Chapter 12 #2
The noises in the room echoed, bringing me back to the cell. Laughs got louder and louder until all sounds blurred like my hazy vision.
I blinked through the pain, praying for Hell to unleash on these fuckers. But nothing happened. . . no one came to save me.
The pills had stolen him away, taken the only person who could help me.
I felt a blade press into my throat, ready to cut through the apple I was already choking on. The smell lingering on its steel told me how the guards hadn’t discovered the weapon when acting out their random cell checks. It reeked of shit. Literal shit.
Words lingered in my mouth, failing to get through the glue holding my lips together.
I felt the coldness of a lone tear roll over my scratched cheek, seeping into the concrete as my face was pushed back against it. My pained memory would stay there forever, embedded into the wall like the history tellings inside the pyramids of Egypt.
“Stop.” My tone trembled, the heavy word forcing itself free. “Stop!” I shouted, loud enough for the guards to hear. . . but they played ignorant once again, like they always did when a noise rang out after dark.
“Ah, he’s crying,” a voice mocked in the chaos; his hyena laugh shadowed his sneer as it entered my ears. “I didn’t know scum like you were capable of feelings, Mr. Heaven.”
He’d heard the horror stories of what put me inside here, sharing a cell with a man who I was no better than.
“This is fucking wrong,” another voice spoke up, owned by a boy not much older than me.
He was inside for being an accomplice to petty theft, at least that was what he called it. Currently serving the last third of his fifteen-month sentence, not long enough for these fuckers to corrupt him.
He hung around with them for safety, gaining easy access to their gang through a friend of his brother.
He didn’t approve of this. He didn’t approve of me, or of what I’d done. He didn’t approve of violence. He shouldn’t have even been here, at all. He’d probably been dragged and forced into his only act of crime.
But he did nothing to help me as I began trying to fight back. He silenced himself under a single stare from the man in my ear. . . the giant who would take me next.
My heart hammered painful punches against my rib cage, each one hurt more than the last. Hurting as much as the creep rutting between my forcefully parted legs.
I thrashed. I kicked. I screamed.
And then, I was held. I was bound. I was gagged by dirty underwear shoved into my mouth.
Muffled screams filled the air, accompanying laughs and degrading comments.
“You got a cheek, don’t you, Mr. Heaven?” a guy at my side was constantly mocking, constantly whispering words I never wanted to hear spoken.
I listened to the buzz of everyone else, preferring the sound of their hate to his.
I focused on the grunting behind me as the creep violating me pulled out almost entirely.
Another tear fell as my nose pulled in a deep breath. Tension slipped from my body, hand in hand with his stumpy cock. I thought it was over.
I realized I was wrong when the prick asked, “Do you know why we’re doing this, pretty boy?”
I had a few ideas; they were scum, perverts, evil. . . the list went on. I couldn’t voice any of my opinions, couldn’t air my thoughts, not when someone’s shit-stained shorts were filling my mouth.
“No reply?”
I couldn’t reply.
And the prick knew that.
My glossy eyes traveled to find him. But the giant invaded my view, making it his mission to get in my face.
“So, you only like a bit of non-con when you’re in charge?” His cracked lips kissed my cheek. His cigarette-stained fingertips dug into my flesh. The cold sore on the corner of his lower lip winked at me with the promise of spreading its disease.
I bucked, hoping to free myself from his tightening grip, uselessly trying to get the fuck away.
“You know, when you’re not popping pills, you’re happy to brag about the shit that got you in here.” The prick struggled with his words, as he slammed his cock back inside me.
I winced as he continued drumming into me.
“The girl you own, killing your parents. Rumor has it, Daddy was a bad man, is that right?” He spoke like he knew exactly who my scumbag father was.
“Did he touch you, is that why you’re so fucked up?
Did he touch you like I do? Did you enjoy it as much as you are now?
” my pervert cellmate asked as he reached around my skinny frame to stroke my dick.
I gently shook my head, remembering the pain I’d previously caused myself. My action acted as my only form of communication. My father was scum, but he could barely look at me some days, let alone fucking touch me. His fingertips never graced my skin, just his knuckles.
“So, there are no excuses as to why you turned out the way you did?”
Plenty of them, and yes, my father was at fault, but not because of the reason they figured.
I ignored everything as he jabbered on in my ear, sprouting untrue tales and making inaccurate assumptions.
