by Cerys du Lys
What happens if you go to bed a little later. Just a minute. Not even every day, but every week. No big deal, right? Fuck you, you're wrong. One minute becomes two, and by the end of the year, you're going to sleep almost an hour later than you used to. An hour is a lot of fucking time. Do you know how much shit you can do in an hour?
Not all hours are created equal, either. If the grocery store closes at midnight, and you want to go at one in the morning, what the fuck happens? Nothing. You're done. You aren't going to the grocery store because it's closed.
You're hungry, though. Instead of going to the store, you go to the bar. They're open until two or some shit. Who the fuck knows? It's different everywhere. So you go to this shitty bar at one in the morning and you order whatever the fuck they've still got. You're at a bar, and you don't want to look like that asshole who says he goes to the bar for the good food, because seriously the food here is some of the worst shit you've ever had, but it's food. You can eat it, and it's better than nothing.
You're at a bar, eating shitty food, and you decide to get a drink. You drink your beer, then maybe have another. You're done. You didn't have a lot. Maybe you had a shot to go with it, something manly or fruity or whatever the fuck you like. Masculine drink, feminine drink, take your goddamn pick. It's a bar, so it's not like there's any lack of alcoholic beverages going around.
Now you're done. You ate, you had some drinks. You weren't planning on having drinks. If you could have, you would have just gone to the grocery store. You used to do that, back when you went to sleep earlier, but you've been going to bed later now, and it's no longer an option.
Do you see where I'm going with this? One small thing, one minute every week, the most minuscule as fuck amount of time, just for a year, and it completely changes your life.
On your way home from the bar, when you're driving while you shouldn't be because you've been drinking, you crash into a car and kill someone.
A minute doesn't seem like a lot when you think about it at first, but it can be. I'm not trying to fucking preach at you, but that's just my life. I want you to understand. Shit changes, and then you do things because of the changes, and more shit happens, and then you forget how the fuck you used to be in the first place. When the fuck did I used to go to the grocery store? I don't even fucking know. Now I go to the bar instead.
You forget small details about your life and you remember new ones, until your entire life is made up of new details. Eventually you forget those ones for newer ones, and this keeps fucking happening. If one year can change your entire life, think about what ten of them can do?
I don't remember everything. I can't tell you exactly how I became the person I am today. I remember a lot, though. There's some shit you just can't fucking forget, or you don't want to forget it. Some things will haunt you for the rest of your life, and you don't always have a fucking choice in the matter. It happened and now it's a part of you forever.
*** Noah
I'm not going to sugarcoat shit and tell you that I used to be a great person, because I probably wasn't. I don't think I was a bad person, but who the fuck knows? I don't think I'm a completely bad person now, but I kidnap women and sell them, so my perceptions might be skewed.
This isn't about that. It's not about good or bad. It's just about what happened. If you want to know, then listen up.
Everyone knew about the accident. It was sad as fuck. Angeline lost her parents, lost her house, lost everything. She might as well be dead, because what the fuck did she have now? Nothing. She lost it all.
She was alive, which I guess is a good thing. She wasn't Angeline then, she had a real name before all this. I wasn't Noah, either. It doesn't matter what the fuck our names were, we were still the same people.
We lived in a small as fuck village where everyone knew each other, but that doesn't mean we really know each other. I knew of her for forever, but it's not like I really talked to her a lot. We all went to school together, which was like one of those buildings you'd see in whatever the fuck olden times shit you read about. Just a one room schoolhouse with a teacher who taught everyone. We didn't have enough kids to need anything more.
If I had to compare it to anything, it was more like being homeschooled, but with heavy supervision. You get schoolwork, you do that shit, and if you finish early, you read a book or draw or whatever the fuck you want until school's out. The older kids, which I guess would be high school level, weren't really watched all that much. The teacher paid more attention to the younger kids. I can understand that. Makes sense to me.
That's how that went. I did my work. Angeline and I were in the same grade, if you want to call it that. There were a couple others, either the same age as us, a little older, or a little younger. I don't know what she did after school, because I never paid attention. As soon as I could leave that shithole building, I did. I went into the woods and wandered around until it was almost dark, then I went home. Didn't have a lot of friends back then.
Not much has changed. I don't have a lot of friends now. It's never really bothered me. It's not something I care about.
We all saw each other at school, but everyone in the village saw everyone else on Sundays, too. We went to church. I guess it was a church, but I didn't have anything to compare it to. I've never gone into a church since then, and I don't want to go into one again.
After the accident, the church took her in. I thought that was real fucking nice of them. Good deeds and shit, you know? Salvation or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Who knows?
I didn't see her the first week. I figured she was dealing with a lot of heavy shit. The second week, I saw her at church on Sunday. She stood off to the side and looked a little frightened. Makes sense, right? Third week, same thing. She started taking the collection tin around for donations to the church after the priest did his sermon.
I'm not going to say his name. He doesn't have one as far as I'm concerned. He doesn't deserve to be remembered. I don't want you to know.
