Verboten

Chapter 19: Officers and Paramedics

Amelia's POV:

Watching films has always been my go to escapade from my uneventful life.

Delving into scenes, scenarios and the character's lives made me feel alive, but perhaps some particular scenes never made any sense to me; why did some scenes - particularly the intense tension filled ones - always happen in slow motion? The thought never settled well with me, I thought it was all a faux cinematic act, but right now as I stood stunned, legs glued to the ground, a muffled scream escaping my lips; it all fell into place; and the thought finally settled.

It all happened in slow motion, I felt restricted under a spell unable to even move a limb, every fibre in my body felt frivolously interlocked except for my voice box as scream after scream tore past my lips.

My father hurled the first punch throwing Damien off balance, and he himself - flew hurling to the tiled floor.

My father looked livid, furious, and unrelenting; his fist - too - untamed. He kept throwing punch after punch to a completely limp Damien; my eyes were finding it extremely difficult to tear itself away from the bloody scene even through my stomach was starting to recoil as bile rose up my sore throat.

Damien wasn't putting up a fight, he wasn't even attempting to block the unforgiving harsh jabs.

My ears - the second part of my body that became responsive - registered the hateful yells and screams; the anger, disgust and resent in my father's voice was enough to shake my very existence, and at this particular moment, I couldn't pray for anything except for time to stop, for my love to stop being pummelled to a near death, and for the ground to swallow me up whole before my father's wrath gets deviated to me.

"You sick son of a bitch! Did you fuck my daughter?" My eyes stung with tears, as every cell in my body shrunk in trepidation and shame. I was finding it extremely difficult to register who the man in front of me was because in my full years of living, I've never heard my father speak as vulgarly.

Damien couldn't even reply, his mouth bloodied, throat clogged. His eyelids heavy, unable to remain open, and as I saw his lids slide, I felt desperate to slide in between and take every punch hurled instead of him, perhaps I - too - deserved punishment.

"She's a fucking child you deranged pedophile!" My father spat, his throat hoarse from all the yelling, and I couldn't interjecting - physically I couldn't, I felt immobilised, restrained, tongue-tied.

I wanted to explain everything; swear that I was the one who fell under his spell first, swear that I was the one desperate for him to take my virginity and to make me feel like a worthy woman, but Damien always said no.

At a point, I lost all sense of space, time and my actions, and so did everyone in this room, but it wasn't until an even louder commotion tore through my haze of desperate pleas and tearful begs.

I didn't regain consciousness to the present reality except when I felt arms wrap around my hunched over form, as police officers forcefully pried my father away from my unconscious lover.

I thrashed against the restraining hold, falling forward ungracefully as I placed my palms to Damien's rising and falling chest, it was my only assurance of life in him because his face was mashed, blood shrouding his features. My tears fell unbarricaded mixing with his blood, I saw the dark red hue take on a lighter shade, and I pleaded for him to forgive me because I loved him.

The same arms wrapped around me yet again, but this time effectively prying me away as paramedics rolled a stretcher in with an intent destination - Damien's pliant body.

My eyes were fixated on him as the paramedics carefully picked him up, being extra careful to not jostle him around. I felt a blanket being wrapped around me, the semi-soft cotton material grazing my bare thighs.