A/N: Since the last chapter was so short, here's another one.
"Great! Now, where were we?" Russell gets to his feet before turning to walk back toward his chair.
The fear struck in my heart by his sentence is equally balanced with the relief I feel of him moving away from me. He sits down and looks at me expectantly, looking a bit like he is about to laugh. I am silent. I see headlights go by outside and notice that it seems to be a quieter area of the city, wherever we are. Of course it is my mind whispers fewer people to hear or see you.
I am taking notice of the door, estimating the distance, knowing there is no way for me to make it there, unlock it, and escape before he grabs me. But, maybe at a later time. The way this motel is set, you have to walk past the door to get to another room. Maybe I'll have a chance. I need to be ready. Maybe I actually can get myself out of this.
I find myself jumping when he speaks again, as if I've been caught doing something wrong. "It's awful hot in here, don't'cha think?"
"Yeah." I respond. It is, although I would have agreed even if it weren't, as it doesn't seem a wise idea to disagree with him. There is no air movement, and the panic buried inside my body is making me feel like a furnace.
"Well then, take off that shirt you got on. It looks heavy." He gives me a wave of his hand, and leans back with arms crossed. I can't tell whether this is a test, or he just wants a show.
I suspect with him, it is both.
I can feel my hands trembling. I am afraid where this will go. I don't want to do it. But I have to. I may be stuck in a shitty existence, but I don't want to die. I don't want to be killed.
I close my eyes briefly before slowly pulling the heavy flannel over my head, letting it drop quietly to the floor. I'm so thankful for the tank top I'm wearing underneath, knowing that while I am far more exposed than I was, I am still covered. It's okay, I tell myself. Nothing's happened. You're okay.
I don't know for how much longer this will be true, but I will cling to it.
Russell lets out a chuckle. "Damn, girl. You would have more clothes on under there. What are you, one of those russian dolls?" he shakes his head, clearly finding himself amusing. I remain silent. "Take off the rest of your tops." This time, there's no question if he's testing me. This is a command, no hint of question or seeking permission.
I feel as though the hollowness has engulfed me again. I let my vision blur and my hands move of their own accord as I peel off the tank top, feeling more vulnerable than I have since…. Well. I won't let my mind go there. This is different. That isn't going to happen again. It can't. I will be okay, I just have to be smart. Everything will be okay.
"The rest, Christina, take off the bra. And step out of those jeans while you're at it." He is leaning back still, sipping that god-awful drink, looking utterly satisfied at what is transpiring.
I feel my eyes burning with tears that are too afraid to make themselves known. I no longer feel able to move. My hands that just a minute ago moved robotically, now feel filled with lead. I find myself staring a hole into the wall, apparently taking too long to react as Russell sets down the drink and sits forward. "If you listen to me, I'll keep you safe. But you gotta do what I say, or who knows what could happen.." he trails off, his hand reaching for the gun as he unholsters it and lays it on the table.
I think of what he just said, about keeping me safe. I think about how far I am from safe right now. I remember how my mom's always tell me I am safe, and how I've never felt safer with anyone else than them. I think of how I have never felt more unsafe than in this moment.
I stand up and unzip my jeans.
"Good girl." He praises, like I'm a dog.
I slowly inch them down, until they pool at my feet.
I wish I was with my moms. I wish I was safe. I wish I wasn't here. God, please, let her find me. Please let her be here soon. Please don't let this happen.
My hands reach up to unhook my bra. With a pop, it falls around my chest, and I let it drop. I circle my arms around myself, trying to offer any protection against his stare that I can. I refuse to sit back down on the bed. I'm already vulnerable, I don't need to be even more so.
My mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, random pieces of my life being thrown around in my head, desperate for a distraction from reality, but unable to detach. It is still hot, but I find that I am shivering.
"Boy, you are one pretty girl, huh." Russell stands, hands in front of him as he reaches and latches onto my wrist. "Come over here with me." He says, tugging me toward him. I try to plant myself into the ground. If I just don't move, if I stay right where I am, I will be okay.
He gives me a harder pull, and I stumble. He uses this to pull me closer to him as he sits back into the chair. "Don't worry. We won't do anything you're not okay with." He murmurs as he pulls off his own shirt, and I feel bile rise in my throat. I'm already not okay with this. I haven't been okay with this the whole time. I never will be.
Where are my moms? Where is anyone? Why have I done this to myself?
Russell stands again, stepping out of his own jeans and kicking them off to the side before taking a seat again, left in only his boxers and the heavy chain around his neck. He reaches up to grab my wrists with both hands, pulling me forward until I'm standing directly in front of him. "Come on baby, it's alright, we ain't doing nothin' but gettin' to know each other."
I want to run, to punch him, to spit on him, to scream, but I find myself only able to remain frozen instead. As paralyzed as a mouse in a cat's mouth. I feel empty and heavy, all at once.
He puts an arm around my back, forcing me forward, straddling his lap. I grip the top of the chair, anything to give me something solid, something real that I can focus on. I can feel him hardening against me, and the panic inside grows more prevalent. He moves to put his hands around my waist and grips tight, forcing me down hard against him, tight enough to make me gasp in pain. He lets out a little moan and glances up at my face "You like that, too?" He releases my waist to reach up and remove my hands from the chair, lowering them each onto his shoulders. "That's better, isn't it?"
