Chapter 14 - by Sugar Faerie

Oz

I think their laughter was the worst, at the time. The pain I could handle, but their jeering and snide remarks were more torture for me than what they were actually doing to me.

Not that the pain wasn't bad. It was... unbelievable. I tried to tune out, freeze of the pain and the men around me until I could stand it, but eventually I was forced to give in to it.

I run my hand over my bruised thighs, wincing as the movement jerks my torn muscles. They weren't gentle. Pigs.

I remember when it first started... I cried out, and the man above me laughed. "Why, little slut, don't you like that?" he'd whispered into my ear, his hot breath burning me. "Pity your boyfriend's not here to save you..."

I tried to push him off then, my disgust overwhelming me. I was pinned to the floor, so lashed out in the only way I could, biting him in the neck. It was a stupid thing to do, and it probably didn't hurt him very much. Still, he roared with anger and smashed me in the mouth with his fist, causing it to fill with blood so that I choked.

I can still taste it now, both salty and metalic at the same time. No matter how much I try to spit it out, I can still taste it.

The zipper and belt of my shorts broke, so I tied a ribbon from my hair around it. Absently I try and tie it tighter, but I know it won't be any use. Someone will probably undo it.

Brit... I really miss you now. What would you do if you were here? Smash the place up, yeah, that would be your style. Fight the policemen off me, then hold me and tell me it's alright.

But it's not alright. You're gone, and we're here, cooped up in cells, broken things for the SP to play with at their leisure.

I didn't want it... I didn't. I didn't want their hands on me, touching me, I didn't want them seeing parts of me that no-one sees without my permission. That was always my rule. No-one gets me unless I'm in the mood.

I guess rules were meant to be broken, hey?

I lean back against the cell wall, the ice cold metal chilling my heated skin. Outside my cell I can hear voices, loud voices, that don't even attempt to be secret.

"Give me the pretty one," one of them says. A female voice.

Which one of us do they mean?"

"Which one?" a male voice asks.

There's a pause, then when the woman speaks again there's a trace of spite in her voice. "The one who's boyfriend bit the dust in the raid. The solitary girl."

That's me. She wants me.

Sure enough, the man's entering my cell and pulling me to my feet. His hand runs over my stomach, stopping only to fiddle with the ribbon around my hips. "Shame..." he murmers, taking his hand away. "Ah well, maybe later."

Later. That would figure.

He drags me down the corridor, and for the first time I see the others. I feel a sharp, stabbing pain in my heart, as I see how many of us have been hurt, shamed, tortured.

I've lost everything I loved, everything I wanted to save. My home, my dream, the one I loved most.

And as I get led into another room and face my attacker, I don't care what happens to me anymore.