Chapter 12
Light
Everything inside me is numb.
It’s a pity I don’t feel that way physically.
The sting of the water as it runs down my back and down the center of my ass cheeks reminds me of what has happened. As does the bruising around my neck. As does the painful piece of open skin in my mouth. Bitten off in the midst of what I refer to as The Reaping.
An event so significant in my life that it deserves its own title.
And why not?
My photographic memory replays it over and over like a stuck record. Except these lyrics are distorted. Ugly.
I never thought my ability was anything but a gift, even when James died.
Not until this very moment. Now I hate it. Wish I was never born with it.
I wish I were never born.
I shake my head, which does nothing more than shuffle the next scene into place.
Cream to match the marble tiles. Contrasting nicely with the black marble basins. I watch a drop of water cling to the tap, elongating before dripping off. The sound of it hitting the porcelain not heard over the grunting behind me.
My eyes drift back over to the cream door, wishing I hadn’t locked it. Wishing I had let Damon follow me in.
But hindsight is just that. And nothing will change this moment. Nothing.
He knows it. Said as much.
It was his intention.
Not just to bury himself deep inside me physically but to infect me in ways that no one else could see.
Deep in my soul, where the light starts.
Already trickling out of me to become darkness. As are the tears. Both out of my control.
Everything out of my control.
Shake my head. Pick up douche. Fill with water. Gently push the bulb between my forefinger and thumb when the tip is inserted. Repeat.
Motions. Like a robot. Because I cannot feel anymore. Cannot be anymore. I am gone.
Blood pours down my inner thighs, swirling below me and disappearing down the drain.
I use up all the liquid in the small container.
It’s not enough. I feel dirty. I fear the feeling will never go away.
“You are already ready for me, but just in case.” Spit, rub, thrust.
Pain.
Was this because of what I did with Damon? Did I ask for this? Deserve this ?
He said I did. He said that it was what I wanted.
The Reaper. An apt nickname for the thief of immaterial things. However, at this moment, I wish for the Grim Reaper instead. At least he has mercy.
He should have killed me. It was right there. He could have done it. My finger touches the side of my temple, where I can still feel the cold metal of the muzzle of his gun.
“Sienna.” Douche clatters to the floor. My heart makes itself known. It is beating uncontrollably. Surprisingly. I thought it was broken.
“Are you okay?”
No. “Yes. I will be out in a minute.” Hoarse. Painful. The doctor says my voice will return to normal in a couple of days.
His footsteps don’t go far.
We are in my new place. I would have been jumping joyfully had Sienna OG walked into it just an hour ago. But she is gone, leaving this shell behind.
I pinch my skin, registering the pain. But it feels like something.
And so, I dig my nails in. Deep. Until it draws blood.
A drop trickles down the curve of my arm before meeting the water below.
Cold water. I turn off the tap and take stock of my arm.
Four little half-moons look back at me. Just down from where the needle was stuck in my arm.
Full panel of blood tests. Precautionary.
But my mind was clear of the images for that brief moment.
Who knew? Covering pain with pain.
When I climb out, I don’t bother looking in the mirror. I just dry myself off and then apply the cream the doctor gave me. It is uncomfortable. That area is unaccustomed to having something so slippery between it, serving as an awful reminder. The package says fast absorbing. I pray it’s not a lie.
“It will take a while to heal. There is a lot of tearing and trauma, and the area is prone to infection.”
“How long?” Hoarse. Croaky.
“Every body is different. But Sienna, it’s not the body that takes the longest to heal.
It’s the mind. Here are details of a support group for women who have been through what you have.
And here is the name of a psychologist specializing in this kind of trauma.
She is also a friend of mine. I know her, and I know she can help you. ”
Been through what I have.
I have become a statistic. A number. Nothing more.
The Reaper wore a condom, so there was no semen for DNA, though they did swab for saliva traces. The police did not look hopeful. He wore a mask and suit, blending in with the surroundings. Without a description of ‘the perp,’ as one officer put it, finding whoever did this would be challenging.
I wanted to look up statistics on how many rapists were ever apprehended, but I didn’t have my phone. It must be at Lady Chatman or with Damon.
Damon. The look on his face when he saw me gagged and tied up.
