Chapter Eleven #2
The first couple of hours go by fast before I fall into a lull.
It’s noon, so a lot of people are probably hanging out closer to all the food tents on the other side of the fairgrounds.
I reorganize my table and make it look more presentable.
A sudden feeling of uneasiness washes over me, and I freeze.
I peer up from my table and glance around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
I shrug off the feeling as my bladder screams for release. I’ve been holding the large glass of orange juice I drank this morning in too long. I see the sign at the corner of a building in the distance for restrooms, place my Be back in ten minutes card on the table, and head in that direction.
When I round the corner, a row of portable toilets with long lines waiting in front of each one comes into view.
Now, not everyone knows this, but when I was a kid, my parents would bring me to the fair, and they never let me use these toilets.
‘They’re gross and unsanitary,’ my mom would say.
They would sneak me into an area that was always roped off and marked as off-limits, where employees and the police department had their own set of cleaner, more private bathrooms. I steer to the right of the line of women and head toward the bleachers that overlook the dirt track where horse racers and monster truck shows are held.
Beneath the bleachers, a gate encircles the entire area, except for a small opening with a chained-off entrance and a sign that reads ‘No Entry’.
I detach the chain, slide inside and reattach it before scurrying toward the symbol painted on the door for the women’s bathroom.
The moment my ass hits the seat in the wide-open and spacious handicap bathroom, urine rushes out of me, and I moan in relief.
I sit there briefly before smacking myself in the forehead.
I left my fucking phone on my table. If someone steals it, my mom’s going to kill me.
I quickly flush and hike up my capris before slamming the door open.
A hand catches it, and my eyes widen as the rude man from my table earlier enters the bathroom, a glass bottle wrapped in brown paper sticking out of his grasp.
“What the fuck?”
I barely have time to get the words out before he backs me into the stall and slams the door closed, throwing the lock into the secure position. He turns to me with a devious smile on his face. “Hey there, beautiful.” He wipes his lips with his sleeve. “Want to have some fun?”
His smile widens, revealing a row of yellow-stained teeth.
“Eww. Not a fucking chance.” I push past him, my hand just reaching the lock when my head yanks backward, his fingers tightening around my hair, sending pain across my scalp.
I dig my nails into the back of his hand, and he yelps, throwing the bottle of booze on the ground, shattering it into a million pieces.
I back away from him as his eyes darken to black orbs.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I yell, putting my hands up to keep him from getting closer.
He slaps my hands away and presses his body against mine.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. I bet your pussy smells like heaven.
” His hand presses between my abdomen and capris.
I ram my head forward, striking his nose with an audible crunch.
Rage fills his eyes as blood drains down from his nostrils onto his clenched teeth. “You’re going to regret that.”
I cover my head as he swings, his fist landing sharply against my temple. I stagger sideways and flail over the toilet, the blow sending stars dancing across my eyes.
“Mastyx!” I shout without thinking.
The man’s hand wraps around my throat and squeezes.
“Who’s that, your boyfriend?” His grip tightens, and I slap his arm frantically, trying to gulp even a tiny bit of air as he forces me to the floor with one hand and unbuttons his jeans with the other.
“He can’t stop the pounding I’m about to give you.
They thought prison would change me.” He rambles on, his zipper clicking slowly down, revealing stained white Fruit of the Looms underwear.
“But all they did was make my appetite grow. Now you get to be my first—my first in ten years.”
Oh my God. He’s a fucking rapist. A rapist fresh out of prison with nothing but lost time since the last time he took what he wanted from an unsuspecting woman. I grip the top of my pants, holding them tight with both hands. “No!” I scream in his face.
He slams my head against the tile, and the room spins and darkens.
I claw at him, hooking my nails deep into the side of his cheek before raking them down.
Blood oozes from his face, and a heavy palm stings my cheek.
The flame of a butane torch lights up the side of my face, heating it and making me stop fighting.
“Now, listen here, pretty girl. I don’t want to burn your beautiful, young, and perfect skin, but I will.
Now hold still and let me taste you.” His hand slides inside my pants, and I cry out one more time. “Mastyx!”
The bathroom darkens, the butane flame illuminating only mine and the rapist’s face. His smile widens like the Cheshire cat. “Well, would you look at that, mood lighting.”
Darkness rises behind him, darker than the space around us already is.
It’s like a pitch-black shadow towering into the darkness, swallowing the whole room.
My eyes widen, so wide it actually hurts, as I realize we are no longer alone.
I thrash on the ground beneath him, fighting in the dark to get him off me, when suddenly, his body lifts off mine, wrenching his hand from inside my pants.
Flames rise in Mastyx’s eyes, and the man’s eyes widen in pure terror before belting out a blood-curdling scream.
Mastyx’s tail dives into his mouth, muting his cries for help and his Adam’s apple illuminates like a lightbulb inside a lampshade.
His flaming tongue wedges between his tail and the man’s lips and together they pull his yap wide open, the sides of his mouth tearing with ease like paper.
“You want to taste something? Taste my fury. Taste my rage.” The man’s guttural scream is quickly silenced as Mastyx’s two appendages yank the man’s mouth violently in two directions, splitting his face in half.
The pieces of the man’s face fall to the floor and burst into flames. I cover my nose, the smell of burning flesh nauseating me. The rapist’s body slams through the door of the stall, landing on the porcelain sink before dropping to the floor with a thud.
I cover my head, fear coursing through me of what my punishment for allowing another man to touch me may be. A soft set of fingers warms my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. “Time to go, Little Sinner.”
Tears drain from my eyes and dizziness makes my head bobble as I say, “What about him?” My eyes drift to the pieces of my attacker littering the floor of the bathroom.
He touches my face, drying my tears with the heat from his hands before cupping my cheeks with both palms. “Little Sinner, I gave you an order.” I unfurl myself from the floor, a sense of trust and reassurance flowing through me as I lean into his palms and whisper, “Thank you.”
His cock rises, covered in flames, lava flowing from its tip.
I try and pull away, but he holds my face firm.
“Don’t worry, Little Sinner, it’s not the full moon yet.
” His face shifts to the side, and his nose lightly grazes the space between my shoulder and neck.
He inhales deeply, sending chills through my body, stopping right between my legs. “Oh, how I’ve missed the smell of you.”
How the fuck can someone who hurt me so bad and scares me so much make me feel this way?
“We are connected now, Little Sinner. You and I are one. You will feel what I feel, long for my touch the way I do yours. You are mine.” He releases my face and lifts me to my feet with one swift movement.
The fingers of his one hand tangle in my hair before pulling my face to his, so our lips are almost touching, the heat from his chapping mine.
His other hand glides down my throat with a gentle scraping of a single nail before stopping between my breasts. “Until we meet again.”
I stagger back as he lets me go, my back hitting the bathroom door.
“Go!” he roars, the flames rising in his eyes once more.
The door swings open, and I stumble through it, my palms landing harshly on the concrete before my knees come down to join them.
I crawl beneath the bleachers and cower there, weeping into my palms, my head pounding, my soul on fire.
It feels like it takes forever, but I know only a matter of seconds have passed before I dare to look back at the bathroom door.
A hint of smoke, like a light fog, curls beneath the door and black block letters smolder on the face of it.
Out of Order.