The Fidelity World_Shattered

by Somer Grey

  Without hesitation, she took what I gave. "Yes, sir."

  Fuck, I needed relief from this fantasy. My dick ached to be touched, but the receptionist who frequently filled my needs was out of the office. I was too hard to leave my office in search of someone to help relieve my hard-on. If I wanted to get any work done, I needed to pull myself out of my pants and jack off. My hand replaced Melissa’s heavenly body. One stroke and another, it wasn’t the same as a warm pussy, but it had to do. My hand continued to pull when my phone rang, bringing me back to the present.

  Ignoring the call, I let it go to voicemail as I worked my dick faster. My mind focused on Melissa's body, I pulled my cock even more fiercely. A few more yanks and I groaned in relief as I came harder than I had in a long time. Even so, I still had a semi.

  After a few minutes of panting, I walked to my private bathroom to clean myself up. One more year until my fantasy and Melissa's dream became a reality. I just hoped I could last that long.

  Chapter 2

  The Pain

  Melissa

  Tick. Tick. Tick. The noises from the hallway were drowned out as the large wooden door closed. The cold air sent a chill across my heated skin. The collision of the two temperatures confused my body. One minute it was on fire, and the next, chills ran down my spine. Neither would be victorious in their battle to overtake the other. Their fight would end in a draw as a thick layer of sweat coated the goose bumps.

  It didn’t take long, but eventually, I became numb to the temperature sealed into the room—it had evaporated into the fog that captured my mind. I felt absolutely nothing anymore. Everything was distanced as my mind blocked the commotion inside of the room. Its only mission was to find a safe place to hide, a spot where no one would discover me. Physically they would be able to see me, but mentally I would be lost to the world. I searched the room until the clock in the center of the wall came into focus. I hoped it would protect me and help me find the peace needed to escape. My eyes locked on the clock’s face, and I waited to be welcomed. Voices and noises finally vanished beyond my reach; I was no longer part of the world of hurt and betrayal. My mind created a new place—one of love, comfort, and above all, safety. Dark black arms welcomed me into its world and held me close. In reality, the rest of the world saw only a clock, but to me, it was the fortress that protected me from the truth. The inanimate object allowed me to escape, blocking me from the stares of sympathy and judgment. The thin hands stretched across the white face and slowly ticked, yet as the minute hand moved to the next number, nothing changed—time stood still. One minute wasn't any different from the one before, even though the hands sat on varied numbers. I didn't care because for now the clocked welcomed me into its kingdom, giving me a small piece of salvation. Soon, the only thing I heard or saw was the ticking of the clock and the hands on the face.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Real-time continued outside of my cocoon, but my new world embraced me and kept all the memories and pain of the last hours in the shadows. Everything disappeared into the bright light. I submerged myself in the darkness, or maybe I had gone into the light, and the world stayed in the dark. I wasn’t sure anymore. Memories of my childhood flashed before me.

  It was a time when life was much more straightforward. My only worries were the color of the dress to wear or who I played with that day. I stopped and smelled the flowers on my walk to school and sometimes brought scissors to cut one. I remembered once when I was caught cutting a purple rose from our neighbor's garden.

  Suddenly, it was all gone. I cried out, but no one listened. “Wait, don’t go.”

  A firm hand squeezed my shoulder bringing me back again to the here and now. The clock and memory were gone, and I was back in the cold, sterile room I’d escaped from earlier. The bright light shone down, and all the sounds from before bore into me. I didn't want to return to this horrid place. Why did they insist upon my return?

  A soft-spoken woman attempted to talk to me—her words were thoughtful and careful not to alarm me. She viewed me as the trapped animal cornered in the room with no escape.

  "Melissa, I am Dr. Caller." She knelt in front of the wheelchair where I sat and waited for my eyes to reach hers before she continued. A small smile and her soft blue eyes told me to trust, but my judgment had misled me in the past and wasn't something I had faith in at the moment. Dr. Caller brought her hands to my knee to earn my confidence. Her fingers were thick, and her face had soft lines around her eyes and mouth.

