27. Beyond the Will to Fight #2
“I think I’m going to enjoy this more than you.” David’s voice was low, harsh and condemning.
I blocked him out, hyper focusing on the box. I threw my arm out as far as it would go, hitting the top enough so that the lid slid to the side. I just needed to get my hand inside of it.
But by then it was too late. I felt his cock against my bare skin and I knew.
The battle was lost.
My whole body wracked with spasms at the unprepared and uninvited entry.
My body switched instantly to lock down, tensing up to try and prevent the muscle from advancing any further into me.
It was no use. David’s thrusts were brutal, even when he was met with difficulty from my body’s defense.
I felt the sensitive tissue in me tearing slowly, blood trickling down the inside of my thighs.
I locked my jaw to keep from screaming out.
The pain was worse than I ever remembered.
My hand shook as I continued to try and retrieve what was in the metal container under my bed. I got close a few times, the tips of my fingers curled over the top of the box in an effort to bring it closer, or even flip it over. Anything that would give me access to what was inside.
Just when I thought that I was close, my fingers would slip off, unable to hold tight enough. My hopes soared and crushed each time.
“You’re awfully quiet,” David badgered. He continued to rape me as though it were nothing out of the ordinary—casual. For him, I guess it was. “I know you want to scream.”
I pictured him sneering.
“So scream for Daddy, Noah. Please me.”
His words made me sink my teeth into my tongue, so that only my heavy breathing could be heard. I would not make a sound. Not for him.
The taste of blood only made me bite down harder, allowing my mind to think of the searing pain in my mouth other than the places that were hurting me worse.
I tried to focus only on the flavor of the thick liquid, and not the fact that my own father, my flesh and blood, was using me for his own gratification.
What had happened nearly ten years ago had been easy to bury in the back of my mind.
I could try and forget. It seemed far away, like it belonged to someone else’s life entirely.
But this—this was so real that I couldn’t even fully grasp what was happening to me.
Again. It was happening again. The sound of David’s moans made me want to rip out his vocal cords and strangle him.
But most of all, I just wanted it to be over.
Soon, it will be over soon. My thoughts comforted me. You’ve been here before, it’s almost over.
All I could do was lay there and take the torture as it came, hoping that David would just complete the deed and leave me alone in silence.
David latched onto my hair, clawing into my scalp yet again. My neck strained. “Little bitch.” He rasped out, the sound of his skin slapping against mine increased in tempo.
He received nothing. No cry. No grunt of discomfort.
Dead silence.
I dug my nails into the floor as the bastard gained his golden finish, spilling into me.
The feeling of David withdrawing from within me wasn’t comforting either.
My body heaved and quaked as though I were being electrocuted.
Everything was burning and aching. It was difficult to feel my legs, even after he stood and began to put his clothes back on.
I wished that the numbing would start soon.
That way, the pain wouldn’t be so immense.
“You disappointed me Noah,” David said with a sigh, nudging my unmoving body with one foot. “I expected more of you.”
Hot tears streamed down my face. I didn’t move, for fear that if I did, there would be a round two of hell to pay. So I was still. And the feeling was like death.
I didn’t even care for the box anymore. What it contained was another handgun, and the bullets to make it a deadly weapon. Even if I did grab the gun, would I really have had enough time to take the bullets, load the weapon, and then shoot it?
Maybe.
But what was the point?
What would that man’s death accomplish?
David would still haunt my nightmares. The pain, the psychological abuse and torture would forever be in my heart. My childhood wasn’t ever going to be returned. Neither was my virtue.
This life, dare I call it that, was meaningless.
I had no reason to go on.
And I had nothing more in me to give.
I was empty.
Hollow.
If you were smart, David’s voice taunted. You would just end it.
“You’re nothing, Noah.”
A shell.
From my place on the floor, I heard the front door slam shut. David was gone.
I choked on dry sobs, granting myself permission to scream, every sound that I held back finally absolved. I laid there, in the mess of my own destruction, cursing every name that I knew, wishing for death. The tears were unending pools of sorrow.
After what seemed like an eternity, I winced and tried to pick myself up from the ground. I toppled over three times before my legs shakily brought me to my feet. I slowly led my swaying body into the bathroom.
I collapsed in front of the toilet and lost what little there was in my stomach. The contents in the porcelain were red, blood mixed with bile. I vomited again just looking at it.
I pulled myself off the floor once again and got into the bathtub, touching the delicate buttons that let the scalding water fill the bowl around me.
I could feel it burning my skin, but made no effort to change the temperature.
Taking a bar of soap I scrubbed myself ruthlessly, determined not to stop washing until I no longer smelled David.
No matter how hard I washed, it was as if the odor clung to my skin, refusing to be cast away.
The scent was of sex, disgusting and unholy, bringing back the reality of the physical pain inside my body.
I could smell blood—my own blood seeping into the bath around me, coloring the water a bittersweet garnet.
I shuddered and cried knowing that I could wash away the blood, the sex. Those were simple.
But there was something that couldn’t be abraded from my skin. From my being.
It was the essence of defeat.