Page 9 of Alamort

I struggle against his hold, now banded across my abdomen. His knife sinks in deeper before the pressure leaves momentarily to grab something from his pocket as I suck in a lungful of air.My breaths come out short and shallow. Dread forms a hollow pit in my stomach.

What is his plan? The pain isn’t an issue. I can deal with that. It’s second nature at this point. Not knowing how far he plans to go,thatmakes my stomach turn. A loud rip and a thud hits the ground behind us. Tape covers my mouth. His arms are a strait jacket wrapped around me, plugging my nose over the tape. If I thought I couldn’t breathe before, hereallymade sure I’d have a problem doing so now.

He sinks his teeth into the juncture of my shoulder. I screech behind the tape. He broke skin. My breaths come in ragged gasps, fighting to keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks. “Don’t cry, don’t cry” is on repeat. Years of abuse coming in handy for once.

“Are you going to cry? I hope you do,” he coos. The preparation for this is obvious. My lungs burn, my head is light and dizzy until he suddenly releases my nose. I draw in as much air as my nose will allow, cursing him under the tape. It comes out as nothing other than a muffled complaint, that he blatantly ignores.

His teeth scrape roughly at my pulse point and goosebumps rise across my skin. The bite now feels entirely numb. It has to be bad if it’s numb. Or it’s the adrenaline masking the pain because he’s trying to fucking suffocate me. My mind is slow and sluggish, but every nerve feels like it’s on fire. It could be the feeling of being so close to death. It’s closer to my sister, would it be that bad knowing I’ll see her?

I shake my head at the heady feeling of what he’s doing to me. Is it wrong to feel this way?

His hand slowly disappears into the front of my jeans, my stomach erupting with butterflies. The scrape of a pointed edge causes my breath to hitch. Slowly inching lower where no one but myself has been. I focus on a fixed point on the ground tostand stock still. I’m not about to get carved like Freddy fucking Krueger's plaything. He pulls out the knife and brings it to his lips. From my peripheral vision, his tongue flicks out to lick the flat part of the blade. The tip covered in blood where he nicked me. My thighs squeeze together simultaneously, my eyes shut, trying to sort out my body’s response.

Removing the knife from his mouth, “Oh? You like that?” There’s a smile in his voice. I shake my head like my life depends on it. “Then why can I feel the heat of your pussy through your jeans?” His voice is husky as he whispers in my ear. “Why is your heart suddenly racing?” His tongue pushes against my pulse to prove his point. “Are your nipples hard? I don’t like liars. There’s nothing wrong with liking it. We all have our own kinks. Yours just happens to be outside in the middle of the woods with a stranger.”

My stomach drops. I don’t know what made me think he wouldn’t notice when every part of his body is resting against mine. Shame burns my cheeks. My brain continues making excuses to exculpate my reaction, anything to not think about his fingers.

“Does it hurt?”

I nod frantically, hoping that’ll put a stop to this. “Good.” He chuckles darkly. My thighs rub together an effort to alleviate the tingling. His body pushes me roughly against the tree, face first. The hardness hidden behind his jeans pushes up into me, causing a spark to ignite in my core. Putting more of his weight onto my body, the bark of the tree cutting into my skin along with the finger he slowly pushes deeper into the front of my jeans. Inch by agonizing inch.

I stand on my tiptoes to quicken his pace. I might as well get it over with. Then he abruptly stops, sliding to finger the side where the string of my panties rest on my hip. The knife dips into the side of my jeans, nicking the soft skin, leaving a slighttingle in its place before he does the same thing to my other side. The fast movement is far more uncomfortable than the knife. Quickly ripping my panties from my jeans, rubbing against my skin like a fucking rug burn.

My face is the color of a tomato. How horrifying to be pushing him closer to -. I stop, unable to admit to myself what I was doing.

“In case you thought of running to the ‘headmaster’ as he likes to call himself, you’ll find that he answers to us. And you don’t want to upsetme.” His threatening words contradict his soft tone. “Or do. I’d like to play again.”

