Author's Note: This oneshot -- oneshot -- was stuck in my head for a while now, so I decided to finally get it down... It's sort of AU; it takes place sometime after Darcy's rape... When? I dunno. I guess it doesn't matter. It's a fanfiction. It was stuck in my head. Shut up.
I'm not sure what to rate this, but I'm going with M. You'll see, I guess... Now, read! Or feel my wrath!
Fear and agony lanced her. She tried to speak, to scream her lungs out, but no words were formed.
'Stop,' her mind cried. 'It hurts!' The girl couldn't move to push him off; the drug had sapped all the strength from her, leaving her naked body heavy and listless. The world was fading in and out on her, but the pain reminded her that she was conscious. Even through her hazy state, she could feel his body crushing her, harming her, stealing away her innocence and everything she had ever believed in.
Hot tears flooded down her pretty face. 'Why?' she wanted to sob. Her jaw wouldn't move, her tongue was frozen in place, her voice-box refused to work. He smelled so bad, not like Peter... He was so rough...
Her eyes shot open. A dull ache instantly started up in her back, and it took the hyperventilating teenager a moment to realize she was on the floor next to her bed, the blankets tangled around her limbs. Suddenly feeling trapped this way, she struggled to get away. She couldn't breathe! Her lungs were being smothered, crushed by the neverending terror and anxiety.
Flashes of him appeared in her mind and, crying even more now, the frightened girl began clawing at the things keeping her prisoner in her own bedroom. "Let... go...!" she whimpered pathetically in between short gasps.
His large hands pinned her down, his rotten breath on her face...
Eventually she was free, and she ran to the bathroom upon her dinner from the night before gushing out of her stomach.
Narrowly missing the toilet, the mostly digested food ended up on the clean, tiled floor. Clutching her stomach, the weak female gagged, and vomited some more, and some more, and some more, until her caving stomach had nothing more to give away.
With her throat burning, she stepped to the sink, her entire being quivering, and spat before slowly wiping her mouth. The gentle morning sunlight filtered through the window nearby, touching her pale -- she was once so tanned the night before -- skin as if to comfort her. It took another few minutes to calm down, to breathe.
Inhale, exhale... Terror threatened to wrap its cold fingers around her lungs again. Inhale, exhale... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... Finally succeeding in overcoming her panic attack, the haunted girl left the bathroom, nearly bumping into the door along the way thanks to her legs, which felt a little like jelly. Making her way slowly down the hallway, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor, she reached the kitchen and retrieved the mop to go clean up the mess she had made.
After she was done, she put the mop aside and sat down on the toilet, staring down at her cloud-patterned pajamas, struggling to keep the water-gates from breaking open again.
It's been two months, she thought in despair, wondering if she was ever going to get over it.
Sniffing, she stood up and went back to the sink, daring to stare into the mirror above it. Her long, brown hair was greasy -- as it had not been washed in several days -- and messy, falling out of its ponytail. Chocolate-colored eyes stared back at her, glassy and rimmed with red; those brown depths displayed so many horrible emotions: despair, agony, confusion, fear, anger, and something awfully close to hate. There was no longer joy or innocence. She was so dirty and impure. Her bond with that God had shattered.
Darcy Edwards hated herself.
It wasn't just that unknown Roofie Rapist who had taken everything -- her dreams, her vow to stay abstinent, her happiness. It was also God. All these years, Darcy had lived a Christian life, strongly believing in the Lord. But what did He do? He left her to that... that... monster. He let such a terrible thing happen. It tore her apart.
Now she could only get a few hours of sleep every night, and even then, she was always whisked away into the realm of shadows and nightmares. Darcy could never go anywhere without constantly looking over her shoulder, eyeing every strange-looking man with fear and suspicion. And every night, she peeked into her closet, under her bed, and out the window before reluctantly turning out the lights and attempting to get some sleep. It always took a long time before her eyelids became heavy and finally fluttered shut, and she was snatched away from the real world...
And then... she would be in the world of thick shadows and painful nightmares...
Glaring at her reflection now, Darcy shivered. It was warm this morning, but she felt so cold... So... cold...
