spoken word. (gxg)

twenty-six.

twenty-six.

warning: things are gonna get pretty heavy here on out, so buckle up (read preface for trigger warnings)

I trust that you know your own maturity, but please don't read if you're too young.

Somehow, wearing new clothes probably more expensive than anything I had ever worn in my life, my newly-washed hair pleated into an intricate design, I felt even worse. Luckily it had been a woman that they sent to clean me up, and she had been nice enough to remove my blindfold, but her face was impassive and filled with a general hate for the world. I had tried to speak with her, but she only glared at me.

The room they had moved me to in order to change me had no windows or mirrors, and it was almost as small and oppressive as the cage I had been kept in and eventually returned to.

Every so often, a rumbling noise would shatter my composure and throw me against the metal. Eventually, I discovered that I was on the back of a truck, and they had decided to transport me every so often. It was smart, made me harder to track down. I prayed to a God I didn't believe in that June and Tyler had noticed I was missing.

At one point they had been nice enough to force water down my throat, but I was still parched and famished. If I made it out, I would make Tyler cook for me every day.

When, I asserted to myself. Not if. Somehow, I didn't believe myself. As each hour passed my regret grew stronger.

I should have told June, should have let Tyler tell her. I hoped that, if June had figured out I was gone, she didn't blame Tyler. It was my fault, after all.

Guilt pierced me relentlessly as I thought of Tyler's words that day in the cafe-- how remorseful he had been, believing he ruined his mother and sister's lives. My actions would serve only exasperate those feelings and make June worry even more. In the end, everything was my fault.

And now, primped like a queen and chained like a dog, I didn't even have the guts to fight. Every time I came close, fear suffocated me and I found myself trapped. Cowering, transported into the mind of my childhood self when faced with my parents' rage.

I stiffened as a door opened, recognizing the light footsteps that approached me immediately. With my eyes freed of blindness, I turned hesitantly toward the man who had entered. He stopped, just in front of my cage.

"Mia," he spoke, smoothly. "What beautiful eyes you have." His gaze ran up and down my body, hovering over my chest for a moment before meeting my eyes. I shivered in disgust, still unable to speak.

He was different than how I had pictured in my mind the first time he came. He wasn't small and willowy, but rather large and muscular. His stature would have given June a run for her money-- her 5'10" height was nothing compared to his gigantic frame. He was much bigger than I had anticipated, and it made me wonder how his footsteps were so light.

"Wonderful," Asshole spoke again. He seemed pleased. "I'm glad they heeded my advice and changed you into something more suitable." I hoped he didn't expect me to thank him for the gesture. The dress I was wearing, though soft and flattering, suddenly became suffocating now that I knew it was due to his order.

His gaze ran over my face affectionately, and he reached for me. His gaze hardened, like sharp steel, when he realized the bars of my cage were in the way. My eyes flickered to his waist, searching, then to his frustrated gaze. It looked like he didn't have the key. Was he allowed to be in here?

"Come, doll," he lowered his voice, fingers slipping through the bars as far as they could, "come here." The memory of his hand on my shoulder and face froze me, but the expression that enraged his face when he noticed my stillness hit me like a hammer, breaking my frozen body.

Slowly, I leaned forward, pressing my face into the icy bars. His face sweetened, fingers running over my cheek. I tried to pretend they were June's fingers, scared that if I didn't I would jerk back in fear. Closing my eyes helped, but there was no mistaking that the large hands touching me belonged to a man.

"Beautiful," he sighed, and suddenly I couldn't bear it. I pulled my face away as he ran his hand over my lips. It felt as if his touch tainted them, tainted the memories they shared with June.

"Stop." Embarrassingly, my voice trembled. He smiled at me sadistically.

"Your voice is just as beautiful as the rest of you," he told me.

"Please stop," I whimpered. Suddenly, his fingers shot through the bars, taking a hold of my braided hair and pulling me taut against the bars. My shoulders stung as they dug into the hard material, and in an act of meek defiance I kept my head turned away from him.

"Look at me," he whispered, pulling harder when I didn't. A gasp of pain left my lips, and I slowly turned my head to look at him. He loosened his grip on my hair so I could.

His face was that of delight, a sociopathic glee stretching across him as he watched the fear in my eyes. Then, I noticed the knife.

"I won't hurt you," he purred, but his eyes said otherwise. I was grateful that, though he had the knife the whole time, he hadn't used it on me yet. Now that he had loosened his grip on my hair, my body was screaming at me to move away again, but my eyes stayed glued to the knife. He raised it, tracing its edge against my lips gently.

"My servant informed me you're virgin, too," he spoke casually, as if this was a regular conversation. This close, I finally examined his eyes. They were dark, a contrast to his dirty-blond hair. They shined with malevolence. "You've never been with a man?"

Of course not, I wanted to say, I'm a lesbian!

My eyes must have betrayed some part of my inner thinking, because suddenly the knife pressed into my bottom lip, slicing into it. I shut my eyes in pain, wanting to flinch backward but knowing things would be worse if I did.

I gasped in relief when he removed the knife from my lips, but it turned to horror when something lukewarm and slimy replaced them. My eyes shot open, and his own danced with amusement as his lips moved against mine. Pain mixed with blood and spit and I tried to stay still. It was like kissing a cold dead fish, and I hoped he wouldn't force me to kiss back.

Every kiss I had shared with June felt tainted now, the butterflies I had experienced crushed in disgust as I wished nothing more than to escape. In wry hope, I imagined the smell of vanilla as he finally pulled away, whispering an introduction I tried not to hear.

June, I begged internally, where are you?

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