Ellie #3
“I think that’s enough intellectual stimulation for today.” Grace closes the folder. “Reed, please escort Dr. Hart back to her room. I believe she needs a reminder about cooperation.”
“My pleasure.” His voice drips with satisfaction.
But I completed the assignment. I did what she asked.
This is my reward?
Grace's smile never wavers as she adds, "Be thorough, Reed. Dr. Hart needs to understand the consequences of resistance. But remember, she must be functional for tomorrow's session."
Functional. Like I’m equipment.
The restraints click open. My ankles ache where the leather held them. My wrists still ache from the hallway, bruises forming where Reed’s restraints held me earlier. His grip on my arm now is equally tight.
No illusion of freedom.
He guides me toward the library door, my legs barely holding me. Grace’s voice follows us out.
"Sweet dreams, Ellie. We have so much more to explore together."
The door closes between us.
He drags me down the corridor, moving so fast that I’m stumbling over my own feet. His grip on my arm tightens as he shoves me into my room and kicks the heavy metal door shut behind us, the slam echoing.
His warm breath is against my neck, and I know what’s coming.
My body knows before my mind catches up.
He spins me around. My back hits the wall.
The cold concrete seeps through my clothes.
His hands pin my wrists above my head. I could fight, I should fight, but I don’t.
My time here has taught me that fighting only makes it last longer.
His eyes are dark and hungry. This is what Grace promised him, his reward for good behavior.
"Grace said to remind you," he growls. "So I'm gonna remind you real good."
He’s following orders, just like Killian used to. The thought makes me want to scream or vomit. I’m not sure which.
He doesn’t wait for a response. His knee forces my legs apart, and the fabric of my yoga pants tears. One violent yank and they’re gone. Cold air hits my skin. I gasp in shock. Mistake. His hand covers my mouth.
“Shhh,” he hisses, releasing my mouth. I turn my head to the side, screwing my eyes shut.
His hands are everywhere, grabbing, squeezing, claiming parts of me that aren’t his. Except here, they are. Everything here is his.
His mouth finds my neck, teeth sink into tender flesh. I cry out. I can’t help it, and he presses harder, silencing me with the weight of his body. The wall behind me, Reed in front. No space to breathe.
“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is laced with something that’s not just anger, but enjoyment. “You don’t get to make a sound.”
He spins me away from the wall and shoves me forward. I hit the bed face-down. His fingers dig into my hips. My cheek presses into the rough fabric, scratching against my skin.
I can feel him behind me, then the clink of his belt buckle… then pain. Sharp, searing, tearing pain. He forces inside without hesitation, without care, without anything resembling humanity.
I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming, but he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. My spine arches as he thrusts deeper, and the pain is so intense, I can’t stop the broken sob that escapes.
"Beg," he demands, his voice rough and guttural. "Beg me to stop."
I won’t. It’s the only thing I have left, this one refusal. I won’t beg.
I try to close my eyes, to disappear somewhere he can’t reach me, but that makes it worse. So I open them and stare at the wall ahead. There’s a water stain shaped like a bird in flight.
My father used to say knowledge sets you free. He was wrong. Knowledge is what got me here. The bird on the wall is as trapped as I am. Just a stain, forever mid-flight, never landing, never free.
I focus on the bird and count the chips in the surrounding paintwork. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
Reed leans down, his lips brush my ear.
“Say my name.”
Fifty. Fifty-one.
He slams into me harder, and the pain yanks me back to my body. I can’t focus on the paint chips. I can’t count. I can’t breathe. A sob breaks free.
He doesn’t stop until he’s taken everything. Every sound, every shred of dignity, every piece of myself I was trying to protect.
When he finally finishes, he pulls out and wipes himself on the sheet like I’m nothing. Like I was never anything at all, and does his trousers up.
I’m shaking and can’t stop.
He leaves without a word. The door clicks shut.
The lock engages, and finally, I’m alone.
I curl into the fetal position. The flimsy blanket does nothing.
I can’t feel anything now. Not the mattress beneath me, not the fabric against my skin.
Just a vast, empty numbness spreading through me like anesthesia.
Silent tears fall from my eyes, and I'm unable to focus on anything at all. All I can do is look forward. It's not only my body he's violated, it's my soul, and I'm not sure I'll ever get it back.
I close my eyes, but the bird is still there. Trapped in the water stain. Trapped in my memory.
Forever mid-flight.
Never free.
Tonight, I’ll dream about birds.