Page 8 of Depravity

“She’ll sennnd me away.” I state, revealing my hand, as if I think he might just realise how awful this place is, as if he might just have mercy on me, apologise and let me go. No harm, no foul. “If, if you do that, she’ll send me to Oblivion.”

We both know the truth of my words, just as we both know it’s his family that runs Oblivion. The horrors of that place don’t need to be spoken about out loud. Everyone knows exactly what goes on there, what the Blakes allow to happen in the name of ‘penance and redemption’.

He raises an eyebrow, that cocky look back on his damned face. “So, what’s one cock versus the hundreds you’d have to endure there?”

He’s right. On a certain level heisright, but I still refuse to give in. I still refuse to let him beat me.

He wiggles his dick. It’s hard, growing harder. No doubt the bastard is turned on by this prospect. Does he do this regularly? Does he get off on trapping and assaulting girls? Is that some sort of kink that he has, some sort of powerplay?

“Kiss it.” He says.

I gulp, hating myself but hating him more as I drop my knees, shuffling down enough that I can bend down and kiss him right where he wants. There’s a bead of something wet right at the tip - I don’t want to think about where it came from. As my lips make contact with the very head of him, he rocks his hips and my head screams out to lock my jaw, to clench my teeth, to not let him force his way into my mouth under any circumstances.

I might be a virgin, I might have zero experience when it comes to the opposite sex, but we’re taught in school all aboutthisand with a family like mine, I’ve seen enough demonstrations of how women are expected to comply, to know what he really wants.

He receives little more than a peck, but it’s enough to make me feel utterly disgusted all the same.

He tangles his hand into my hair, and I know from that action that he does want more. That he’s going to take it too.

But as his other hand moves to grab his dick better, I seize my moment. I scramble away, crash onto my knees and then I’m up, running for the door. Not caring about the noise, not caring that he’s got a whole handful of my hair snatched up in his grasp.

It’s only when I get to my room, it’s only after I secure my door so I know he can’t get to me, that I let out the last breaths of panicked air as I let devastation take over.

He’s here for six more days. Six days in which I won’t relax, I will barely sleep.

I thought my life here was bad enough before he came to stay. Now, I realise how blessed I really was.

I’m up with the dawn. Not that I stood a chance of sleeping.

What little I did get was peppered with nightmares, my mind going into overdrive about what happened last night, imagining that my grandfather had walked in and caught us. That he’d had me shipped off somewhere, that I was condemned, that everything he has threatened since the day I came to live with him is actually coming true.

My hands wrap around my body, giving myself a hug I so desperately need.

No one knows. No one saw a thing.

I know that’s the case, because if they did, then I wouldn’t be here. My family would have dragged me from my bed, and I’d already be in hell.

It’s a small comfort to know that. I feel like I’m on eggshells, that there’s a great glass pane beneath my feet and any second it’s going to crack in half, and I’ll fall into the abyss far below.

Conrad is here, in this house somewhere. All it will take is one more incident, one moment, where he is reckless, and it’ll be me who suffers the consequences.

I shake my head, forcing cold water onto my face to try and banish those awful thoughts. I’ve survived so far, haven’t I? I’ve lived here for fifteen awful years. I just need to hold my nerve, keep my head down, and wait. Once this marriage is done, once Giselle is gone, then I know I will have my chance. I know that every watchful gaze on me will ease off enough for me to escape.

And escape I will.

I have my bag packed already. I have it put aside, stashed away. When the moment is here, I will run and I will not look back.

But the moment is not today. The moment is not soon.

I pull out the diary, using those familiar entries to soothe myself. It was my mother’s. Within these pages, it’s like she’s still alive, still here. I’ve read the thing so many times that I can practically recite it word for word. I don’t know how it wasn’t destroyed, I don’t know how it evaded the destruction that my grandfather unleashed upon everything else she’d left behind. But I found it, hidden amongst the books in the library and now, it’s more precious than all the tea in China.

A light tap at my door makes me freeze. As quickly as I can, I stash the little black book away. I don’t trust anyone knowing about it. I know my father would happily destroy this the first moment he gets.

Light pours in as it opens and I see a maid walk inside with a tray.

I kept the curtains drawn, hiding in the darkness, pretending that I didn’t exist.

She glances around, trying to find some surface and then puts the tray down like there might be something nasty lingering in the air. Something contagious.

---