The Bonds You Break
By gwendy
A breeze fluttered in from the open window, the curtain swaying in its wake. Another car passed by from the busy streets below, its lights playing on the cracked ceiling of the small room.
There was noise all around—distant horns blaring, tires screeching, people screaming bloody murder, but all she could hear was the pulsing of blood in her ears, the rhythmic creaks of the bed, her moans, his grunts.
She ran her arm across the scratchy surface of linen which chafed the skin of her back. It was nothing like the silken sheets she had been accustomed to. There was nothing soft about it.
It was as rough with her as he was.
She inhaled the masculine scent of him, the sweat dripping to the crook of his neck.
She tasted the salt of his skin. The blood in his mouth.
Her eyes darted elsewhere and rested on the dresser mirror by the side of the bed.
He followed her gaze.
Her mouth was agape, each breath catching. Gasping.
Her eyes, mirrored his to perfection, their faces flushed and sweaty.
"Look at us," he whispered, pressing his cheek against hers as he continued to thrust. "Look. We were made for this, you and I."
She turned to him, unsure what to say.
He moved his hand and yanked her hair, forcing her to look back at the mirror again: towards the image of her pale, child-like form bouncing beneath his well-tanned physique.
Her scalp burned. His scratches stung. Almost every part of her hurt.
It was agonizing.
It was exhilarating.
"India..."
He let go of her hair, and India Stoker was once again eye to eye with her tormentor.
Her father's killer.
Her lover.
And as Charlie leaned down to devour her lips, she wondered, as she always had, at what point they stopped being uncle and niece.