It was like she was right out of Woodstock. And I’ll admit it, I might have salivated a little at the sight of her. The way her hair moved, the way I could smell the sweet scent of her shampoo and the flowers. The way her body looked in her costume, so perfect and just beautiful. Truth be told, while there was nothing tight or revealing about Evie’s outfit, she managed to get me hard just by how soft and feminine and even more gorgeous she looked today.
So I needed a distraction. And football, with its hard hits, stinky guys, and grueling duels managed to help rein me in.
“Of course, I’m going. I wouldn’t miss you guys playing against Grand Junction for the world,” she beamed at me and I felt my breath catch at her enthusiasm and the smile she directed my way. “My dad is super excited too. He says if you guys play this game well, a championship is a sure thing.”
I couldn’t help it. I smiled bright and dumb. “It certainly will help our chances.”
“You going to the dance after?”
I wasn’t expecting the question, though looking back, I was talking about Homecoming. Not that far off to ask. So I fumbled for a moment. “Oh, um, probably not,” I stuttered. “Not really my scene, you know?”
“Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that. Mr. Popular and all. Isn’t that what all those teen movies say, anyway?” she teased.
I laughed lightly, feeling my cheeks heat to what I was about to confess. “Uh yeah. I’m not exactly the greatest of dancers. At least not to an audience. My sister and the broken toe I gave her at our grandparent’s vow renewal can testify to that.”
“Such a shame. Knew there had to be at least one flaw in all that pretty.”
“You think I’m pretty?” I’ll admit it, even though she was poking fun at me, I was incredibly flattered and kind of delighted to hear these words from her. Looking back, I should have pushed it further. Because I definitely thought she was pretty.
“I’m sure dozens of girls are pouting as we speak that you either didn’t ask them, or you won’t be there,” Evie laughed, ignoring my question and I couldn’t help the blush that took to my cheeks. “It’s not really my scene either. Bethany kept begging me to go with her, but why would I want to sit around a dance while she and Troy make faces at each other from a distance? Would help everyone out if they’d just hook up already.”
I agreed with her but then stopped short. “What about you though? I’m sure there were several guys who are disappointed themselves.”
Her smile turned shy, almost wistful. “Actually, no one asked me,” she answered in a soft voice. “Which is just as well, since I hadn’t planned on going anyhow, you know?”
I must have looked dumbstruck, because she waved her hand in front of my face. “No one asked you? That’s crazy!” I knew for a fact several of my friends had wanted to. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t. “I can’t believe no one asked you. Unless they thought you were going with Jeremy?”
“Ha, yeah, no. That’s been, yeah. Besides the fact it’s too long drive for a silly dance,” she stumbled and it made me wonder if there was something more there. But more than wondering about whether Evie’s feelings for her ex were still viable, it also made me wonder why I felt some sort of twinge in my belly at the thought that her feelings were still there.
Unconsciously rubbing the spot I’d felt the pain, I shook my head. “That’s too bad. That you weren’t asked, I mean. A beautiful girl like you should dance to her heart’s content.” I felt like a jackass after the words were out of my mouth, but they couldn’t have been stopped. And while I might have felt dumb, I didn’t really regret them. But I wasn’t done. My tongue was off and running “Just out of curiosity. If uh, I had asked you, would you have, you know, said yes?”
Her shy smile turned coy. And it lit up her eyes. “Hmm, I don’t know. I thought dances weren’t really our thing?”
Class started after that so I never did get a real answer out of her. And in a way, I was sort of grateful for that fact. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, and I didn’t know how’d I’d have reacted to any real answer she’d have given. Either way, her words did something funny to me. Made me feel something funny inside. It was weird, but I kind of like it.
EIGHT
There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.
~Washington Irving
I vomited on the way back to our prison cell.
Multiple times. It’s possible I didn’t stop the whole trip back.
My guilt at hurting Evie so fierce, it needed to expose itself somehow. My stomach desperately trying to expunge the evil.
Jackson was not there when we were returned to the dark. I had no idea where he might have been, since the usual two had been with us. Still, even in the midst of the pain running through my head I couldn’t help but wonder how big our prison really was. And how many captors there were.
Harming hands had redressed us, touching, unwanted; places no longer ours to hold.
In a reversal, I couldn't bear the sensation of Evie near me. My disgrace so great I felt like clawing at my skin until there was nothing left of me. What I’d done… I couldn’t stand myself. And worse yet, was the knowledge her blood from the forced penetrations, and my ejaculate, was still all over me, was still visible under her clothes down her legs.
It was only in her cries so full of complete despair that I realized this was not my disgrace alone. And she needed my strength as much as I needed hers. Our humiliation was shared. Locked in invisible chains. Tied. Bound. As we had become. Now permanently. To each other.
"I'm so sorry, baby. I am so very sorry." My words felt hollow. Empty. No apology could cover the injustice done upon us. No pretty words could make right this nightmare.
