Chapter 24 #3
Every muscle protests the way I’m dragged away from Bundy’s feet back toward the middle of the room where a large floor rug is spread out. The energy to fight is gone, and whoever has moved me here must see that because I’m tossed to the ground like I’m nothing.
It’s Bo’s words that cut through the fog, protesting and threatening as he’s brought closer to me. I turn my neck, swollen from men’s hands, and he’s watching me, fear in his eyes.
I try to smile, like I could somehow assure him that I’m okay. That it’s not like I can be hurt anymore than I am, but I doubt it looks reassuring through the blood leaking down my face.
He’s dumped on top of me and the guard slices through his zip tie with a knife before sliding it back into his pocket. A gun is pulled next and pointed to the back of Bo’s head. “Now. Fuck her or she gets another round.”
There’s something like a pained growl inside Bo’s chest as he battles the idea that keeping me safe means hurting me. I just shake my head slightly, reaching up to his face. “It’s okay,” I say, and fresh tears roll down my cheek to the floor. “Don’t give them another reason to hurt you.”
His forearm rests to the side of my head and he lowers himself so that I’m covered by his body, his forehead meeting mine. He shakes from the strain of trying not to crush me when his injuries make it near impossible.
But like this? The room is almost gone from my vision. It’s just me and Bo and the desperate need we both have to protect the other.
“Just look at me,” he says, voice low enough that only I can hear it, his lips a ghost against my skin. “Pretend it’s just us.”
I nod and the pain he’s in cuts me so much deeper than the pain they’ve buried in me. “Okay. It’s okay.”
“No,” his voice breaks. “It’s fucking not.”
I feel his head lurch forward as the gun digs into his hair, a reminder to get on with assaulting me.
Bo growls but adjusts his position, shifts me.
My heart hammers, a full body tremor beginning in my legs and spreading through me.
My muscles shake as he takes my leg in his hand and moves between my thighs.
“Fuck—” Bo’s voice breaks, and I feel him soft against me. “I hate this,” he whispers, curling back over me. “I don't want to hurt you, Emma, but I don’t want him to touch you again.”
My hands curl up to his neck, softly cupping his head in my hands, because they're starting to laugh at us, starting to rile up because of the situation we’re in.
I don’t want things to get worse. “It’s you,” I say, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“We protect each other, right? That’s what we’re doing. ”
His eyes meet mine, broken and pained. “Don’t hate me.”
I shake my head, petting his hair as the man next to us gets in his face. “Fuck her, now.”
He pushes inside me a beat later and I groan at the intrusion. He’s not hard, but we have no choice but to try and make it work so that his head doesn’t get blown apart in my hands.
His arm flexes as he tries to keep himself from crushing me, and I don’t know how he finds the strength with the extent of his injuries.
Every part of him shakes from the exertion and yet he still tries to block out the room from my vision.
Still tries to keep me centered with the words spoken low into the tiny space we have with each other.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, his words harsh as we both feel him start to harden inside me. “Emma, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I just keep my hands tangled in his hair, forcing his eyes to stay on mine.
They’re tortured, self-hatred choking him up as his hips gently move against mine.
Leaning forward slightly, I press my lips to his, because words can’t fix what’s happening to our hearts. I don’t know that anything ever will.
His tears paint my face in sorrow as we lose ourselves in a slow, tragic kiss, and I pretend there’s nothing outside the sight of Bo’s face, the feeling of his chest pressed against mine.
We’re just loving each other the way we might have if our Christmas Eve had never been interrupted by the evil in this room.
When his breaths grow labored, his hips jerking through his slow, gentle pace, I break the kiss, hiding my head against his neck. Blocking out the jeers and the leering stares and laughter from behind us for Bo to fill me up.
He shudders against me, trying and failing to do the same. I kiss his neck, hoping it can bring him back to me. “It’s okay, Bo. It’s you, it’s okay.”
His forehead presses to the floor and I feel the shudder run through his body as he comes inside me. “I’m so fucking sorry, Emma,” he says, pain in every word.
He’s yoked back, a thick arm around his neck as he’s dragged off of me. The tiny moment of solace is gone, and my only warmth is pulled away from me. Of all the painful moments, this is somehow the one that breaks me. Being left, alone again, on the floor, my body used beyond its limits.
Now, the sobs wrack through me as I’m approached again, my tears like a beacon to the evil men in this room.
This time I don’t get to focus on the window.
This time I cry, and I beg, and I plead, and nobody cares at all.