Life goes on, but Angeline doesn't get better. Fuck, she looks worse every week. Going to be fucking brutally honest right now, but back then I thought she was gorgeous as fuck, too. I would pound the ever-loving shit out of her, ram my fucking cock into her tight cunt, watch her fucking squeal in ecstasy... fuck...
I didn't do that, but my rampant fucking hormone-induced mind thought about it. In a nice way, alright? I'm not a fucking asshole. I really wasn't an asshole then. I would have bought her flowers first, asked her on a date or some shit. Hey, Angeline, you want to go steady? Because I really want to shove my cock inside you. What do you say, love?
I didn't say "love" back then, either. I don't know why. I fucking love that word, love. How fucking wet would her pussy have been if I was all suave and smooth and sophisticated as fuck, calling her love, using my smooth, romantic lines. I'm a real fucking romancer, let me tell you.
Yeah, maybe not.
Angeline gets worse. More hidden and quiet. Barely feels like she's there. She's a goddamn fucking ghost or some shit. I try, though. I make some money doing random shit throughout the week, just here and there. Not a lot. Enough to buy a few things. I start giving it to the church, though. More specifically, I start giving it to Angeline.
When she brings her tin over to me, I put some money in it, but I try to be real fucking smooth at it. I brush my hand against hers when I put it in. I try to make eye contact. She shudders when I touch her. Is that because she likes it? How the fuck should I know? I don't know. I think maybe I need to try harder.
Some of the kids I go to school with help out at the church after we're done for the day. Nowadays we leave early, too. Our last year, no fucking point in staying. We could just skip out on school altogether for all the use it is, but it's just the same shit we've always done, so we go.
Angeline doesn't go anymore. She's at the church. Other kids go to help out at the church. Maybe I should start doing that, too? I make a plan, because in my head I have some st
upid fucking ideas.
You want to know what they were? I thought that if I went there and helped out, I could get closer to her. Like what if we're both cleaning up some room together? We're alone. I close the door, right? We start talking. It's real fucking nice. We've got a serious connection going on.
"Hey, love, you want to go on a date sometime?"
And she'd do that little giggly girl shit. Tee fucking hee! Oh, I would love to, Noah! Be my goddamn fucking knight in shining armor, baby! Take me away from here and let's have a whole lot of fucking sex and twenty fucking kids.
I don't know where the kids idea came from. Fuck kids. They're annoying. I guess they can be kind of cute, and if you have kids you need to love them, so if I had them, I'd fucking love them and think they were cute, but I think it's best for everyone if we don't go down that path anymore. It's just not a good idea.
One Sunday after the priest finishes his sermon, I hold back. I remember the last line he said, too. You can look it up if you want. It's Romans 6:14, but his version is different. I've tried to find it before, but I can't. Doesn't matter, since I'll always remember exactly what he said.
"Sin will not be Master Over You, for you do not exist under law, but beneath the grace of God."
He says it and then people file out of the church. Angeline shuffles away to some backroom somewhere with the collection tin. A couple of the kids I go to school with are hanging out on the front steps, waiting. They helped out on Sundays, too. The priest absconds, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, to his office off to the side.
I wait a second, then I follow after him.
He's sitting at his desk. I knock on the door casing to get his attention and he looks up with a smile.
"Hello, Noah," he says. "Can I help you with something?"
"Yeah, um..." I'm a real fucking smooth talker. "Is Angeline alright?"
I'm not Noah back then and she's not Angeline, but it's just easier this way. I don't want to tell you the truth.
"What do you mean?" he asks, brow narrowed. I should have suspected something when I saw that, but I didn't. I don't know why. I wasn't good at reading people back then.
"The accident, you fuck, what the fuck did you think I meant?" I actually just asked about the accident, without the vulgarity, but I wish I had done it differently.
"Ah, yes. I understand. She's doing fine. She's readjusting to her new life."
That's about that, but I need to say more. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
He gives me some weird look. "Hm?"
"The other kids help you out, right? They come here after school."
"They've told you what goes on?" he asks.
What the fuck kind of question is that? I nod, because I guess so? I think I know. They're helping, right?
"I understand," he says with a smile. It's like everything's just changed, and we're best fucking friends. "A boy of your age—or should I say, man—has urges and desires that need to be catered to. This is natural. It's how we learn to be our true selves."
I have no fucking clue what he's talking about. Helping and shit? It's like when your parents tell you that washing the dishes builds character, right? How the fuck does washing the dishes build character? I don't even fucking know, but that's what they say. Go wash the goddamn dishes, son, it'll build you some character.
I think that's what he's talking about, so I agree.
"Come by tomorrow and we can start you out. You'll be on a path to righteousness in no time."
Good fucking deal, buddy. Thanks a fucking lot.
I don't want to spoil this shit for you, but that never happened. I'm not righteous, and I don't think I ever will be. The path he set me on is really fucked up. Oh well, shit happens.
*** Noah
I don't know what the fuck is going on. I literally don't know what the fuck I'm looking at. He told me to go downstairs and into this room. There's a few fucking rooms down here, but I am pretty fucking sure I'm in the right fucking room, because everyone else who should be in the room is here with me.
Except, what the fuck?
Seriously, what the fuck?