Then he shoves me down to the ground. I curl up in fetal position, making myself as small as possible to seem unthreatening. When what I really want to do is castrate him. Show him what I can do with my razor. He cuts whatever was holding my wrists and I bring them over my head.

“Eventually I’ll mark your skin where everyone can see it.” Pressing down roughly on the bite mark, I flinch, holding back a whimper. He seems to get off on my reactions. “If it was up to me, we would have had more fun tonight... Next time.” He promises, his footsteps slowly recede into the night.

I blink in disbelief.

What the fuck just happened? My body and mind are at war with each other. I don’t know what I feel. It was wrong. I want to get back to the safety of my bed to hide from the world. On shaking legs, I hastily zip my jeans since he cut the button off, and sprint as fast as I can to the dorms, avoiding being seen or stopped by anyone.

A cold sweat breaks across my flushed skin as I feel inside my bra. Hoping the key card to get into my room is still there. I slow down when I get to the glass doors that lead to the common room of the dorms. My heart is racing. The feel of eyes on me crawl over my body. The same slimy feeling I got at the gasstation. I peek over my shoulder once more to make sure no one is behind me and slink into the safety of the dorms.

Sinner, Pt. 2- Phora

Conflicted thoughts bounce around my head like Newton’s cradle, “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. I pass through the doorway feeling like a shaken-up soda. Pressure that’s building up inside my head, ready to explode the second air hits.

With shaking hands, I pull my matches out of my jeans, starting clockwise and going counterclockwise to rub at the frayed edges, repeating the action until the elevator dings on the third floor. I peek my head out, looking both ways. I’m not up for any unnecessary surprises or unwanted conversations.

Quietly making my way to my door. The gears click into place, the light on the door turns green. As soon as my hand hits the door, relief washes over me. That feeling is short-lived.

“Hey! Priya! You’re back—,” River stops. I don’t have the strength or mental capacity to explain or deal with anyone tonight. I push my door open and go to shut it behind me, meeting resistance. My heart races. Is the fight or flight finally kicking in?

I catch my reflection in the window. My eyes widen at the look of my not so clean face. My hair is more disheveled than when I had seen myself at the gas station. Dead leaves and bark are stuck in my hair and clothes. Spinning around, I come face to face with River. Her hand pushes against the door, preventing it from shutting. Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. She must see something in me that makes her remain silent. It would have been comical if I wasn’t so drained.

“That bad, huh?” I say with a halfhearted laugh. She closes her mouth. She gives my body a once over as she takes stock of the visual damage. I've had my fair share of judgment, envy, disgust, admiration, hate, and even snobby sneers from the people I've had to associate with in my “privileged life”. But pity is not an emotion I’m familiar with. It makes my skin itchy. Do I really look that pathetic?

She does as she did earlier, wiping off any emotion and pushes inside my room, allowing the door to softly click closed. She heads straight for the bathroom. The water turns on and splashes against the tiles.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, debating on telling her I’m not up for company tonight. She reappears in my bedroom, standing in front of me before gesturing towards the running shower. Taking the hint, I grab my black bag and rush to the bathroom, locking myself inside. The white marble with grey veins reminds me of home. An enormous mirror covers the wall, and I hurriedly turn away from it. I can’t stomach to see myself weak.

My mother would be so disappointed, my father furious. What would Addi say? Frowning, I strip off my clothes without looking, reach into my bag, and step into the shower. Grabbing the handle of the faucet to turn the water up as high as it can go. Then, I sink down to the ground to do my ritual.

I swear, I try to talk myself out of it by thinking of Addi, but that only makes it worse. I could be with her if I wasn’t such a pansy. We’d be together in death, just like we were in life. I look at my upper thighs. My body bears countless self inflicted scars. The ones from the day my sister left puckering, turning pink and the older ones resembling deep white stretch marks. The familiar sting of the blade pushing on to old cuts brings out a shuddering breath of sweet relief.

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