  "I’m going to be the one who examines you. Can you tell me what happened?"

  Her voice was gentle, and typically it would soothe me, and her tenderness would comfort, but this room refused to allow me relief. The bright lights and disinfectant smells took the luxury of peace away. My eyes darted around the room. She may be the one who would examine me, but we were not alone. The room was filled with others—so many eyes upon me. The judgment I’d felt moments ago multiplied. Now, not only was there a doctor and the man who found me, but two female nurses, a male police officer in a blue uniform, and another man whom I assumed was a detective since he was dressed in a brown suit.

  "Sir, we need you to leave."

  I wasn't sure who said it, but I panicked and grabbed the hand of the man who found me. My fingers dug into his skin like he was the only thing that kept me afloat. My words were lost, but my eyes told the story of my fears as they darted around the room before they again landed on the doctor with blond hair. The message was clear: I didn't want to be left alone with strangers—even if they wanted to help me. Terror traveled throughout my body, tremors shaking me uncontrollably. I needed someone familiar even if that someone was the man who manipulated me into a life of lies and deceit. No matter the past, now he was my only lifeline.

  The doctor leaned toward me and gently placed her hand on the side of my face, bringing my attention back to her. "Melissa, do you want him to stay?"

  My fingers wrapped even tighter around his hand as I pulled it closer to my chest and nodded.

  "Okay, he can stay—but he’ll need to leave for a few minutes while we collect your clothes. He will be right outside the door." She nodded to the door with a half window covered with a curtain.

  I held his hand a few more minutes before I released it. Once he and the ugly-suit man left, one of the nurses helped me stand and led me to a screen to disrobe. A white sheet lay below my feet with several boxes filled with supplies lying next to it as the nurses stood off to the side.

  "Melissa, my name is Julia—one of the nurses who’ll help you. I promise no one will hurt you." Her voice, like the doctors, was soft and patient, but it didn't calm me. She was about the same age as the doctor, but it appeared that time had been kinder to her.

  Our eyes met—hers a dark blue and mine probably a glassy, dull green. I listened to the nurse’s instructions as I clutched the plush beige blanket wrapped about my body.

  "I need you to take off your clothes, one at a time, and place them in separate bags, which I’ll hand you. I'll label each bag, seal it, and initial it to preserve the evidence for the police."

  I nodded, still unable to speak. Looking at her and then the ground where the sheet lay, it was as if she read my mind and answered.

  "Anything that falls from your clothes will land on the sheet. That will also be placed in a bag to ensure evidence isn’t lost."

  I didn't want to shed the little protection I had. It was my last shield before all the shame of what had happened was revealed. I dropped the blanket in the first bag already labeled. The nurse carefully picked up the bag, folded the top, and affixed tape that was marked evidence before she initialed it and handed it to someone on the other side of the screen. She must have sensed my anxiety because she stopped to explain that it was the officer on the outside who would place everything in a box labeled with my name.

  I felt more naked than ever before. The blanket had been my only defense, and now it was gone. I spent the next ten minutes like a robot—an as
sembly line of pain and hurt slowly removed. The blue sundress was the next piece of clothing to follow—I hadn't noticed the top and sides had been ripped in the struggle for freedom from my attacker. Next, my bra; it too was broken at the strap, my breasts no longer supported. The final piece was my panties—they hung from my hips, but the crotch had been ripped open. Once I handed her my tattered panties, she gave me a gown to slide over my bare body. It may have covered my most private parts, but it didn’t cover my indignity.

  The second nurse walked over. "I need you to lie on the table. The doctor will examine you, and take oral, vaginal, and anal samples for the rape kit. She will also exam all your cuts and bruises. Dr. Caller will dictate her findings to a recorder to ensure nothing is omitted from her report. The officer will also be taking notes of anything he observes. After your exam, we will need to photograph your injuries."

