Every Breath She Takes [CURRENTLY ON HOLD]

Chapter 2: The Truth

Just as a pre warning, this chapter is somewhat graphic

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Days passed, all blurring together. I no longer knew what day it was, nor what the time was. After that first time, I went to him when he called me, though I despised the name Smoky. Slowly, I began to accept what the others had before me – we weren’t going anywhere. We were his, until we died.

One day, perhaps a week, maybe a little longer, after I’d been kidnapped, he came to my room, this time with another. I stared at both the men, fearing what was going to happen, but neither of them even glanced at me.

“Here she is, sir,” my kidnapper said. “I hope she satisfies you.”

The other man nodded, and my kidnapper locked us both in. I backed away from the man, terrified, but he came after me. He made short work of catching me, and leered at me when he had. I spat in his face, earning myself a harsh blow to my cheek. He dragged me to the bed, and found the ropes from before. Flipping me onto my back, he bound my wrists to the bedframe. Shaking, I watched him remove his pants, nearly tripping over in his excitement. I fought the ropes, desperate to get free, but he merely tightened them before climbing onto the bed, straddling me.

I remember that I fought him as much as I could, and that it hurt. I know that I screamed, only because I remember his sweaty hands covering my mouth as he drove himself into me. It was brutal and agonising, and I know I tried to buck him off. He was heavy, though, and pinned me to the bed, pushing himself deeper into me with every movement I made. I bit his hands, and he retaliated with a heavy-handed slap, stunning me. He took that opportunity to push himself even deeper, as if he was trying to touch my soul. Even when I went limp, he didn’t stop. He continued to torture me, until I was seeing black spots dancing before my eyes. He finally finished, and pulled himself out. It seemed to me that he did this as fast as he could, to cause me more pain. At ease with what he had just done, he dressed, and knocked on the door to be let out. The door opened almost immediately, and he sauntered out, leaving me half conscious and bound to the bed.

I don’t know how much time passed before someone came in, but thankfully it wasn’t my kidnapper. Instead, it was Duchess. Her pretty face revealed nothing of what she was thinking as she untied me, and I curled up on the bed, seeking too late to protect myself. At the blood on the sheet, her mouth tightened, but she said nothing. She just gave me a small bowl of water and a rag, and left. I knew what to do. Wincing, because I was so sore, I washed off the blood from between my legs. I got the worst off the sheet, but not all of it. When I was done, I put the bowl near the door, and sat on the bed, hugging my knees and leaning against the headboard. I knew that what had just happened would scar me for the rest of my life, just as I knew that it was all I was going to be for the rest of my life. It was what my kidnapper did. He stole girls off the street, and sold their services until they died.

The door opened again, revealing my kidnapper. He came in, carelessly shoving the door shut with his foot, and beckoned to me. Carefully, moving like I was going to break, I obeyed, wondering what he wanted. He lifted my chin, his grip causing bruises on my skin.

“Dear little Smoky,” he murmured. “Growing up, are we?” Without letting go of me, he reached behind him and locked the door. Then, he backed me onto the bed, until I had to sit down, or fall down. He didn’t fumble as he removed his pants, although he was only looking at me. I scrambled away from him, realising too late that it had been what he wanted. He bound my wrists down, and nudged my legs apart with his knee. His hands skimmed their way up my shirt, and I suddenly arched against him as he touched a deeply sensitive place. He lowered his head and began suckling through the shirt, and I gasped. The motions awoke something deep inside me, and instinct urged me to press his head closer. Long before I was satisfied, he left off, moving down to my belly, and lower. I arched again, my body instinctively begging for him to enter me. He rose up, straddling me, and shoved himself in so hard and fast that I couldn’t breathe. It was then that he changed tack. His hands grew hard and rough, hurting me in the same places they had just touched so lightly. He bent his head to me, and suckled again, but this time he used his teeth, deliberately scraping the acutely sensitive nipple hard enough to draw blood. He pulled out of me then, as hard and fast as he’d gone in, and I trembled. His fingers found my opening, and he pushed them into me, the roughness of them making me arch and cry out with pain. His other hand was around the back of my neck, pressing hard into the two big nerves on either side of it. As he pressed harder, my vision began to swim, and I could feel myself falling away. The pressure eased then, but his fingers were deep inside me, gripping me painfully. I writhed, moaning in pain, trying to get free. I looked at him, to see him smirking at me, and it hit me, hard. He enjoyed abusing me. He enjoyed making me go through pain. He wasn’t going to stop. He clenched the hand that was inside me into a fist, and I screamed as my opening was tried to its limit. Any more, and I knew it would tear. He seemed to know that, for he pulled his hand out. Again, brutally hard and fast, he buried himself in me, and again, I writhed, trying to break free. Tears were coming to my eyes from the pain, and I just wanted him to go, to leave me alone. I stopped fighting him then, hoping that it would make him leave. It didn’t. He continued to please himself, until there came the time where I couldn’t remember not being in this situation. I closed my eyes helplessly, giving up. After what seemed like hours, he finally stopped and slid off me. He dressed again, and released one of my wrists before heading out the door, once more locking it behind him.

I couldn’t move for a long time, too exhausted and traumatised. Then, slowly, I rolled over onto my side, and weakly picked at the knot of rope around my wrist. I managed to undo it, and curled up, letting the tears run down my face. Everything hurt. My whole body throbbed, and I hadn’t quite recovered fully from the beating he’d given me on my second day. I just wanted to die.

Much later, I was given food, and I guessed that it was evening. Still in agony, I ate slowly, wondering how long I could take this before I became broken beyond repair, or use. I hadn’t stopped shaking all day, and I could see the bruises appearing on my arms and legs where the men had gripped me. Curling into a ball, I sat on the floor and rocked gently, eyes closed and tears spilling down my cheeks.