The Monsters Inside (Formerly Extract)

Spoken

A/N: Just so there is no confusion, the first POV is John.

I recognized the face. I had seen it over and over again on the news. This girl had been missing for a month, and although they had stopped showing her face of the television, it was apparent that she had not been freed. People had simply given up for more prominent matters. “Violet,” Her head jerked, as if she hadn’t heard her name in years and had forgotten how it sounded. “Violet. People are looking for you, Violet.” I didn’t tell her they had given up. Hope was a rare thing in life, and she needed it. A small noise, like a mouse squeaking, flowed from the girl. Talking. She was trying to talk. “Who...are...-ou?” A frown. She tried again. “Who... are you?” Chain smokers had similar voices, yet a sweet underlying tone was hidden in the voice. My hand outstretched to fill the space between us. A reflex action. “John McCraven.” She was staring at my hand, not in curiosity, but in awareness. Wariness was etched over her features, and it was clear that she didn’t trust me. Slowly I allowed my hand to fall back down to my lap. A whisper escaped my lips without the conscience consent of my brain. “What did they do to you?”

“What did they do to you?” The question was barely audible, and if I hadn’t been concentrating so hard, I would have missed it. He knew. It was obvious, yet he wanted to hear the words from my blue, frozen lips. I said nothing; I just stared and stared until he squirmed. “They hurt you.” He stated. I knew that, and I knew he knew that. Yet I wanted to take the words and force them back into his mouth. My mind knew what came next. Saying it would only make it that much more real. The nightmare I had concocted in order to deal with my reality was shattering, and his words would deliver the final blow. “They... touched you.” No! I couldn’t let him say it, yet I needed to hear it, to be sure I hadn’t confused dreams with reality. “You were raped.” There. It was out know. Nodding. I was nodding. And somewhere, far off in the distance, I could hear a tearing sound, like the ripping of a heart.

Her tears flowed from her eyes like water to a river. It seemed as if she wasn’t even aware that she was crying. “Violet...” I let the sentence drift, not sure what I was going to say. What could be said? How do you comfort a stranger who has lost what can never be returned? Swallowing, my throat suddenly felt dry. My hands outreached of their own accord to pull her into an awkward embrace. Salt water stained my shirt and stung where the ice cold air brushed against it. I felt my heart stiffen, then burn with anger. Pay. I will make them pay.

After Violet’s tears had dried, I taught her basic fighting techniques. She would no longer be a defenseless, innocent child. Quickly she adapted the thumb-outside-fist rule, and she knew which hand was dominant. Her pacifist nature halted the process. How could I keep her safe, when she shied away at the thought of hurting someone else? Even someone who had harmed her? But giving up was not an option. She was hurting, her heart a timid, fragile thing that needed mending. Cut off from the world, the only one who could aid her was me.

Fighting was a concept I was not comfortable with. Those men had hurt me, but weren’t all people equal in God’s eyes? My fragile connection with our Lord was hanging by a thread, but I clung to my faith. God would help any person who called out for Him. At least, that’s what I’ve been taught.

John stared at me with wide hazel eyes. His skin was tanned by summer’s touch, while mine –pale from winter’s kiss- matched the white tiled floor. Brown hair was tinged with golden strands; my normal brunette had darkened to a raven black. Reaching forward, I touched his hand, feeling the sun’s warmth still emanating from within his skin. He flinched at my touch, and I couldn’t blame him. Who could stand still as the hands of death brushed against them?

John’s first encounter with the men happened the day after he arrived. Silently they filed in, watching with icy eyes that will forever remain in my memory. Two of the men stood by the wall, waiting as the blond haired man stepped forward. John stood in front of me; his protective posture screaming defiance. A smirk on the blond man’s lip. A snapping sound as pale hands shot forward. John was down, lying limp on the ground. “No!” The sound tore through my throat: a hoarse, dry sound. Cold eyes. Cold eyes stared down at me, chilling my body. Not again...

It was familiar to me now: unforgiving hands reaching up my skirt, firm grasps bruising my upper arms. I shut my eyes and screamed, which caused a blood red stain to mar my cheek. The blond pulled his hand back, smirking. The usual routine followed. A painful penetration. Hot liquids invading my body. Tears clouding my eyes, dripping down my face. And a small voice, in the back of my head, singing its usual tune. I am not here. I am not here. I am not...here...