  The second nurse continued. Her voice grated on my nerves as she delivered the protocol rape-procedure speech with no emotion. I didn't know if she was a cold, heartless bitch to everyone or if she saved it for me for some reason. I just knew I didn't want her as a nurse, but didn't have the strength to argue.

  The scowl on the first nurse’s face when she approached us told me that she didn't like nurse number two either. I wondered if the tension had more to do with the dislike of each other than me, but at that moment, I didn’t give a fuck.

  A few minutes later, ugly-suit man and my savior walked back into the room—neither looked happy, but again I didn’t care.

  "Detective March will take your statement for the report. Melissa…" The second nurse continued.

  The last thing I heard was Melissa. I didn't listen to any more of her words; they disappeared into space. I didn't care. I just wanted the next part of my journey into humiliation to end. But it had only begun as my legs were placed in the stirrups and my knees spread. I wondered which was more humiliating and degrading, being raped or having every inch of my body poked, prodded, and photographed. My heart knew that the doctor and nurses were trying to help me, but it didn't stop the shame. I needed out but I wasn’t sure out of what—out of the room, the hospital, or just my mind.

  The doctor quietly spoke as she dictated her findings, "....bruising on both left and right upper thighs. I need pictures of this area along with…"

  I closed my eyes as my legs were pulled farther apart, and a cold metal instrument entered my body. I felt the pressure build and the pain from the insertion. I also felt the dishonor. Everything the doctor saw was announced into a recorder, and every swab and sample were inserted into labeled bags and then sealed with tape and initials. The uniformed officer then placed each one in the box that contained the bags of my clothes. The box now was a representative of my life—secrets and pain sealed away for others to discover.

  Chapter 3

  My Shame

  Melissa

  Memories of what brought me to the hospital and the sterile room filled my mind. I didn't want to remember. I needed to forget, to stop the movie on continued replay in my mind.

  I refused to take part in what was happening; I needed my clock—the one that held me and kept me safe. I forced my eyes open and searched for my salvation, the thing that allowed me to bury the pain. Soft ticks came alive, and the room disappeared once again. The sounds of the clicks grew louder and louder until they became a calming heartbeat lulling me and providing my refuge. The clock's hand surrounded, embraced, and welcomed me from the reality of what my life became—they provided freedom and happiness. My eyes closed as the newfound peace took over, and the clock completely accepted me back.

  Peaceful thoughts flooded my mind. I was in a garden filled with flowers and trails. The sounds of feet hitting soft sands filled the salty air as the view of the single path split in two with a large wooden sign centered between the paths. “Choose wisely” was scrolled across the top, and below were two arrows. One pointed toward the right and the other the left, but nothing was written under them. I walked closer to the sign and noticed a message in tiny print at the very bottom: “One road leads to peace and happiness and the other to pain and suffering.” There was nothing more. It didn’t say which path led where. I walked toward the right, where flowers adorned the paths—beautiful colorful roses bloomed. As I continued down the right side of the road, the bright sun shone. There were blue skies and singing birds. I walked in awe of the beauty when suddenly, a brisk wind blew, kicking up sand as massive black clouds rolled in and covered the path in a thick fog.

  Within seconds, the light of the sun disappeared, and darkness surrounded me, leaving me in the murky haze. The sweet scent of the roses turned sour, leaving a strong odor of decay—the beautiful blossoms were no longer vibrant, but all dead–the stems bent over and the petals brown and lifeless.

  My journey to the right side of the fork changed from peaceful and happy to dreary and sad. More winds whirled through, dirt tornados spun, and debris rustled through the air. Another gust raged, yet the leaves eerily stilled as the wind whispered its words.

  "Once you have chosen, you can't turn back."

  A sharp pain pulled me back from the trance I’d insulated myself with to avoid the hurt. The distant voices became louder. Now, both worlds—my imagination and my reality—were hell, both filled with dread. I didn't want either, but then again, no one asked me what I wanted.

