12. Brynn
I wake up in a daze. My head feels fuzzy, and my body feels far too heavy.
And then it all comes crashing down. The drink, the confusion, the way my limbs refused to cooperate and that grin, that fucking awful grin Giselle had as she started stripping my clothes from my body.
“No.”
I gasp out the word. My throat feels so dry and my tongue feels swollen, as if I’ve spent the last god knows how many hours chewing on it in my sleep.
My hands have been curled up into tight little fists so long that the knuckles feel horribly stiff as I try to manoeuvre myself, as I try to get up.
“Lay still.”
Those words, that voice, sends the very fear of God through me.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be… I blink rapidly, taking in my surroundings and with horror, I realise I have absolutely no idea where I am.
“No,” I gasp.
“Ssssh, it’s okay.” His hand reaches down to brush my hair from my face, and I flinch from the contact. It’s far too intimate. Far too casual.
Something crawls up my spine, some awful sixth sense that something horrific went down last night.
Where the fuck am I?
My eyes dart about rapidly, trying to figure that question out. It’s dark but there’s enough light from the open door to give a good feel for the space I’m in. The room is large, far larger than my own. There’s an opening beyond that I guess must be for a separate dressing room, and another door no doubt leads to the bathroom.
Just as his hand starts running up the length of me, the true enormity of it hits me; I’m in a bed, his bed.
I jump up, at least I try to. He must have been ready for this very moment because he’s quick to grab hold of me, to push me back down, and to use his entire body to pin me in place.
My body protests, my head feels like it’s going to explode from the blinding headache, and between my thighs there’s an awful ache that can only mean one thing.
“You ber ber bastard.” I hiss.
“What did you say?”
“You her heard me,” I can’t hold back the hate, I can’t hold back the shame too as it erupts through my veins like a seismic flow. “You rape, raped me. You fer, fer, fucking raped mer, me.”
His hand slams my face down, forcing me into the velvety soft sheets that feel so out of place with this entire scene. “I saved you.” He snarls, like he thinks he’s the actual messiah.
I try to protest but no words can come out, and within seconds I’m fighting for oxygen.
“Are you going to be reasonable?” He says right into my ear while my legs jerk out, while my limbs lash out in some desperate, futile attempt at survival. “Promise you’ll behave, and I’ll let you go.”
I couldn’t even say those words if I wanted to from the pressure he’s asserting. A scream seems to be ringing in my ears, like my blood is boiling. I’m going to pass out. I’m going to die if he doesn’t let up. But if I do that, what will he do to me then? Would he degrade me further? Of course he would.
Dots prick at the darkness behind my eyelids. Fear takes over everything as I begin to succumb to this inevitable conclusion, and then his grip relents. Those nails stop digging so forcefully into my scalp and I’m turned over and put on my back while he stares down at me.
Seconds pass. His eyes hold mine captive as I regain my breath, and I can tell that he’s proud of himself and not ashamed in the slightest.
“Let’s clear a few things up.” He says in that smug tone that tells me he thinks he’s beaten me. “I hold all the power here. All I have to do is call your grandfather, tell him where you are, and you’ll be at Oblivion before I can even finish describing how much you begged to be fucked.”
“But I di, didn’t…” I stammer. I didn’t do it. I didn’t want him. I don’t want him. I don’t… my heart starts slamming into my chest harder and harder. My breath seems to catch, and I already recognise the signs even as it sinks in how utterly fucked I really am, how helpless I am, how this man has already ruined me.
“No one will care, Brynn,” He states. “It’s my word against yours.”
The walls seem to cave in. The ridiculously oversized bed seems to collapse in on me and I’m drowning, suffocating, struggling even more than I was barely a minute ago.
My chest starts heaving uncontrollably and I curl my hands into fists. I hate that I’m showing more weakness now, revealing more of my secrets to a man who won’t hesitate to use them against me but it’s too late to stop it, too late to do anything.
Panic takes over everything.
Sheer terror grips me far harder than his hands have ever done.
I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.
