This is probably one of the darker chapters. Implies rape and other such uncomfortable subjects if you'd rather not read, but doesn't describe anything explicitly, so far tamer than other stories on here.
Though I'd been twelve when I was taken, I'd heard whispers in the halls by the older kids. I had ideas of what things like sex were. They were distant thoughts, and I'd read about it some in my science books. I knew enough to have nightmares of rape be the worst. I learned it to be my biggest fear. When Pitch learned it, well, that was just peachy to him! He'd never touched me inappropriately before. Well, not sexually. He had no qualms about digging his nails into tender skin, however. In fact, he seemed to delight in watching me bleed. Mostly, I think, because I cringed. Because anything that caused me pain and agony was like music to him. He was a monster. A real monster.
And therein lay his power.
I believed in him. Wholeheartedly. And he scared me.
I looked at the soft bonds that held my hands above my head. Silk. It nearly made me shiver with anxiety. This was how the dreams started. Tugging my arms only served to tighten the material around my wrists uncomfortably. The gag in my mouth tasted salty as if it had been laying in the black sand not long before he'd forced the silken material into my mouth and tied it around the back of my head. He'd smiled when I whimpered. I hadn't meant for it to come out. I knew how much he enjoyed hearing signs of distress and avoided them at all costs. But I hadn't been able to help myself.
He leaned down to secure my legs, but with tears stinging at my eyes as the fear came at me full force, I braced all my weight onto my bound wrists and kicked out at him. It was a pathetic attempt, really. He hadn't fed me the day before since he thought the sunlight should be nourishment enough and my body felt weak from the lack of energy. Still, I managed to clip his head, earning a nasty snarl from him. It brought to mind my stuffed wolf. I would give anything, I realized, to have the scrap of faux fur with me now.
Before he could threaten me for lashing out, I found the last reserves of my strength and fought wildly. Fear, as I said before, is a powerful motivator. I was terrified. It didn't matter what he had planned today. It was already different. Unknown. Had my mouth been free, I would have begged to be tortured by the nightmares. By his long fingernails. By the dagger he was sometimes fond of. By anything. Anything other than what was to come. It was that it was an unknown that I couldn't stand it.
My outburst was short lived and he waited impatiently until I subsided into muffled sobs. Already choked up as I was, it was pitifully easy for me to feel vulnerable when Pitch's hand reached out to grab my neck and squeeze. With my legs now secured, I really had no hope of fighting back. My vision went dark around the edges for a moment before he let up a little and caressed a thumb across my cheek to swipe away tears.
"No one will ever want you," he said with an almost paternal tone. "You're not worthy of them. What use could people have for a little rat stuck in darkness?"
I didn't know. Didn't care. I wanted out. Away from him. Away from the glittering gold eyes watching me from behind him. The nightmares snorted their approval, tasting my fear. Relishing it.
Just stop. Stop, please. Leave me alone, I wanted to cry out. When I was alone, there was no more pain. Not physical, at least. And I'd long since stopped being bothered by not having the company of others.
"But I want you."
I felt bile rise in my throat in immediate rejection. I shook my head, almost angrily, though there was too much terror to be considered in the least bit intimidating. Certainly not to one such as him. But he read the answer in my eyes.
"You wound me! And I thought we were getting on so well! I mean, we both agree that the Guardians are but a fairy tale and you've been behaving so nicely!"
The air whooshed out harshly though my nose in erratic breaths as I tried to stay calm. It wasn't working. I felt a full blown panic attack coming on and could tell just by watching how the nightmares danced and whinnied with approval.
"I could give you the world," he told me softly, as if to smooth over all the times he'd hurt me. "Look, I can be romantic!" He waved his hand at the ceiling. The black sands above shifted, twirling about until a skylight was opened in the dark prison. Immediately, moonlight flooded inside. I couldn't feel the comfort of that light. I was numb to it.
Pitch leaned forward as if to kiss my wet cheeks, but I whipped my head about furiously, energy rekindled just from the small action. No! I was not his toy!
He rocked back on his heels, pinned me with a hard stare. I swallowed thickly, imagining I'd just sealed my fate when he surprised me. "I see you need some time to think on this. I can grant that," he said, as if attempting to truly be agreeable. "Very well, little Alice. You have the night to think it over. I expect your real answer in the morning."
And he left me.
Trussed up as I was, my shoulders slumped with relief while the nightmares paced just outside the light of the moonbeams. I nearly wept with relief that I had a short reprieve from their onslaught. So blinded was I by even the soft light of the moon that I missed the fact that the light shone down through the hole in my black sand prison like a beacon.
Hope, dreams, and wonder had long since been wiped out by Pitch. Any memories I had left of good days were fleeting at best. Fun? Well, I hadn't had fun in years. I wouldn't know it if it hit me in the head.