  "Bruising to the vaginal area…"

  I didn't want to know—I needed to drown out all the voices, especially the one that insisted on revealing my disgrace in vivid details. More specifics of my abuse were described, but a male voice dominated over the softly spoken one.

  "Melissa, sweetheart, can you hear me?"

  I knew that voice. It belonged to the man who introduced me to a new way of life—a life that an eighteen-year-old never knew existed. He’d shown me more in the first few months of our arrangement than I’d seen in a lifetime. He had been gentle and understanding with me, teaching me what he expected. Even the times when I hadn't followed all of his guidelines, he’d showered me with gifts and kindness. He’d promised punishments yet laced them with rewards.

  I fell in love with the man who held my hand—not with the man he became in the last few months. In the beginning, he spent hours with me… until he didn’t. I longed for the early days of our relationship. That was the escape I longed to relive.

  Now, my disgrace would have no rewards, only punishments and heartbreak. I committed the one unforgivable crime and broke the cardinal rule of our contract. In our time together, he only required and demanded one thing—my fidelity to only him.

  This man owned me—my body, mind, and soul—from the minute I agreed and signed my life to him. His protection was supposed to ensure my safety. Once he learned the truth, I'd lose that security. I’d often had that reminder repeated to me: he would not protect me if I disobeyed—I would be on my own. His empire and image came before his dirty little secret—me. Though he may have truly cared for and adored me, I had no doubts: to save himself he would discard me like yesterday’s trash. Now, all the lies I’d hidden and everything I’d worked for during the last six months, everything to accomplish my dreams, was all for nothing.

  Another squeeze brought me back to the room of hell—the voices, smells, and pain all returned. One tear had multiplied into many until my eyes drowned in the hot liquid and overflowed into a trail down my face. My mind fired question after question, but actual words became lost before they surfaced. I already knew the answers to the questions; it had been my desires and my decisions that had brought me to my now. It was my fault—even if others tried to convince me otherwise. I’d signed the agreement, and I’d broken it by not following the rules.

  Last night's attack wouldn’t be the only consequence I paid.

  I wanted—no needed—out of the horrid nightmare I was living. My feet were still secured in stirrups and legs bent as I lay on the small mattress covered with a white sheet. A second white sheet was on top of me, but its plac
ement left my lower half exposed to all in the room.

  I was nothing more than a rag doll to the robot nurse. She’d placed the sheet over my arms at my sides and proceeded to pull the rat's nest of my hair through a small comb into little envelopes. Her motions were rough and uncaring. With everyone else’s eyes diverted, she didn't seem to care if she caused me pain.

  The nicer of the nurses approached with a bottle and needle and inserted medicine into the IV. "This is going to help with the pain."

  Dr. Caller gently took my legs out of the stirrups and covered them with the sheet. She walked to the head of the bed and reached for my hand. Our eyes met as she described each abuse my body had endured. She continued her observation in more detail than I wanted as I stared at her with blank eyes.

  "Melissa, you sustained a lot of trauma. There are bruises in your vagina and anus. Your right arm is sprained, and several of your ribs are bruised. You also have multiple lacerations—including your lip, which is split. I gave you an antibiotic. It will help with any infections. I’m also prescribing…"

  Once again, someone else was making the decision of what they thought they knew I needed. No one needed to tell me my injuries—I’d lived it. I didn't want to relive the details again.

  I just wanted to disappear.

  I couldn't listen anymore. All the pain in the world wouldn't compare to the pain I felt in my heart. The rape was more than a physical attack. The marks on my skin served as a reminder of a night of terror. It was the hidden scars locked into my memory that would haunt me. I was no longer the Melissa Summers with a dream but now Melissa Summers, the violated rape victim—shattered beyond repair.

  As hard as I tried to drown her out, Dr. Caller pulled me back with her words. I overheard the conversation she had with the nurse. She wanted me admitted for observation for the night and possibly the next. Dr. Caller had more concerns about my mental state than my physical injuries. She knew my body would heal but emotionally, she worried I would have difficulties since I still hadn’t uttered a word since being brought to the ER.