Chapter 2 – Camille #3
I shook my head more rapidly, but this excited him further.
I heard a rip and realized he was tearing the dress off me.
It slipped off onto the floor, revealing my bra and underwear.
He swore under his breath, his eyes starving for more as he held me closer, something impossible seconds before.
I cringed as his lips moved to my neck, nibbling and kissing down to the top of my breasts, where the bra couldn’t cover them.
I wanted to evaporate. I wanted to turn to dust. Anything to get myself out of his room. I couldn't think of where I’d rather be because he was all-consuming.
“I always loved you.” He murmured, pulling away from my neck for a quick second.
Even his lips were perfect; yet ruined by the view I had of him in that moment.
“Always wanted you. I wished every single one of those girls were you. And now, here you are. Delivered to me by our own parents, promised to me forever.”
My neck and chest were bruising from his biting and sucking, the broken blood vessels reminding me this wasn’t a sick joke.
It ached, and the only thing I could do to distance myself was run my tongue over the open wound in my mouth and bite the inside of my lip to taste more blood.
To keep my nervous system occupied on one source of pain.
He lifted me up and tossed me onto his bed.
I was soon enveloped in the nauseating smell of his cashmere and musk cologne, and the liquor I smelled earlier.
I could have thrown up then and there. Choked on it. Put an end to this by asphyxiating. Even if I had anything to say, the shock of what was happening caused me to be mute.
He undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders seamlessly before moving on to his slacks.
He took those off as well and was in nothing but his boxers.
I closed my eyes tight enough to force more tears down my already wet cheeks, hoping it would be done and over with.
I had given up on entertaining the idea of fighting him.
It would only cause more trouble in the end.
Plus, what was I to do with my hands literally tied behind my back?
His mocking laugh echoed in my ears again as he climbed on top of me. My bra was being unhooked and taken off, yanked down my whole body to pause at my tied wrists before Reed growled angrily and ripped the thin straps from the base to get it off.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want to look into my eyes?
” I was painfully aware of his presence over me, his body so close to mine.
I couldn’t push at him without the use of my arms and hands.
I didn’t dare kick him for fear of retaliation.
I stayed silent, avoiding a response to his question. “Open your damn eyes.” He growled.
I did so, blinking away the wetness that clumped my eyelashes together. I didn’t have the courage to look away from his eyes to see the rest of him, but it was torture looking into the eyes of my former hero, someone I once held so dearly as they loomed over me, ready for the final act of betrayal.
He groped and grabbed me, and his hands moved down to my underwear.
Steady, no hesitation. My heart was in turmoil, beating rapidly only to stop in an instant as he ripped those off too.
With bated breath, fingers lingering and grazing in places I never imagined being touched by my beloved older brother.
Was this happening? For a moment, I thought of how I wished I could fly away, to disappear, or simply wake up and wonder what was possibly wrong with my head to imagine such a scene.
But I knew none of these were options. This was a reality we were put in by our own parents.
A reality Reed knew and accepted what could have been ages ago, and he was excellent at hiding it up until this point.
The more interpretation I tried to put into examining his actions that morning, the more I believed it was exhilaration.
What could I say that hasn’t already been said?
It hurt. The pain I experienced in… that place as he raped me was unbearable.
Tears welled up in my eyes again as I willed myself to hold them back.
It was a sharp pain that never went away throughout the awful encounter.
I had friends tell me it was like being ripped in half at first, but got better after a while.
I never had the “better after a while” they spoke of.
Ten minutes of fighting back sobs and screams, trying to send myself anywhere as a distraction as I looked from the ceiling, to the wall, cherishing the few seconds I was able to get away with closing my eyes when Reed couldn’t see them, his mouth on my neck or collarbone.
He would bite, kiss, and whisper dirty things I tuned out, feeling the bed shake with the steady rhythm of my brother forcing himself on me.
My legs were limp and easily moved wherever he wanted them to .
Whatever noise I made in response to this sinful act got him going faster.
Whatever noise I swallowed back or bit my tongue to stop made him angry and more violent.
I was resigned to bite my torn, puffy lip to save myself from reacting to him.
I savored the taste of iron as my sense of taste worked to overcome my sense of feeling. To just… let go.
It wasn’t over until his grip on my already tender arms tightened, sending needle pricks from my numb wrists up to my shoulder, his bite on my sore neck softening as he mumbled dreamily and twitched.
His hands moved from my arms, down, gripping my rear end as he brought my naked body closer to his.
Tightening. More bruising I’d imagine. I was battered; not only did I feel like I was hit by a train, but I probably looked like it too.
The electric feeling I had from the shock was trying to heal my scars from what happened.
My body was naturally trying to save me from the trauma I was enduring, while my mind was playing scenes of birds flying away.
Pretty blackbirds, their wings beating in time with each twinge of my nervous system as they turned to specks in the sky of my mind.
He let go of me and got off to collect himself, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I was open and wounded, gaping, as if I had been shot and left to die on a street corner.
Like I was watching someone else’s life, I turned my head to see the muscles in his back illuminated by the candlelight.
He was running his shaky fingers through his dark hair so it stood up, greased by his sweat and panting heavily.
Silence, apart from the sound of his heavy breathing.
I watched him, but I did not dare move a muscle.
I held my breath, fearing he would hurt me or do it again if I did something wrong.
I felt dirty.
He finally stood up, casually reaching for his boxers and slacks on the floor and sliding them on. He didn’t appear guilty or regretful. He almost appeared… casual? Like what happened was normal and routine. Not the worst day of his life, much like it would become mine.
“That was the best I’ve ever had.” He finally spoke, a raspy chuckle escaping after his statement as he found his belt and started running it through the loops on his pants. “It’s too bad you won’t fight like that tomorrow…”
I feared the tone of his voice. He was the devil, and I was fully convinced of it.
He didn’t understand the weight of what he did.
He didn’t understand how terrified and betrayed I was.
The man I looked up to my whole life shattered my world and views in ten minutes.
How was I supposed to go on living, and especially under the same roof as him? Was I expected to do this… forever?
I continued my silence, the right side of my face smashed into the soft pillow as he grabbed his shirt, slipping his arms through the sleeves and buttoning up the front, leaving the top few undone.
He didn’t bother with the tie, which lay a few feet away.
He paused as his gaze raked over at me, and my eyes darted down to the pillow where I rested my spinning head.
My wrists were still tied behind my back, and I had nowhere to hide.
The dried tears on my cheeks made my face feel tighter.
I squirmed as he came closer, climbing over my legs again.
I braced myself for what could possibly be next.
Instead, his touch was soft as he rolled me onto my side.
If I were able to forget everything, I would be grateful for the gentle tugging at the rope around my wrists to free me.
As the rope slid off, I curled my fingers to make sure the nerves still worked.
Like witnessing someone fall off a cliff, unable to look away, I watched as he pushed himself off the bed.
He kneeled down and brushed my hair back from my face, much like he did moments before when I was brought up to him by the priest. His eyes lost all hostility.
He leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the forehead before the switch was flicked on the moment of empathy he had.
He turned away from me and found my pile of clothes on the floor before picking them up and tossing them at me without making eye contact.
“Get dressed and clean up.” He demanded. “You’ve made my sheets dirty.”
I didn’t rush to follow orders. It was only after he mentioned “dirty” I realized I was lying in my own blood and other unspeakable bodily fluids, blending together to mock me.
I was too sore and battered to attempt to sit up straight, and I didn’t want him to see me struggle.
I continued to lie there as he reached for the doorknob.