Maybe some small part of him feels regret, maybe he does have some sort of conscience after all because his face softens, his hold becomes more caring and then he picks me up, cradles me in his arms and soothes me.
“I won’t do that. It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
Safe? Is that a joke? In what world am I safe?
I let out a wail, a broken awful sound that only gets worse as it continues. Bile twists in my stomach at the realisation that he’s touching me again after what he did and for one very real moment, I’m convinced I’m going to vomit everywhere. But what would he do then? How would he react if I threw up over him? Would he beat me, or console me more? Either option is just as bad.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He says gently, “As long as you’re a good girl, then you have nothing to fear.”
That’s a lie. Another lie. I’m here, alone with a man who almost certainly raped me. Even if I do somehow miraculously manage to get away, I can’t go back home, I can never return home now. No, I’d have to run away, but where could I even go? Sure that had been my plan, but it was a long term one. I wasn’t so stupid as to think I could just walk out the door, skip down the road and everything would be okay. No, I know what the world is, I’ve seen how cruel it can be. To run, to throw myself on its mercy with no money, with no place to hide, it’s practically suicide.
As if my mind is so preoccupied with my potential fate, I still, and he clearly takes that as some sort of show of submission.
“That’s better.” He murmurs, cupping my face.
“What, what do you wer want with me?” I stammer. He’s already gotten what he wants, I don’t understand why I’m here. I don’t understand why Giselle didn’t just haul my grandfather into the room while I was still drugged and defenceless?
“You’re mine, Brynn.” He says, as if that’s an answer.
“Yours?” I frown.
“God, I’ve wanted you for so long, so long.” His fingers lace through my hair, tilting my head back further. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? So fucking beautiful.”
My mind starts racing, and my head becomes more panicked as I try to digest what he’s said.
But his hands are on me, touching me, forcing my legs apart.
“No,” I gasp just as his fingers shove right into my core. A white-hot burning pain makes me jolt. I’ve never touched myself down there, never dared. I know it’s a sin, I know self-pleasure goes against the commandments but I’m also certain it shouldn’t hurt like this, because why then would it be called pleasure?
My body clenches, my body locks up and I stiffen even more with every brutal thrust.
“I’m going to make you feel good.” He says as though he either didn’t hear my lack of consent, or has already chosen to disregard it. “Just relax, doll, let me show you.”
I can’t relax. I can’t stop crying.
Tears stream down my face as my body rocks more and more violently. I don’t understand what he’s trying to achieve, but he forces his fingers in and out of me in quicker and quicker succession. like this is some kind of race.
“Christ, you’re so tight.”
I can hear it in his voice, I can hear how much he’s enjoying this.
“Please,” I sob, too afraid to actively fight him.
“Just relax, Brynn.” He says more forcefully, and I make the stupidest mistake of meeting his gaze.
His mouth slams into mine, his body envelops mine and he’s pressing into me, his hands holding my legs wider.
Something bigger, something far girthier tears into me and I scream, shutting my eyes, praying that any minute I will be spared.
“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good.” The way he groans, the way he pants, the way his dick violates me makes all that bile rise up, only I’m too scared and far too conditioned to do anything other than swallow it back down.
His tongue pushes its way into my mouth again and I wonder if he can taste the vomit. If he knows, if he even cares.
“God,” He groans, like this is the best damn moment of his life.
My nails dig into my palms. I don’t dare fight back; I don’t dare do anything but just lay here and submit. It’s like my mind is still too muddled from the drugs to truly take any course of action, so instead I play docile, I play dead.
“Fuck, Brynn, fuck.” He gasps. “I’m going to fill you up, fill you so full.”
His dick jerks, his body thrusts one last time before he tenses and I know what he’s doing, what is happening.
As he slumps down on top of me, a voice in my head starts screaming out that I need to do something, that I need to wash, that I have to ensure I don’t get pregnant from this.
“So beautiful.” He murmurs, and I realise he’s staring at me again.
Christ, the way he looks at me. It’s not right. It’s not okay. He’s staring at me like I’m some sort of angel, some divine creature. But who would do the things he’s done if that’s what he thought of me?