Stephanie's Trial

Downward spiral

Things... quickly went to hell in a handbasket after that day. There wasn't a night - or a day, sometimes - when Samuel didn't come to rape me. And he was brutal about it. I soon was on edge day and night, dreading the sound of footsteps behind me, or the door crashing open, and my sleep suffered as a result. In fact, my mental health began to take a downward turn once more, this time because of the constant abuse. 

Samuel was not gentle. The very first time he raped me, I thought I was going to bleed to death. I half expected him to leave me there in a pool of my own blood, but he very "kindly" had some females attend to me. As per his instructions, I didn't speak to them, nor they to me, but at least they ensuerd I wouldn't bleed out. Samuel obviously didn't want me to die, though what use he had for me after the first time was anyone's guess. I had no wolf, and a werewolf without a wolf was just a human, no better than being the pack bicycle. But he came to me, night after night, or during the day, leaving me bruised, broken and bleeding. I'm sure he used some of his werewolf strength during these sessions; even though I should have become used to him, every time hurt like it was the first time, and I couldn't detach myself from the pain. I'd tried to distract myself early on, but Samuel had a sixth sense for knowing if I wasn't fully focused on him, and the first few times, he beat me black and blue, screaming in my face how much of a usesless this and that I was. 

After that, I was forced to focus on him, and I had to give him my full attention. Those sessions were the only times when I was made to look him in the eye, and whether it was compulsion or the need to avoid getting beaten again, I found I could not look away. 

That's when the nightmares started. I lost count of how many times I bolted awake, screaming in terror. No one came to comfort me, and when Samuel found out, I was beaten again, this time for "disturbing" the house with my "nonsense". 

I learned to stop screaming after that. 

Autumn turned to winter, to spring, to summer, autumn, winter, spring, and to summer, then to autumn, winter, and finally spring. I'd managed to track the seasons by now, and I knew it had been two years since my abduction. I had no idea what was going on in the world outside, and no way of knowing what had happened across the Channel in my two years here in France. Had anyone tried tracking me down? Was Archie patting himself on the back for keeping me here long enough to allow Finn and Samuel to execute their plan? Was Ethan gloating over how he'd gotten rid of me after feeding me his cleverly-spun lies?

It was a headache-inducing mess, and I gave up wondering after a while, as spring once more turned to summer, to autumn, to winter, and back to spring. Three years. 

I sometimes wondered why I hadn't gotten pregnant yet. Though I was essentially human, I knew I could still carry a cub to term. Not that I wanted to, of course. And in any case, Samuel soon put paid to that notion. "You think I want you to bear my cubs? God, you're so fucking stupid. I don't want your blood mixing with mine, you dumb bitch. My brother might have wanted to fuck you to 'keep it in the family', but I've got more brains than that. Which is more than I can say for you."

In the welter of pain that followed, I took small comfort in knowing that I hadn't been entirely deceived. And it made me wonder if everything else I'd heard had been true. 

Spring, to summer, to autumn, to winter, and back to spring. Four years. 

By now, I'd given up all hope of rescue, and the doubts which I'd managed to quash four years ago were rearing their ugly heads again. Every night, I lay awake, cursing myself for a stupid fool, telling myself I deserved this, that if it hadn't been for me, I wouldn't have lost almost all my pack, and I'd still be living the good life in Penzance. 

Once more, the seasons turned. Five years.

And again. Six years. 

Again. Seven years.

Eight years. 

Nine.