note of the temperature drop and a frosted pane of glass. She frowned, quickly erasing all emotion since one of her eyebrows played host to another ugly wound. Dragging her feet, she crossed the room, still hopeful this was a dream to be woken up from.

She nearly burned her hand with the lightest touch – that's how cold it was. Her breath fogged and condensed on the glass. Magic, she remembered. Loki knew magic. She touched the glass again, this time just rapping her knuckles against it. There may have been a shadow, but still not a sound. She waited another minute before knocking again and this time the frost began to fade. Slowly it melted, cracking and sliding to the floor in sheets. Loki finally appeared, just standing on the other side, watching the water pool at his feet. The water ran off to nowhere as if it evaporated, until the cell was left as it was.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes were wide, traveling her up and down with a look she could only describe as concern, though it would never be fitting of him. He remained rooted to the floor, but he finally spoke. "Are you all right?" She instantly dropped her eyes, staring at her feet. She continued to tug on the tear in her shorts, her hand the only thing holding them closed. Noted with a sickly turn of her stomach, her thighs underneath were bruised in shapes not unlike hands – mindlessly groping hands. "Are you all right?" he asked again, his tone a bit stronger.