Melancholy

chapter 13

TW: sexual assault; mentions of sexual and emotional abuse!

(quick note: this one might me a bit confusing at first, but explanation's at the end in the a/n)

[13]

HIS HAND STRAYS down from its position at my cheek, fingertips trailing along the side of my throat as it meanders to the top of my blouse. A violent sob rips through me, echoing in the eerie silence surrounding us, and threading itself into the frantic yells my brothers are producing.

His yellow stained teeth appear as a smirk stretches out his lips, a dark shadow having befallen his eyes - a shadow of lust and desire.

Then, as his hand opens the first two buttons of my blouse to gain more access to my neck, his face morphs into a younger one. Yellow teeth are replaced by blindingly bright, white ones, and graying hair turn into a mop of healthy blonde ones. The smile on his lips is kind, but it doesn't deceive me, even the kindest of smiles can't distract from such viciousness swirling around in their eyes. His hands are mean as they explore places he thinks they have the right to be, as if he owned me.

And technically speaking, he does. For whatever amount of time he paid to have his way with me, I belong to him. His to touch, his to kiss, his to ruin.

My bottom lip starts trembling and his eyes almost instantly find it. His warm smile shifts to a sympathetic frown as he cups my cheek, gingerly placing his thumb on my lip. "Shh, it won't hurt," he promises, and about ten years ago, I would've believed him. But even my father couldn't keep that promise. So if the people that are supposed to love you naturally can't uphold them, then why would strangers?

He swipes over my bottom lip as it trembles with fear, another sob rippling through my chest and eventually escaping through the lips he's holding.

And then the face morphs again. From sympathetic smile, to angry scowl. From blonde mop of hair to dark brown locks. From man... to woman.

Her eyes are in thin slits, assessing me with a certain scrutiny that makes my skin crawl with goosebumps. Her lips are set into a straight line and her expression looks so upset and mad, you'd think she was forced to be here, sitting in a teenager's lap that is bound naked to a bed. She grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, making me whimper in pain. "Pussy," she snarls, before she attaches her lips to my neck.

I struggle and struggle, trying to free myself from the bruising grip the chains have on my wrists, but to no avail. She begins to suck at my neck and fear surges throughout every fiber of my being.

This is so cruel.

For some reason, I'd felt a sense of betrayal when a woman had first walked down the staircase in the basement. Like, her being there was a betrayal, to me and any other woman. And her touching me against my will had caused a whole other feeling of disgust inside of me.