Page 10 of SKIN

His fingertips brushed against my cheek, and then panic had me ducking under his outstretched arm and sprinting for the door. He gripped my wrist and slammed me into the far wall. My head snapped back with the impact and I felt a sharp chill and a slight dampness that likely meant I was bleeding. The adrenaline kept the pain at bay as I struggled beneath his grip.

This had all been part of his game. Foreplay for a man who got off on breaking me. If my brief time in captivity hadn’t told me as much, the way his dick pressed into my stomach certainly did. He restricted my breathing with the webbing between his thumb and forefinger while his free hand shredded my hospital gown down the middle in his urgency to take what he wanted.

The moment he had unrestricted access, he spit into his hand. Slapped the saliva between my thighs and penetrated me. I hadn’t even heard him loosen his zipper before the bare skin of his pubic bone was grinding into me like some beast during mating season. The force of his thrusts had my spine scraping against concrete, while layers of flesh peeled away with each back-and-forth motion.

I had no choice but to lean into him, clawing at his shirt with both hands to relieve some of the pressure from my raw skin. His animalistic grunts warmed my ear, and before I knew what I was doing, I was slamming my mouth on his and shoving my tongue down his throat to muffle the sound. He tried to pull away and I sank my teeth into his bottom lip deep enough to taste copper.

“Emily,” he hissed in warning. Though I didn’t know what about. Whatever it was, he seemed to change his mind, or lose his conviction as he dropped me onto the cot, spreading my thighs as far as they could go as he pressed between them and continued to drive forward.

This was the point where consent and the complete lack of it blurred. I didn’t want this or him. To be caged against my will or be treated like an animal. What I wanted was to be human. Feel human. Escape the pain for a moment and make the best of a terrible situation. Which I understood didn’t make much sense. But neither did being imprisoned by a stranger who swore he knew me better than myself. If he did, this would be a good time for him to explain a thing or two about why I was so broken.

My back was on fire, but the stiff canvas material was far more forgiving than the wall, and if it weren’t for the friction burns and the fact I fucking hated him, the experience would almost be pleasant. His rhythm decreased from frenzied to impassioned, which eased the strain on my tired muscles.

I closed my eyes and imagined I was somewhere else. With someone else. But this man had imprinted himself on my brain. And his beautifully grotesque features were the only thing I could conjure up. So I decided to work with what I was given and deal with how fucked up I was later.

If there was a later…

I skimmed a hand down his face, over the thick scars that marred his skin, and pressed my mouth to his again, offering myself like a sacrificial lamb to this monster, who at his core was just a man. At least that’s what I wanted to believe.

He hummed my name, breathing in the scent of my hair as he finally came undone. And put an end to his brutal assault on my body.

I should have felt dirty. Used. Disgusted with myself. But all I felt was relief that it was over and I was still breathing.

16

HER

DAY 4

He’d fallen asleep on top of me. And for a brief moment, I saw him in a different light. In the very real darkness. I guess we all had our demons to fight—some were just more ruthless than others. Not that it excused anything the sick fuck had done to me. Just that it helped explain his motives.

Was this what Stockholm Syndrome felt like?

I was aware enough to realize there wasn’t much of a chance of me getting out of here. If nothing else, the man was intelligent. Calculated. And I was no match for that. I could be tender or I could be cruel. I had a much harder time switching between the two.

Meanwhile, my friend here was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Sometimes both at once. It must have been exhausting. To have all that pent-up rage inside you.

Part of me wanted to reach up a hand and stroke his cheek. I was curious about the underlying damage, about what really caused him to become the monster on the outside that matched the one I recognized on the inside. It was obviously a result of trauma. Some sort of accident. And deep down, I knew it had to do with a woman.

Maybe I reminded him of her? Whoever she was…

I was so lost to my thoughts it took me a moment to hear the tapping. My heart thrummed in my chest when I realized it was coming from the other side of the door. There was someone else here. Which could either be my damnation or saving grace. Though one instance was much more likely…

But at this point, what did I have to lose?

“Help…” I hissed the word, simultaneously hoping that whoever it was could hear me and that the man whose full-body weight was presently holding me down couldn’t.

There were a few beeps of a keypad before the door swung open with a loud screeching sound and the clanking of metal, revealing a blurry silhouette standing at the threshold. Their features obscured by a fuzzy mask and… bunny ears?

“Yo, Frankie,” the baritone voice called out at the same time it hit me that this man wasn’t my savior any more than the one holding me captive.

17

HIM

Iwoke with a start. Fuck. I’d passed out. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept for more than a few hours at once. The lingering pain was a son of a bitch, nearly as agonizing as the nightmares that always ended with my face burning off and melting into a puddle in my hands.

PTSD was one sick fuck. It turned your mind against you. And there was no escaping that shit.

---