No, I think. I don't want to feel you. I don't want to touch you. I don't move, regardless. I can't.
He reaches and pulls my head toward him, I pull slightly against him and feel him pause. "It'll all be okay if you just listen, remember?" He whispers, guiding my head more forcefully towards him as he starts kissing me, forcing his tongue into my mouth.
I try to pull back on instinct, using my hands to push against his chest, overwhelmed by the smell and taste of him, feeling smothered and afraid. He releases my mouth and reaches with one hand to grab me by the back of my neck, hard enough that I feel my skin screaming from the pressure. He suddenly turns serious and dark, and I know that I have used up one of my chances. "What did I tell you, Christina? I don't stand for people telling me what to do, whether that's verbal or not. You need to relax and smarten up."
He releases my neck and reaches for the drink. "Chug the rest." It's at least 3/4 full still, of God only knows what. But, I am grateful for the respite in his advances. I drink as slowly as I can, trying to draw out the time. "I said chug, babe, not sip. Damn. Finish it." He growls, and it's clear I've wasted all the time I could. I feel sick to my stomach after finishing it, and I'm unsure if it's from the drink or the situation. Probably both.
He pushes me back off of him and lets me stumble backwards. I catch myself on the edge of the bed, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding in.
He's in front of me again, and I can feel the change in his mood; the darkening. His arm snakes out to grab my throat, and my arms wrap around his hand immediately; instinctively. He is squeezing too hard, and all I can think about is getting air. He manages to push me against the bed, knocking my legs out from under me. He moves my body up the bed by my neck, and now I am clawing frantically at his arms. My vision is getting blurry, my head feels filled with pressure.
I'm going to die. I don't want to die.
He removes his hand from my neck and I immediately cover it with my own, desperate to get oxygen and protect myself from his hands again. I'm trying to recover from how quickly this has turned violent, but find it impossible. I need to get off this bed, I need to get to the door. Before my thoughts can turn into action, he has climbed onto the bed with me, over me, and is pulling down his boxers. I feel him grasping at my underwear, and a new panic surges through me. No, no, no. This isn't happening. This isn't real. I shove against his chest, pleading with him to stop. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate for this not to be reality.
"Relax, baby, I'm gonna take good care of you, I promise." He grips my wrists in one hand, raising them above my head. I hear metal clang against metal and my eyes snap open. I'm trying to yank my wrists free, but he's too strong. In seconds, he has each wrist in separate cuffs hooked around the bars of the headboard. I'm crying. I don't know when the tears started, but they aren't stopping.
"That's better! The first time is always kinda weird, but you'll get used to it. I'll make it good for you, don't worry." He murmurs as he wipes a tear from under my eye. I flinch, the gentle touch an unexpected feeling.
He reaches and pulls down my underwear, and I find myself crying out again, begging him not to do this. My heart is beating out of my chest, and I am fully engulfed in panic, desperate to stop this, yet unable to move. He presses a finger roughly into me, and I scream. As quickly as his hand is removed, I am slapped hard across the face, enough to make me see black for a moment. His hand grips my face hard, and he leans in close. "Don't you EVER do that again. I'm putting up with a lot from you already, right now, acting like this is the worst thing. I won't tolerate anymore. You make one more move like that, and we're finished. You understand?"
I nod rapidly. I can't die here. I can't let this be the last thing I remember.
"Good. I'm not gonna put up with your dramatic shit anymore. You're gonna get used to this." He lets go of my face, getting off the bed and grabbing his pistol and pack of cigarettes. Sliding back over me, he shoves the gun under my chin.
"You pull anymore stupid shit, and it'll be the last thing you do." He begins pressing his fingers into me again. I feel my body tense, and I bite back a scream against the intrusion. He withdraws his fingers and I feel a different pressure against me. He grips my shoulder with one hand, trying to get leverage to force himself inside me. The gun presses harder against my jaw. I am too tense. He is too big. I don't want this. I am pulling so hard against the cuffs that the pain rivals the pain between my legs.
"Relax, shit!" He leans his weight into me, giving several violent thrusts until he finally buries himself inside me. The pain is unbearable. My eyes are screwed shut, my mouth open in a silent scream. My breathing feels erratic and unreliable. He stays still for a minute, but the pain does not subside.
"Hey, look at me." I hear the command, and slowly open my eyes to stare back into his dark ones, smiling down on me. My breath comes out in heavy pants. "Please," I whisper. "Stop." He grins wider and pulls himself slowly out of me. There is hardly a relief in the pain when he slams himself back in. I can't stop the yell of pain that escapes my lips, and he is quick to grasp my face, burying his gun into my mouth, and I am sure I am about to die. This is it. I hear the blood rushing in my ears as fear fills every nerve.
