The Boy In The Window

Chapter 6: Close My Eyes

As soon as I shut the window, I heard a door close and heavy footsteps. I turned to the door, waiting for the slam of the impact putting a dent in my wall. It came in less than 10 seconds. John stepped in and closed the door behind him, locking it with his long fingers.

“Where we you?” he asked.

“Here.” I replied, hoping he hadn’t actually been home.

“No you weren’t, I’ve been home for hours. You weren’t here.” He deadpanned. Fuck. “Where have you been?”

“Nowhere.” He glared.

“TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK YOU WERE OR I WILL BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME?” he screamed. He came to my side of the room and grabbed me by my hair, yanking back my head so I had to look in his eyes, he put his hand across my neck so I couldn’t breathe hardly at all. My eyes watered from the pain.

“I was at….the house….next door….” I said between pants.

“You are never to set foot in that house again, do you hear me?” he said, pressing harder on my throat, blocking my airway completely. “And if I catch you over there or coming from there ever again, I will do the worst things possible to you, understand?”

I could only nod. He pulled his hand away from my neck.

“Get on the bed.” He ordered. I stayed where I was, trying my hardest to swallow the fear rising in my throat.

“Where’s mom?” I asked. He glared at me.

“She’s working late, and I have another work shift in a few hours. I was hoping for a quick fuck from Jennifer, but you’ll do since she’s not here. Now, get on the bed.” I stared in shock. Was he kidding? How could he do this? I asked him this and he laughed before replying.

“I am a man. And I have needs. And those needs have to be fulfilled somehow or other. And right now, you fit the bill.” He then grabbed my arm, holding it tightly in his grasp.

“OW! Let go of me!” I shouted, ripping at my arm with as much strength as I could muster. But it was no use; John was way stronger than me. He grabbed my other arm and pulled me to the bed, opting for tossing me over his shoulder when I fought and kicked. I screamed for help, but no one came. I fought back, even as John pulled out a sharp pocket knife.

“Shut up, you little bitch!” he growled, putting the knife against my throat. I froze; even then he moved the blade against my neck the slightest bit, producing a thin cut, a warning not to move and to be cooperative. I held as still as I could, not wanting to move my skin against the blade any more than was absolutely necessary.

He produced handcuffs from his back pocket and secured my hands to the bars of the bed frame above me. John then cut off my shirt using his pocket knife. He did the same for my bra. He straddled me and began to play with my body, running his hands all over me. I felt sick, and tears were streaming from my eyes. He then tore off my jeans and underwear, leaving me lying stark-naked on my bed.

“P-please…S-st-stop…..P-pl-please…” I begged in between sobs. He only shushed me with an injection of god-knows-what. The same sleepy feeling from last night overcame me, and I gladly gave in to the darkness, only wanting to block out the awful feelings of John playing with and entering my body.

~~~Later~~~

My body was a toy, but my soul burned inside me with agonizing pain and sorrow. I was now worthless. Used over and over again, all for other people’s relief. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I had been getting skinnier than I already was; seeing as I couldn’t eat without throwing up anymore. I had dark circles under my eyes because I couldn’t sleep without being dragged into a nightmare. My grades were slipping because I couldn’t concentrate. I was slowly deteriorating in front of people’s eyes. I ignored and avoided people more than ever, and every night I was subjected to rape and torture by my mom and John’s friends. They drugged me and I barely remembered anything, but my mind filled in the blanks with graphic clarity.