She shook her head against my chest. "I… I don't blame you," she sobbed and I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream so loud that she should. But it was her next words that gave me a moment of understanding. "You sa-saved me from them. From what they… would have done to me."
I didn't have anything to say to that. It was so wrong that she was right. It was so devastatingly wrong that was right.
The things they would have done. The horrible things that would have done to her. The way they would have truly hurt her. Every movement she made, whimpering from what I'd been forced to do to her, knowing they would have…. Knowing she would have….
My stomach rolled again.
When Jackson was returned, his breaths wheezing, he left us to our space. Not that I let myself think too much about him. I had more important things on my mind.
But after a while, he moved toward where we were huddled. Moved to where we sat, broken and shamed.
He was so close I could feel his presence, feel his body heat right behind me.
"Whatever they did to you, I am so very sorry." His voice was soft, sincere, filled with horrifying understanding. His hand appeared on my shoulder, lightly squeezing through the tremors wracking my body. "I am so very sorry they've hurt you. I wish there was some way to help you. Wish there was some way to erase all of this."
"Thank you," I managed to croak wishing the same.
I let Evie's tears soak my tattered shirt. I let mine fall into her hair. Branding us. And I prayed for an end.
But we’re not that lucky.
We are fed the bare minimum, sandwiches stale and old, bordering on spoiled and moldy, and given just enough water to keep us right above malnourished. Many times I considered letting myself starve, consider allowing hunger to defeat me, but knew the torture Evie would suffer as a result would leave me in eternal guilt. And there would be no greater hell than that guilt.
After that first time, after that first desecration, I longed for the darkness. Anytime light would flood the room, I would beg for death. Sometimes aloud. Most times in quiet prayer.
And each time, I would be push
ed beyond my ability to think. Pushed beyond the limitations of sanity and its fragile thread.
I've done nearly everything sexual there is to do with Evie. And none of it has been our choice.
Her mouth has engulfed me several times, her throat coated with my guilt stricken climax. My tongue has taken her, taking in the very essence of her being. And as our arms were restrained, her bottom held taut, I was pushed into her from behind in an act that left her unable to sit without crying for a long time.
It was after that last act where starvation looked even more appealing.
On four occasions, the groping hands took Evie alone. No matter how hard we fought against them. Each time she returned, I could feel her warmth falling away as though they were able to steal it with their cruelty.
I was taken alone only twice. But that was more than enough. The woman with the voice too full of honey had toyed with me, playing and arousing until I was coming down her throat. Then she would make me go down on her as she pulled my hair to the point of pain. The anguish at the fact that my anatomy enjoyed her mouth tore me apart.
All while her two minions watched.
I wish I could be grateful they’d never made me have sex with her or anyone else. But it was a useless appreciation. Because of the times they’d taken Evie. The times she’d never tell me about.
I couldn't let myself imagine the monstrous things they undoubtedly did to Evie and made her do. I couldn’t let myself think without wanting to rip my brain from skull with my bare hands.
I can't recall how many times we've been taken now. For as long as we’ve been here, I’ve no doubt the number is high.
Each time, it never gets better. It never gets easier.
Though, I am thankful that I no longer physically hurt Evie when we are forced to be together. It doesn’t change the fact that she – we – still hurt. But still. Her body’s physical discomfort has lessened.
The first couple of times they forced us to have sex were painful for her. The second time was nearly immediately after our first so I know she was still extremely sore and no doubt hurt from the forced penetration. I made sure to avoid looking at the fluids still present on our bodies.
But now…now Evie likes to hide in her mind. She tells me she imagines the two of us somewhere romantic. Paris, Venice, on a beach in Tahiti. She imagines we're in love, the crazy passionate kind, and when we have to perform, it's because we've been teasing one another until we can't take it anymore.
It works because it has to.
The places our mouths travel on each other's bodies, the joining of our parts; she has turned into a love story to survive it. Though I imagine it makes the acts less painful if she can "arouse" herself somehow.
It kills me to think she has to do that at all.
I haven't told her this nightmare has made me realize that I am in love with her.
That it’s not pretend for me.
It's so messed up. But I now know those fluttering's I was feeling in the school parking lot that night, the ones I didn’t quite understand at the time but realize I’d been having for quite a while, were because my feelings for her had started to allow themselves to be known. Sitting beside Evie in class, chatting with her when we could; all of it added up to respect and adoration.
Adoration had led me to start to feel something more than friendly toward her. My heart would cease to beat without her.
This experience has made me realize I would die without out her.
Jackson told me the other day he found out the New Year has begun. He says he overheard the two minions speaking about the Super Bowl. That means we've been held captive nearly three months now.
And it keeps getting worse.
When we're alone like this, I allow myself to play in Evie's fantasy world. To vanish into its bliss.
