Chapter 29 BETH
BETH
“Religious people,” I said. “Trying to fix me”
Darkness.
A suffocating, endless void.
Then hands. They claw at my skin, grip my thighs, and rip my clothes.
The air in the alley was damp and thick with the scent of rotten garbage and urine. My hands scrambled against the cold asphalt, nails chipping as I tried to crawl out of their captivity.
“Fucking cunt,” one sneered. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?”
I couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see any of their faces. I just knew they were four in numbers. And they weighed heavier than me. Their shadow stretched across the wall, grotesque monsters with way too many limbs.
“I want you to know that you deserve this.” A sharp ache rippled between my thighs as one shoved himself inside me, hard, rough, while the others held down my hands, my legs, muffling my screams. “So stay still and take it like a good girl.”
“I see you have never had a man down there,” he cackled and the rest joined in. “So fucking tight.”
“Hurry up,” another uttered, the sound of a zipper piercing through the chaos in my head. “You can’t take all the fun.”
“There’s plenty enough to go around,” the one on top of me said, pulling out only to slam harder into me, gravel biting into my skin at every wicked thrust. “She’s still so fucking moist.”
They continued to laugh as they took turns. Some went twice, some thought they needed more after the third one. So turn after turn, thrusts after thrusts, punches after punches, they soiled me, they stole my innocence, they milked me dry.
Screaming wouldn’t help. Yet I screamed until my throat was raw. Until the stars above blurred into nothing. Until I couldn’t feel my body anymore.
I faded.
I drowned.
I—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
My body jerked, my breath hitching as the sound of the alarm ripped me from the nightmare.
A long gasp tore through my chest, my heart hammering against my rib cage.
My finger clawed at my throat, tugging violently at their wicked grips, the phantom presence of their fingers pressing and suffocating.
For the first few seconds, I wasn’t in my room. I was still there, the dark alleyway before Rue Augustin Boulevard, with the scent of filth and blood coating my tongue, the echoes of laughter crawling beneath my skin.
But the faint glow of the nightstand lamp grounded me, and the alarm clock that glowed 6:30 a.m.
I swallowed hard, rubbing my face as I forced myself to breathe. I ran a finger through my hair, the heels of my palms pressing into my eyes, exhaustion weaving into my bones.
I glanced down at my body. Sweat beaded on my skin, and the cotton sheet wrapped around me was damp, clinging to my body.
I rolled my neck to work out the stiff muscles, then finally dragged myself out of bed.
The house was eerily quiet as I stepped into the hallway. Subconsciously, I glanced at Mother’s door, the emptiness inside echoing. Whatever mission she went for, I hoped it would be extended till another week. Two weeks without her wouldn’t be so bad.
I slipped into the empty bathroom, internally wincing at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were hollow, dark bags looking like bruises under my lid.
I looked like the undead.
My lips pressed in a thin line as I shook my head, not so impressed. I couldn’t imagine the amount of concealer I was going to need to cover that today.
Pulling off my clothes, I stepped into the shower, turning on the faucet. Steam rose around me, fogging the air. I tilted my head back, letting the scalding heat burn the remnant of the dream off my skin.
But the memories Mr. James Donald had managed to unlock with his display in class yesterday were strong and raw, flashing behind my closed eyes. The darkness, the hands, their wicked words.
“I hope you know you deserve this.”
“Your father took many lives. You should pay the price.”
“Maybe if you stopped screaming like a banshee, you might actually enjoy this.”
“I should fill you up with my seed. But what’s the guarantee you won’t infect the child with your family’s curse?”
“Hold down her fucking hands, I wanna come so fucking hard in her mouth since her cunt is off limit.”
“Fucking daughter of a monster. You deserve everything you’re getting.” Their words were layered with spite. “You deserve being forced to take four cocks in your tight, little cunt.”
B–but I was just 10. I wondered if they knew I was just a 10-year-old girl. I was innocent. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my warm tears mixing with the hot water cascading down my face.
My father’s sin was never meant to be mine.
And yet, the world and fate itself thought so.
And over time, I started believing so too.
Because even the Holy book said it. And the Holy book wouldn’t lie, would it?
The sins of the father shall be visited on the child’.
So if the maker of heavens thought I deserved it, who was I to disagree?