I stilled my head. I went with it, letting them believe what the fuck they wanted.
They may have seen my body while naked and pressed to the wall, but they’d never see my soul, my truth.
“I have daughters around your age. Boys like you make me sick,” said a voice in the background.
He made me sick, too. . . they all did.
I could feel the vomit creeping up my throat, the larger chunks of who-knew-what trying to squeeze around my permanent swelling and somehow make it out of my stuffed mouth.
I shuddered, feeling the twitch of the genitals inside me; I knew the creep was about to erupt.
I tried to shift closer to the stone wall, my fingers jabbing at the concrete. My inner thoughts prayed it would hold me up when this was all over.
My eyes flickered closed, and I waited for the heat of his orgasm to fill me. . . but it didn’t.
He lifted my sweatshirt, and pulled out of me.
Heavy moans lashed the air—he was fucking loud. Loud enough for the world to hear my fucking shame. His filthy cum splashed my back, hot lashings of his scum whipping my skin.
I didn’t have time to feel the relief slip over me over the knowledge he was no longer touching me because pain had once again claimed all presidency.
The giant was behind me now. Strong fingers wrapped around both of my hands, dragging them up the wall and above my head. His other hand, fisting his dick. The head of his cock—giant like everything else about him—nudged its way between my ass cheeks.
“Don’t tense, kid,” his warning had my eyes widening. So did his nickname for me.
Kid. . . was my father’s impersonal name for me, and I heard his voice. I heard his fucking laugh as he reminded me I was never all that good at fucking listening.
I tensed, and the giant almost ripped me to fucking pieces.
He fucked me hard, pulling all the way out, slamming all the way back in, bruising internal spots and ripping me to shreds.
My tears flooded; I couldn’t hold them back. The vomit rose higher, forcing me to spread my tongue over the stained cotton filling my mouth to try and force it out.
“Got something to say?” the cell-sharing prick asked, pulling his dirty shorts free from my mouth, and readying himself to dress in them.
I didn’t think he’d be wearing them tonight. Not with my vomit breath all over them. Though, that said, his own shit stains hadn’t put him off.
My spew followed as the underwear was pulled from my mouth, splashing on the floor below and tarnishing my already grubby looking socks. It was hard to tell whether they were meant to be gray or white, but they were coated in brown now.
I bent over, losing my balance, giving the giant behind me deeper access, and the pain amplified with his deeper thrusts.
I opened my mouth to scream, a gift of music to his ears, but no scream came out. A second wave of sick hit the floor, rippling up my naked legs as I tried to force myself upright.
But he was quick to bend me back over, enjoying the leverage.
I blinked, catching my breath. My blurry gaze focused on the little white pills I’d taken just before bed, now nestled amongst this evening’s bland regurgitated meal.
“The pill is gone. You can come out now. You can help me. . . give them Hell.” I whispered to a deeper part of me.
I begged him to overpower me like he’d always done.
I begged him to come back, despite having been all too happy to swallow the pills.
I prayed he could ignore my brutal dismissal of him. . .
I prayed to God, whispering to him, too.
But he didn’t come.
It was like he couldn’t hear me over the noise in the room. Either that, or he was ignoring it like the guards on the floor below.
He was ignoring me.
God had already abandoned me for all the bad I’d done.
I was alone here.
And I couldn’t do this another night—prison life. I couldn’t. I was only on my fifty-sixth night. . . maybe fifty-seventh. It would only be a few more days until I wouldn’t even be able to count down my time here.
I waited for the rutting creep to finish, hoping he’d finish quietly, spraying over me like the dirty shower I’d take tomorrow to wash away their germs. But he didn’t, he pulled himself free, and I collapsed to a heap on the cold stone floor.
He hovered over my trembling body—damaged, just like my mind—and he pushed his cock into my mouth.
The smell of my abuse still fresh on his shaft made me retch again.
And I choked on my sick as his cock pushed it back down my throat.
I closed my eyes, staying silent in prayer, not to God. To something else. Save me.
But again, he let me down.
He didn’t come.
But the creep choking me on his cock did. . . and so did all but one of the other creeps in this room, as they took their turns on me for hours through the night.
I knew in this moment, I wouldn’t take those pills again—a gift given by a man who claimed to know what I suffered through, smuggled in by someone he thought of as a friend.
I wouldn’t take any pills again. . . not while in this shithole.