I imagine we're at one of our houses, and to explain the darkness, the power's gone out from a storm moving through the valley, and we're just relaxing in a bed to wait it out. I imagine I've asked her to be my girl, to wear my letterman jacket, my class ring, and that she smiled her sweet smile at me when she said yes. I imagine that in a month I'll be asking her to prom, even though dances aren’t our thing, but we’ll make an exception this time. And then we'll be talking about our college plans.
I know she was accepted to Brown – I was there when she got the call from her dad about the letter in the mail, and with me heading off to Dartmouth, we discuss how to see each other as much as possible. Providence and Hanover are less than two hundred miles apart. It’s less of a drive than from Denver to Grand Junction, so I know it wouldn’t be that bad for us.
Mostly, I imagine we're safe, happy and truly in love. And I imagine that I can tell her without shame and stigma attached to my words. I imagine it because I don't know if I'll survive long enough to be able to live it.
NINE
Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.
~Anne Bronte
My feelings for Evie continued to grow every moment. It didn't matter the heartache.
It didn't matter the torment.
It didn't matter the shame.
She was who I wanted. What I needed. Evie was everything.
Even without this hellhole.
Jackson told me one day he could see it. Or more precisely, he could feel it.
He told me he could feel how deeply my feelings for Evie ran. He told me he could feel how much Evie felt for me too.
It was the same, he'd said. It was the same and it was beautiful.
Enviable, he'd said.
But he also said it was dangerous. Frightening.
Looking back, even though I should have, since it was clear as a summer’s day I had no real idea just how dangerous our affections for each other was to our survival.
Perhaps it was my mind allowing me to bask in the unspoken love we felt for one another. To hide in its cocoon. As though it held the power to shield
It felt safer that way. It felt easier.
The only pure thing we had left. The only good thing we knew any longer.
Even if we'd never said it aloud.
We held it to ourselves. And yet somehow exposed it to the world.
It was a mistake. It was a mistake I will never forgive myself for.
This last time was the worst yet.
This last time was annihilation.
As impossible as that sounds.
But that was the cold, hard truth.
They'd bound my hands, held a gun to my head and kept the whip to my back, to ward off struggle.
Because they knew I would fight. They knew I would do whatever I could, even if it cost me my life, to stop them.
So they took away my mobility. They took away my might.
And then they made me watch.
The little food that was in my belly vacated it immediately. Acid burning my flesh as it fled my insides.
Her cries. Her heartbreak. Her absolute shame. All of it. On display. And me, the unwilling audience.
The saccharine voice forced my eyelids open. Took away my ability to shut away the sight. The sounds enough will haunt me for eternity. But the sight! The sight has finished me.
Evie's imaginary world failed her this time. They'd used it against her.
She was wet. Aroused.
She was daydreaming. Escaping. Playing in her fantasy in preparation. Thoughts of me, of beautiful possibilities with me, before we were pushed to desolation. And for what?
Pushed passed the point of sanity and grief for amusement.
Taunts that she "likes it," that she "wants it," because "look at the whore! She's practically dripping for cock!"
It all played on repeat. A record broken against her torment.
Those words, her sounds, my inability to save her; I plead to die. I beg for Evie to die.
Please, God, please let us die now. That is my only thought. That is all I have left.
TEN
/> Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
~Edgar Allan Poe
Everything about me is desecrated.
If I could rip my flesh from my body, offer my heart to the devil and watch him devour it before me; it would probably not be as painful as this moment.
I don't remember our journey back to the room.
I can't remember feeling anything but absolute horror and disgust. At our circumstance. At our existence. At those around us.
But mostly at myself.
Even still, Evie holds to me as though I am not a monster. As though I am not the creation of evil itself.
I don't know how long we've been huddled together, our degradation its own being engulfing us.
It feels like minutes. Hours. Days. It feels like an endless span of endlessness.
The dark is, as ever, pervasive. It encroaches on my mind as well as my sight.
I long for it to swallow me whole.
My clothes, which she clings to with all that is left of her strength, are tattered, barely hanging together. And hers are worse. So much worse.
Redressed, once more with violent hands, they'd taken great pleasure in shredding at them while we stood, once more, tied to the rafters, pleading for mercy.
Pleading even after they ravaged her. Destroyed her. Finished me.
But it didn't stop them. The more you cried out, the more joy they took from their actions. Ripping away buttons. Cutting apart jean. Tearing delicate lace to pieces. And with our shredded clothes went the last vestiges of our dignity.
Her eyes are dead. Abandoned. I saw the emptiness in them as we reached our cell. Even shame is too much now.
"We have to get out of here," she cries silently into my chest. "I can't take any more of this. I can't, I can't, I can't."
"I know, baby, I know," I whisper, my lips brushing over her hair. I try to comfort her, but it's useless at this point. I can't even reassure myself anymore.
Where Darkness Dwells Page 4