if clarity's in death, why won't this die

chapter 3

it's been a long week but here's a chapter ig

Fear was the only feeling she could process. Tears started to form but the drug given to her was so mind-inducing they wouldn't even fall. Hushed whispers surrounded her until they abruptly stopped, and then she felt 5 pairs of eyes on her. Despite the paralysis drug, she couldn't resist a shudder and a sob when one man came closer to her, her hands twitching as she tried to squirm away, to no avail.

Hands came down on her shoulder while a pair of hands approached her button-down. She tried to protest, tried to squirm, but she could only shake her head as hands started unbuttoning her shirt one button at a time.

She closed her eyes as her shirt became unbuttoned, leaving her in a black bra, her chest heaving as hands started to grope her torso.

"Open your eyes, Taylor. I want to see those blues." Someone muttered.

She wouldn't. She did not want to see what was happening to her.

"Taylor. You know what's going to happen. Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Another voice said behind her.

She remained still. A hand gripped her throat, slowly tightening.

"Don't think I have the power to kill you. Open those fucking eyes."

"Then why don't you?" Her breaths were coming out in short gasps and her words were garbled, but her eyes were still closed.

"Darling, why would I when we could do so many fun things? Now look at me!" Words came out sneered, and another squeeze forced her to open her eyes connecting with dull brown eyes.

But he still squeezed, harder and harder. The first thought was "Why won't he stop? I did what he wanted." The next was "Oh, god, I'm gonna die."

She stopped thinking when she felt like she could finally breathe; her only focus was on getting air in her lungs. The tangible pressure was gone from her throat, but she could already feel the bruises forming.

"Do what we say or bruises would be like a fucking paper cut, you hear me?" She nodded her hand frantically, to her best effort.

A whimper came out as hands lifted her shoulders up to take off the shirt, tossing it to the side of the room and moving to her skirt. She could only look at the ceiling as she felt hands working on her Doc Martens, her toes slowly curling inside at the fear radiating through her veins.

They slipped off of her feet, quickly followed by her black wool socks that were tossed next to her shoes, allowing her skirt to be unzipped and easily taken off, tossed carelessly as well, landing God knows where.

She could hear laughter and whisky bottles and jeers, she could feel 5 pairs of eyes on her, she could see only the ceiling tiles, she could feel the soft plush carpet under her hands and bare feet, but the only thing she felt was despair and pure fear.

But a glimmer of hope, she could feel movement returning. But that hope quickly disappeared, how could she get past five men with how weak she felt?

Hands slowly stroked her thighs, drifting to her torso, to her arms, then her cheeks, cupping her face as her lips were tilted towards another. She gasped before whisky and cigarettes filled her mouth, squirming away as her hands weakly hit the shoulders crushing her body. She coughed as she felt the taste of whisky envelop her senses and taste buds.

Her head snapped to the side and blood filled her mouth, she'd probably bitten her lip as a hand hit her across the cheek. That same hand grappled her jaw as she was forced to meet the gaze of the man who slapped her.

"You don't say no Taylor. You don't get to say no."

She pushed aside the hand that grappled her jaw and tried to (weakly) strike the man who was kneeling over her. Big mistake.

A hand gripped her throat and forced her up from the floor, slamming her against the wall as pain radiated from her skull.

"Martin, I think we should teach her a lesson. Let's see how good those vocal cords are." A voice spoke in front of her.

Martin grinned, hand tightening against Taylor's throat. "You heard him. You need to learn who is in charge."

She was tossed across the side of the room, slamming into whisky glasses, shards piercing her back and arms. Before she could muster a breath, a punch was aimed at her stomach, then her face, another at her torso, over and over again.

Shit, she could barely breathe or stand up. She would've crumpled to the floor if it wasn't for the body that suddenly appeared before her, slamming her to the floor and straddling her as his hands choked her.

God, what is up with these men stealing people's air? Her vocal cords would be shot and black spots were slowly clouding her vision. Her head lolled to the side until he finally let go, and she found herself wheezing and gasping (again!) in her attempt to breathe.

She rolled to her side as tremors racked her body. "Learned your lesson?"

She looked up as she licked her cracked lips, she could feel blood running down her forehead and the back of her head, her nose felt askew and she could feel a black eye and bruises forming on her cheek. But her throat, god she could barely breathe, and she knew that it would be a while before she could sing.

She let out a breath as she slowly nodded her head. They were never going to kill her. They would take and take but they couldn't leave the biggest pop star dead. They would leave her barely alive, too embarrassed to tell her story and the five men would get off scotch-free.

She was moved back to the carpeted area, away from the stone-cold cement. Funny, she thought bitterly, they want me to be comfortable after they'd beaten me almost half to death and before they rape me.

She was laid down next to the couch as hands reached before her to unclasp her bra and another pair reached towards her underwear and slowly dragged them down her legs. She could only sob.