"Why?" she whispered, her brown eyes brimming with fresh new tears now. "Why?" Her voice rose, cracking, and her anguished gaze lifted heavenwards. "Why did you do this to me, God? I... be-believed in you..." Starting to sob now, Darcy covered her mouth with her hands, even though there was no need to try and silence herself. Her parents had both gone to work early, and Claire had spent the night at a friend's...
Something in her snapped. Anger boiled through her veins, lending energy to her limp body. Removing her hands from her damp face, the girl stepped away from the sink, glowering at the ceiling, practically seeing past it to the heavens. "You're no God," she cried scornfully. "You're not the loving, merciful God portrayed in the Bible! You're an evil, sick, twisted bastard!!" These last few words were expressed in a high-pitched shriek, as Darcy began pulling at her hair, sobbing hysterically.
Why didn't she die in the showers that time?! Why did Manny have to walk in and save her? Why couldn't Darcy Edwards have bled to death?! All she wanted to do was escape! And if using a knife to slit her wrists open would help her do so, then so be it! But no! God wanted her to suffer even more! He decided to poke fun at her by letting her live; it had only made things worse! People at school whispered about her; the counselor, Miss Suave, kept trying to pull the truth out of her; her parents kept watching her closely and asking things; even Peter wouldn't lay off! Everyone acted like she was some freakin' porcelain doll!
"I hate you!" Darcy continued to scream curses as she yanked at the thick strands of her hair; her scalp ached. She shook with fury, pain, and the resurfaced longing to die. Her world was already broken; she was already off her feet; she was too shattered to care about her next action.
Her balled-up fists met the mirror. There was a loud cracking sound, followed by pieces of glass falling into the sink below; Darcy closed her eyes as her skin was cut open and blood began dripping down her wrists. A sigh escaped her lips. Her mind was so jumbled up with ferocious thoughts, but she found a sense of relief.
She pretended the damaged mirror was him.
Crack.
More splinters of glass met the sink with little clanks. Through a blurry vision, Darcy saw red stains on the once-perfectly white marble; her eyes caught sight of the trails running down her arms.
Crack. It was God. She hated Him.
Crack. That was Manny, for saving Darcy when her help was... not... wanted...
Crack. Peter. If it hadn't been for him...
Crack. Her parents were the ones who taught her how to live a lie under a horrible being such as Him for all her life.
Crack. Miss Suave, for poking her nose where it didn't belong.
Crack. Him. Again.
The blood came pouring out of the gashes in her fists rapidly; her goose-bumped skin was wet with the warm red fluid. Darcy's arms shook with the awful, blessed pain as glass dug in deep. It had pierced her wrist, the one with the scar...
The renewed energy from before vanished, leaving Darcy to stumble. Now unable to stop crying so hard, she almost didn't notice the flesh tearing gruesomely as the girl slid to the floor, her hands caught until she was collapsed.
She felt so much weaker as the minutes ticked on by...
Please let me die... Darcy couldn't tell if she'd whispered those words, or if she had merely thought them. Her jaw quivered.
It was a lost cause, all of it. Nothing could save her now... Nothing...
Author's Note: There you have it... The oneshot. I don't think I'm going to be writing any more chapters for this. So if any of you review and beg, "UPDATE, UPDATE!" I'm going to sneak into your room at night and kill you in your sleep... No, I'm kidding, but those kind of reviews annoy me. So... just settle with "Wow, good job!" or "This sucks monkey balls, d00d!" or whatever.
It wasn't too hard writing this... I actually -- in some ways -- relate to Darcy, so, I guess I was sort of expressing my own feelings here. I think I actually did okay. And this is coming from the person who severely criticizes her writing. But who knows, I might come back to this in a few months and go, "Wtf? Man, this sucks..." It might looked a bit rushed, though, and I think it needs a tiiiny bit of editing, but seeing as it's six in the morning, and Dad's pressuring me to get off, I'm leaving with what you've got.
And, about what happens at the end... Either Darcy dies, or not. (She's gone a tad insane there, no? -would probably end up doing the same-) You can choose. In my mind, she's going to live, maybe. But seeing as her parents are at work, and Claire is probably not going to be back for a while... -shrugs- Your choice! You think what you want! Now... review, and... bye-bye! -zooms-