Page 86 of Reckoning

I can see it, that look in his eyes, the want, the need, and then his eyes drop, his face turns from pure hunger to utter fury.

“What the fuck is that?” He growls.

I don’t need to look. I don’t need to see where his eyes are staring because I already know. I’ve kept my body hidden, have been careful to ensure no one sees even a hint of anything beneath my thick jumpers. But right now, I feel like I’m naked. Like I’m stood before him and he can see every awful scar. Every awful mark on my body.

I’m trembling, I’m shaking, I’m reduced back to that fearful creature I was, as a memory latches onto my mind.

…pinned down, held down, and, while they laugh, while they taunt, they take turns cutting into my skin, carving it up, before they’re raping me again.

“Sofia?”

I blink but my eyes don’t seem to focus.

My legs feel like they’re barely holding me up.

I can feel something being wrapped around me - a robe. I know on some level Koen is covering me but I’m still trapped, like a prisoner, caught up in my own head, caged within it.

And I can’t get out.

I can’t get free.

Sofia

We’re in my room. Koen’s room technically.

I’m sat on the bed. Again. And Koen is beside me, his arm wrapped around my shoulders to keep me upright.

Neither of us has spoken. Neither of us has said a word.

I can hear the clock ticking away what feels like hours.

Does he find me repulsive now that he knows there’s physical evidence of my abuse? Evidence that can never be erased. Can never be removed.

“Who did that to you?” He asks quietly, gently.

“I, I don’t remember.” I say. My voice sounds so meek. So pathetic.

“None of it?”

“Not their faces. I remember hands, I remember smells, the stench of their sweat as they…” My chest heaves at that admission and I think for second that I might just puke.

“You knew it was those men the other week.” He states.

“Yes, some faces I recognise. But most of it’s a blur.”

He frowns and I wait for him to repeat what the damned therapist said, that it’s better I don’t remember, better I try to forget. As if it’s that easy.

Only he doesn’t.

He just sits there, as if he wants to give me this moment to gather my thoughts.

“Do I disgust you?” Though I force them out, they sound like a whisper and I’m so fearful of what he’ll say, if he’ll say yes, if he’ll tell me that I’m everything I believe myself to be. Tainted. Degraded. Unhuman.

“Why would you?” He growls.

“Because of my body, because of what they did to me.”

He pulls me back, lies me flat on the bed and undoes the robe, baring me to him. I flinch but, before my terror can truly takeover again, he leans over and plants a kiss. It’s soft. Delicate. So light I barely feel it but I know he’s done it.

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