"No no, Christina, remember? You make noises and you'll be punished." He picks up his pace, remaining rough and driving into me with a mission to cause me pain. He gags me with the gun, and I wretch. He pulls the gun out of my mouth, setting it aside to wrap his hands around my throat, squeezing tightly. I find myself pulling even harder against the metal encircling my wrists, the warmth of blood running slowly down my arms, and for a minute I wonder what will break first; my will or my wrists.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Someone help me. I am going to die, he is killing me.
My arms have gone painfully numb. Closing my eyes seems to exacerbate the pain. My throat is burning with the need for air, my mind grows fuzzy, and my vision feels dim. How long will it take me to die? Am I close? Is this almost over? I feel the strength leave my limbs and I no longer have the ability to pull or push, capable of doing nothing but going limp.
Just as I begin to welcome the thought of unconsciousness, his hands leave my throat, moving to my breasts to twist and pinch. Air floods back into my lungs, but the fuzzy feeling remains. I wonder if it is from the drink, or if my mind is forming a shield around itself. He is pumping himself into me relentlessly, and I can feel an unusual warmth and wetness between my legs. It takes me longer than it should to realize it is blood.
Don't think about it. It's not real. This isn't really happening. I'm not really here. I am looking at the ceiling and envisioning myself there. What if I was up there? I think maybe I am. I'm floating up here. I'm not part of the tragedy happening to the girl in the bed.
He begins kissing me. My mouth, my neck, my breasts. "God, you're so tight. Fuck, you feel so good." He somehow picks up his pace and roughness even more, his grip around my waist tight enough to make the area go numb. He lets go only to wind his arms around the back of my neck, grabbing too roughly, biting my neck, my shoulders. He bites my ear and my head involuntarily jerks away. I shiver.
"You like that, huh? Say it. Say you like it. Call me daddy."
I am not real. This is not real. I'm not here right now.
He leans back down to my ear, biting again, too hard, and I think my earring is ripped through my ear. "Say it, you little bitch."
I clench my jaw, shame and anger filling me. "No. Fuck you." I grit out. He may be able to hurt me, but he can't make me participate.
He stops moving immediately, letting loose a laugh that sends chills down my spine. He reaches over for the cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it up without even getting off of me. He takes a few puffs, laughing to himself a couple more times and shaking his head. I'm unnerved and unsure what he's doing, but I'm too focused on trying to breathe with his weight on top of me to give it too much thought.
Suddenly he covers my mouth with one hand, pressing the lit cigarette into my side with the other, holding it there. I scream into his hand from the pain, unable to control it. He finally removes it, although the burning sensation does not subside.
"I explained the rules to you. I gave you a chance. You broke them, you disrespected me, AND you told me no. So you get punished. That's how things work. 'No' isn't an option, anymore. Understand?" He is staring at me with hard and unforgiving eyes. I nod, hot tears trailing down my cheeks. "Apologize to me." He commands. I shut my eyes, letting go of a sob. "I-I'm sorry." I whisper.
He lights up another cigarette, and my heart clenches. "I'm sorry!" I say, louder, afraid he is going to burn me again. "Yeah, I know." He says calmly, casually taking a drag off the cigarette. He starts moving slowly in and out of me again. "Now, call me daddy. Tell me you love it."
I take a shuddering breath. I am not me. I am Christina. I'm not real. "I… I love it, daddy." I feel my face flush at the words.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it? Keep saying it. Tell me you want more. Tell me you want me to fuck you."
I open my mouth, trying to form the words to protect myself from pain, but the shame of betraying myself keeps them locked in my throat. I'm not me. I am Christina. Callie wouldn't say these things. Only Christina would. "Took too long." He says, calmly covering my mouth and tightly pressing the cigarette into my stomach. I again scream in pain, writhing under his grasp. When he pulls it away, my chest is heaving, the pain nearly unbearable.
He throws the crumpled cigarette to the side, laying fully across my body as he thrusts harder into me. "One more chance. Say it, slut." He whispers, biting into my shoulder hard enough to break the skin. I gasp in pain. I say what he wants to hear, growing more distant inside with every second.
I'm disgusting. I hate myself. I hate myself.
He reaches a new level of frantic as he pumps into me. He grips my waist and pulls me toward him, stretching my wrists impossibly further against the cuffs, driving the metal deeper into my skin. He lets out a groan, grasping my throat tighter than before, and I feel a flicker of fear light inside me. He tenses, then collapses against me. His grip relaxes slightly against my throat, remaining there and making me highly aware of his capability to remove my ability to breathe with just a squeeze of his hand. His thrusting slows, enjoying the high of his release. His head is laid next to mine, his breathing rapid.
He slips out of me, and I feel wetness leaking out behind him. I am so thankful it is over, that I can almost ignore how disgusting I feel. Almost. I swallow, wishing the pain in my wrists would be eased. I am afraid to make any movement, any sound. I'm afraid to draw attention to myself, to remind him that I even exist. As though if I am still enough, he won't hurt me anymore.
He lays there for a few minutes until his breathing has slowed down. Too soon, he raises his head, moving his hand from my throat to brush through my hair. "You're the best girl I've had yet. That was amazing." He raises himself up, looking down at me. "I don't think that part was as good for you, though. No worries. I've got you. I never break my word. You gave me something, so you get something, too."