I open the door because I hear noises, but maybe that's the worst mistake of my life. Sounds like people doing hard work? Maybe? Manual fucking labor? There's fucking going on, alright. I guess it's manual. What the fuck is automatic fucking?
I'm joking around because this is seriously traumatizing and it's hard for me to deal with. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Angeline. I'm not sorry that I saw it, but I'm sorry that you had to go through that. I should have done something.
I go in the room and it's kind of dark, but I can see everything. I don't know what I'm looking at at first. There's some kid I know on his knees about halfway in the room. He's moving like a fucking spastic twitch. Opposite him, like right in front of him, close enough to reach out to him, is another guy. He's on his knees, too, but not moving. There's another of our school chums standing off to the side, just hanging out.
Everything looks good, except what the fuck.
The first guy I saw who was moving like a fucking insane crazy person is actually pounding his cock into Angeline. She's laying there. She squirms a little, but otherwise isn't really moving. The guy's holding her legs apart, and I can see there's some resistance going on. She's trying to close them, but not really making that much of an effort. I don't think she could have if she wanted to, though.
The other guy is pinning her arms to the floor with his legs while he gropes her breasts. His cock is pushed out of his pants, slapping against Angeline's face.
The guy at her side is staring there, smiling, watching like a dirty little voyeuristic fuck. He sees me, smiles like we're best fucking friends, and waves.
"Hey, Noah! Heard you were coming. We started without you. Sorry, man," he says. "Close the door behind you and come on over. You can be up next."
I stand there, thinking I took a wrong turn or some shit? Is this life? Am I dreaming? The fuck?
I close the door, but it's not because I plan on joining these guys. I just don't know what the fuck else to do. Someone told me to close the door, so I closed it. Simple as that, easy as fuck.
I don't go over, though. I stay where I am, watching, but disgusted by the fact that I'm watching this. At this point, it just seems like a bunch of people having sex. I have no reason to believe otherwise.
Then the sick fuck voyeur kicks Angeline's side. This isn't some light tap, it's a full on fucking kick. If he hit her ribs, he might have broken one, but he goes lower than that, just above her hip. She cries out and spasms. The guy pounding into her laughs.
"Holy fuck! Do that again! When you kicked her, she started squeezing me. That felt so good."
They're all laughing. I'm in the room, but I'm not exactly a part of this yet. I'm invited, I guess? Fucking...
After a few seconds, he kicks her again. When she cries out this time, the other guy above her puts the head of his cock in her mouth. He muffles her scream with his shaft. While she's squirming and screaming, while tears begin sliding down her cheeks, he moves so he can begin fucking her mouth.
"If you bite me, we're going to hurt you, so don't even think about it," he says.
The other guy is still thrusting away. The kicker stops kicking, but it doesn't matter. The guy in her cunt slams in one last time. That's the first time I've ever seen the completed act of sex. When he pulls out of her, his watery cum starts sliding from her slit to the floor, leaving a sticky white puddle under her ass.
The kicker pulls down his pants and starts to jack off. The guy in her mouth isn't going to last. They're both almost done, and he pulls out of her mouth, then starts to jerk himself off, too. They both finish around the same time; one on her face and the other on her chest.
She's naked, just laying there, covered in cum, having been kicked, crying, tortured...
What the fuck am I doing here? I don't even fucking know.
They're done and they put their pants back
on or pull them up or whatever they have to do. Angeline lays there, not moving, staring at the ceiling, crying.
"You're up, Noah," one of them says. "Hope you don't mind sloppy seconds. If you want, you can just jerk off on top of her. We'll give you first dibs sometime."
I stare at them. I don't know what to say.
"I don't want to," I say, quiet. "Not in front of you guys."
They laugh. This is a joke, I guess? Who knows?
"It's cool, man. She's trained. She won't do anything, so we'll leave you alone. You can have her to yourself. Lock the door if you want, no big deal. Come get us when you're done."
They leave. They go out the door that I came in—the door I don't think I should have ever entered in the first place—and close the door behind them, leaving me alone with her.
I don't know what to do. I mean, look, I'm an eighteen year old guy, so yeah, I kind of want to fuck her. Not like that, though. I wanted to fuck her romantically. I wanted to buy her some goddamn fucking flowers and ask her on a date. You like fishing, love? Let's go catch some fish and cook it over a campfire and then make sweet fucking love under the stars.
I don't want to have sex with a girl who was just kicked, beaten, forced to submit, made to cry... left laying in a puddle of cum on the stone basement floor of a church. I don't want this...
I just stand there. She lays there, waiting.
"I'm sorry," I say. I don't know what else to say.
Time passes. Seconds or minutes or maybe hours. I don't know.
"I saw you at church," I say.
More time passes. Let's just pretend that a lot of time is passing in between everything I say and get that out of the way, alright?
"I mean, I've seen you before that. We go to school together. We've lived here our entire lives. Um... you stopped going to school, though."
"I'm sorry about your parents. I know that doesn't help. Is that why you have to do this? I don't understand."
She doesn't say anything. I don't know if she can hear me. The only thing that gives me any fucking realization of hope or peace with myself and what the fuck is going on is that she's not crying anymore.