Another image to add to the ever-growing collage of moments I would rather forget.
He was livid. He crackled with barely contained rage.
Nuclear. I could tell by the deathly way he asked me who did this to me.
He didn’t shout. But he didn’t have to. It’s like watching a python just before it strikes.
While seeing him then filled me with relief, being alone with him now just makes me anxious.
Part of me blames him. I know it isn’t fair. But I do. I would never have been there if it wasn’t for him.
And while this place is nice, I miss my home—the one I was in just yesterday. When things were simpler, and my biggest worry was whether I had enough milk for my coffee for the week because I didn’t want to go to the store.
Vanilla.
My life was vanilla before, but now it is just dark.
As I step out of the bathroom, the smell of my old life assaults me. Vanilla ironically. Mixed with lavender. Damon has lit some of my candles.
My new apartment is perfect. As if it was made for me. I just wasn’t sure which me.
The en suite bathroom exits into my room, the enormous four-poster bed draped with fairy lights and lace.
All my belongings are unpacked.
Had you told me yesterday that all my stuff would be packed away when I arrived, I would have insisted I do it myself. Today, I am grateful I don’t have to. It would sap the last of my energy. The only bit keeping me upright.
I pull on my fluffy pajamas. My comfort pajamas. Laid out on my bed like Damon knows.
It is close to six in the morning. You wouldn’t say with the automated blackout blinds, which make this room pitch dark if all the lights are out.
The Reaping took place at about one in the morning. Followed by a quick chat with the police, who arrived at the scene half an hour later. Then off to the hospital to get the rape kit done. All in all, it was a tiring and eventful day.
I am standing before the inviting bed when Damon enters the room with a mug of camomile tea and a book. One of mine. It was the one I was currently reading—a light-hearted romance about a hockey player and a news reporter.
When my eyes meet his, I expect pity, even some compassion. What I don’t expect to see is the hardness there. He usually looks at me gentler.
Damon moves around me, placing the mug of tea on the side table before pulling the covers back and stacking the pillows.
“In.” I do as I am told. Because I have no control anymore. It has been taken from me.
Damon pulls the covers over me and hands me the tea.
Then he moves around the bed to the other side, his grey sweatpants and white T-shirt-clad body, climbing in beside me but leaving a gap between us.
I tense, but he doesn’t touch me or edge closer. Without looking at me, he opens the book and reads where my little flower bookmark indicates my location.
Between the tea and Damon's voice, I don’t last long. But the sleep I have is fitful and plagued by The Reaper.
“I have been watching you.”
Thrust. Pain.
“The way you look at him.”
Thrust. Thrust. Grunt. Pain.
“He doesn’t care for you in the same way.”
Thrust. Squeeze neck. Thrust. Pain.
“Not the way I care for you.”
Grunt. Thrust. Pain.
“Fuck, you are so tight, baby. That's good. It must stay that way for me.”
Thrust. Squeeze tighter. Pain.
“He is a bad man. But I am worse. And if you let him touch you one more time…”
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. PAIN.
“Soon, Sienna. Soon you will be mine. ”
Thrust. Shudder. Squeeze. Reaping. Raping. Because everything is taken.
I wake with a start and then lean over, vomiting all over the floor next to the bed. Tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“Sienna, breathe.”
Damon is beside me, his hand stroking my shoulder while his other holds my hair back.
I am hyperventilating.
Damon hands me a glass of water, coaching me to take small sips.
Minutes pass as my breathing steadies. It isn’t until half the water is already down that I realize how strange it tastes. Then, I start feeling off—dizzy.
“Don’t worry, Sienna. It’s a sedative to help you sleep. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice is coming from a distance now as my eyes close. And then I am gone, into blissful darkness. A place where nothing exists. A place I want to stay.
When I wake up again, the room is still dark, but the bathroom light is on, shedding some light.
The bed beside me is empty. I smile and stretch out, the sudden pain from between my ass cheeks and around my neck flooring me as memories flood back. It really happened. I thought maybe it was a bad dream. But no. It is reality.
I eye the half-drank water next to my bed and toss the whole lot down, waiting for the darkness to take me back to the place where no memory exists. Minutes tick by, and then it comes, wrapping me in its fuzzy, comforting blanket and taking me away.