So I would take it. Whatever the world threw at me. If the universe believed this was what I deserved, then I would take it without mumbling.
But I was scared. I didn’t want to live through that horror again. If Mr. James Donald decided to tell my secret to the world, dig up the bones I buried, would history repeat itself? What would become of me?
I stayed under the spray until the water turned cold. Then I forced myself out, wrapping a thin white towel around my body.
The routine was automatic, like that of a robot would–lotion, deodorant, brushing my hair into something presentable, something attractive, then my uniform.
By the time I sat in front of the mirror, the shirt I ironed till the edges became as sharp as a blade last night, clung to my skin.
I applied enough concealer under my eyes, dabbed a little bronzer on my cheek. I needed to look pretty. If I didn’t, no one would want me. No one would take another look at me.
I unscrewed the cap of my cherry red lipstick, bringing it to my lips, but a knock on the front door made me pause.
I glanced at my door which was left open, peeking into the hallway. I didn’t hear any car pull up at my house. So, it was definitely not Kenzo. He wouldn’t have bothered coming in. He hated coming inside in the morning because he couldn’t stand the chance of stumbling into Mother.
I rose to my feet after applying multiple layers of the lipstick. The knock came again as I exited the room, then louder when I walked into the living room. The first echo of the fourth knock came at the same time I pulled it open.
And for a fleeting moment, I wanted to be relieved at the sight of the man before me. I even almost was. His scent was crisp and familiar…but not entirely the same.
He stepped fully into my line of vision and the air shifted, thickening with something suffocating, jagged.
My heart began to pound.
It was still not Callan.
It was him.
That…thing.
After he dropped me off that day, I was hoping the next time I would see this face, it would be the man whom I really wanted to see. Not a version of him that was carved from cruelty.
He didn’t wait for an invitation. He strode in like he owned the place, not caring that he and I had no relationship.
He didn’t care. He didn’t seem to have been built to care. He wasn’t Callan.
“Hi,” I said anyway, but softly, hesitantly, as I slowly shut the door.
I followed behind him quietly, cautiously, my legs slightly trembling as he walked into the middle of the room. I stopped when he stopped, a long breath leaving my lips when he turned around, inspecting the room.
He slid his hands into his pockets, the diamond watch on his wrist catching the light. Then slowly, he tilted his head, gaze raking over my body, lingering on my chest where a few of my buttons were still left undone, while my tie loosely hung in a strange knot.
Something sharp and wrong flickered in his golden eyes, a darkness that threaded anxiety down my spine.
I didn’t know what he came here for. I didn’t know what he planned to do with me.
I wished he wouldn’t come back to hover around me.
But at the same time, he was my only connection to Callan.
Only through him did I have a shot at reaching Callan.
If he had to be here, breathing down my neck for Callan to return to me, then I would endure it.
Callan was a special someone. He deserved to be fought for.
“I called your phone,” he said calmly, voice velvety-deep. “Fifteen times.”
“I didn’t see it.” My fingers curled under the hem of my skirt, clutching it.
I truly didn’t see his call. My phone was on silent. It slipped into it yesterday, and it didn’t cross my mind to remove it. And I hadn’t even held the said phone since I woke up. I even forgot I had something called a phone.
To my reply, though, he simply nodded, his gaze shifting from me to the room, scanning the surroundings.
He stared at the cracked ceiling with water marks on it, sceptical, cautious, as if he was afraid the roof would collapse on his head if he stood too long under it.
I didn’t blame him. I often thought that too. The house looked like it was two hundred years old. And it wasn’t as though it was made from the most luxurious of materials.
“I need to see him,” I said after gathering all the courage I felt sufficient enough.
He raised a brow. “Who?”
“Callan,” I dared to say his name, knowing the name seemed to cause an itch, trigger a madness he couldn’t quite tame.
He tutted, jaw ticking as he took a slow step forward. “You’re hurting my feelings now, Elizabeth.”
The air shifted again, heavier now, more dangerous as he drew closer, until his body heat began to seep into mine, until I could smell the whiskey on his breath. Wasn’t it too early to be drinking? Did he even eat breakfast? Proper food?
“Here I am.” His voice was tinged with something possessive, something unhinged. “all of me, standing in front of you, so fucking early in the morning. And yet, you’re asking for another man?”