Page 38 of Fragmented Illusions
His touch is surprisingly light for the power and dominance he exudes and it’s startling. I want to move, I crave to move, but I don’t. Because I truly don’t want to. Our bodies can be so fickle sometimes. Saying one thing, while our brains—the rational parts of ourselves—say another.
And ninety percent of the time—perhaps more—they are correct. But do we ever listen to what our brains tell us? No. Because it doesn’t feel good. Following our bodies, ourfeelings,is what feels pleasurable, and we are a species who craves anything remotely gratifying.
“You’re going to wish you would have kept your mouth shut, my pretty girl,” he muses as his index finger trails through the small patch of hair on my pubic bone and straight down my slit. The stitched edge off his glove runs across my clit, oversensitive and engorged, and I suck in a heavy breath at the unexpected stimulation.
Without warning, he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger and the intense bite of pain causes me to cry out.
My eyes widen as tears well, distorting my vision, and his other hand grips the soft flesh of my inner thigh. I can feel each individual finger pressing into my skin, and I know whenever this is over—if I make it out alive—I will be covered in bruises and much… much worse.
Part IV
“Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone—”
—Edgar Allen Poe,Spirits Of The Dead
Chapter Ten
Fallon
I’m not going to survive this.
I was delusional to think I ever could.
Creepy comes back to my side and I notice something in his hands. In the dark, I can’t quite make out what it is, but it does stand out drastically in comparison to the black hoodies, pants, and gloves they’re wearing.
Shadows in the night—at least, they would be without those masks on their faces.
“Do we get to play now, brother?” Creepy asks, and I hold my breath as I wait for Silent’s answer. He seems to be the one in charge of the situation, which I feel like should be a relief because he’s more calm and calculating than the creepy one, but I’m pretty sure that means the exact opposite.
Wait.
“Brother?” The word slips from my lips without my permission. Silent doesn’t remove his hand from me, nor does he move an inch.
“Ah, damn. I guess the cat’s outta the bag.” Creepy sighs, shaking his head and then he’s leaning over my body, shoving something between my lips. My first reaction is to bite down on the intruding object in my mouth. When my teeth sink into something soft, I startle, not expecting it.
But of course, in my lapse, Creepy takes advantage of my immobility and shoves the intruding object further into my mouth, until it stops near my wisdom teeth, and ties it. I gag and retch as saliva pools in the back of my throat.
I cough and my body flies up, the urge to throw up burning my throat, but my body remains stationary. I dart my gaze around in a frantic haze, panic taking over.
It’s too familiar; screaming inside of my head but not being able to move a muscle. Lost, drowning in the voices, in the pain, but not being able to react. Not being able to do a fucking thing about it.
Only this time, it’s not me. I’m not in my head—I’m here in the now, living this nightmare of a fucking life with these men who are going to torture and kill me, I’m sure of it.
“Leave your mark on her to ensure she doesn’t forget who we are.” Silent’s voice breaks through the haze of my panic and a surge of anger filters through. I try to shout at them, but the fabric in my mouth muffles my words and the only sounds that escape are incoherent mumbling.
“What was that, pretty girl?” Creepy sneers in my ear, and I jerk my head to the side. My skull makes contact with his mask and pain blooms across my scalp as I hear a crack resonate through the too quiet room.
“Fuck!” Creepy shouts, albeit still quietly, and reaches for the edge of his mask, but Silent—hisbrother—darts his hand out and wraps his fingers around his brothers throat. With either of their hands no longer on me, I’m free to move, but I’m frozen.
I watch, rapt, as they stare each other down, not saying a word. If it wasn’t for the slight height difference and the fact Creepy always has his head tilted to the side, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart in their matching white masks and black clothing. Darkness with a flash of light.
Even in the darkness, I can make out their figures well enough through the moonlight filtering through my curtains. Silent’s fingers squeeze around Creepy’s throat before pulling away but Creepy doesn’t let him. Instead, he leans forward and presses his masked forehead against his brothers before detaching himself and stepping away. Silent’s arm drops to his side.
Without a word from either of them, Creepy stalks toward me and climbs onto the mattress, prying my legs apart as he does. Silent grabs my arms and pins them above my head as Creepy pins my legs down with his. His kneecaps dig into my flesh as he rests his full weight on my inner thighs.
Tears stream heavily down my face from the pain radiating through my legs—but that deep, throbbing pain is quickly replaced by a sharp, stinging one. A muffled cry pushes past my gagged lips as my body jerks off the mattress. Salvia trails down the corner of my mouth, running down my neck and pooling in the sheets below me.
