Too Far Gone // D. Dixon

chapter seven

TRIGGER WARNING

Graphic depictions of violence, sexual assault and strong language.

Reader discretion is heavily advised.

Maren had somehow managed to fall into a slumber, her mind exhausted from the past week of minimal sleep, she ultimately couldn't fight the sleep off any longer.

Her mind was exhausted, but her memories were vivid. Her mind had a terrible habit of revisiting bad memories without her consent, replaying her worst moments on an endless, inescapable loop.

There she was again.

She was trembling, but they didn't seem to care at all. They clearly only wanted one thing from her. Maren had attempted to kick the man several times, but each time he had shaken her in his arms rather violently.

The others stood just feet from Maren and the man on top of her. None of them made any effort to help her or their group member, no, they only watched as the sickening scene played out in front of them.

Maren screamed again as she looked away from the man holding her, "Get the fuck off me!" The men laughed at her fiery outburst, but did not take her seriously as a threat clearly.

He threw the girl to the cold concrete floor again, quickly mounting himself on top of her, "Stop fighting me or this is gonna be so much worse for you, sweetheart." Maren had never felt so at a loss for what to do. She knew she should keep fighting as hard as she could, she knew that's what her dad would have wanted her to do. Thinking of him, she acted as he would.

Maren gathered the strength she had left in her as she spoke, "Never, you fucking son of a bitch." She continued to squirm under him, desperate to stop him from opening her jean button. But she quickly froze when she noticed his rather large knife was now out.

Fuck, she thought, they were going to kill me.

He trailed the knife against her throat, "You better listen to me bitch, fight me too much and I won't hesitate to slit your pretty little throat." Maren gulped but nodded.

"Please..." She hated this man, but she hated herself more for not just biting the bullet, "You don't have to do this-"

"Oh honey," the man chuckled as he watched her plead, "I don't have to do shit. I want to."

The man was not slow with how he cut each button from her shirt, he had ripped open her flannel shirt revealing her tank top with worrying ease. Maren turned her head to the side, letting the tears fall from her eyes. She couldn't believe this was happening to her, that she had ended up here. Everything she'd worked for, trying to get home...all just for her to end up here.

"No," The man paused angrily, grabbing her face roughly, "you're gonna look at me."

The unwavering eye contact with him made her sick to her stomach. She felt his eyes pierce hers as his calloused hands roamed her shaking body, but she couldn't move, not with a knife to her jugular.

"Hurry up, Joe..." the men spoke up, his voice laced with anticpation and arousal, "Give us a chance with her."

"Please stop!" Maren shouted far more anxiously than before, her voice growing hoarse from the sobs, "NO!"

Maren shot up, sweat beading down her forehead as her chest continued heaving. She tried to catch her breath, but that seemed to be a difficult task. She suddenly felt arms around her shoulders and she panicked again.