I See You (7 page)

“I didn’t have to wait for you to be single for that.” His deep voice echoes from behind her, startling me.

Laughing loudly in agreement, she winks at him and I make my way back to the bar, my throbbing feet telling me it’s going to be a long night.

M
Y HEART SKIPS WHEN I
watch her climb from her car, her long legs encased in a pair of pants that hug her ass. Oh, she’s definitely a looker. My cock hardens in preparation for the fight I hope she gives me.

The room light comes on and I grin to myself as she draws the drapes, displaying to me her large tits. Fuck, the night just gets better.

I wait for the bedroom light to come on but after a while, when it doesn’t, I climb from the car and make my way closer, avoiding the streetlamps and keeping to the shadowed edges. It’s an easy approach; the many shrubs and trees being my associates for the night and offering me sanctuary against the adrenaline coursing through me. The long shadows they give out match my soul, the evil inside me pouring out and aiding my undertaking.

I stop when a figure cuts through the driveway in front of me, its shadow stretching from next door’s fence. I know it’s her; the shape of her tits in the darkness can’t be missed.

“Ssh, Ginger,” she whispers.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention with the sound of her soft voice. She’s femininity in its element; the fall of her long hair, her tiny waist, and her large breasts. She was created for monsters like me.

The lock clicks on the back door. I smile. I love a challenge and she thinks she can keep me away.

How wrong she is. How wrong they both are. I can see now why my brother is so enthralled with this one. She is quite fucking delectable.

I
CAN’T BREATHE. THE DAMN
cat is sitting on my face again. I open my eyes and the restriction in my throat worsens when I realize it isn’t Ginger pressed against my nose—it’s a hand.

Time is frozen for what seems like forever. I can’t move. My body won’t decipher the messages my brain is trying to thrust into my nervous system. My blood rushes through the tightness of my veins, each cell in my body being shocked with a ferocity my mind is unable to cope with.
I’m not alone. Someone is here with me in my room, suffocating me.

My eyes widen as they adjust to the darkness. All I can focus on is the whites of his eyes through his balaclava, the evil reflected back at me through his irises the only thing I can concentrate on.

My heart rate is going through the roof and vomit is rising up my throat but still I can’t move. I stare absently up at the man holding me down.

His thighs are thick, each of them clamping my arms by my sides. His breathing is heavy and there’s a slight wheeze with each exhalation. His hand is large and gloved, the press of his fingers against my cheekbone harsh and deep.

It’s then and only then that I feel the press of his erection in my stomach.

It’s then and only then that my brain finally realizes what is happening.

It’s then and only then that instinct kicks in and I start to fight.

He holds me harder as I start to flip beneath him, my body bucking violently as I try to free myself from under him. The vomit curls deep in my stomach and tears burn my eyes when I realize what he wants.

“No, please,” I mumble around his hand as my head shakes, my body following suit as every inch of me starts to tremble.

“Ssh.” His whisper is almost soothing, like he cares that I’m distressed. His eyes soften for a brief second as he tips his head to the side very slightly. “Ssh.”

“No!” I start to cry harder as I pull at my hands in attempt to free them. But he’s strong, too strong. I know I have no chance against him but I’m damned if I don’t try. Opening my mouth, I pull back my lips and bite into the flesh of his hand as hard as I can. He laughs and pulls it back quickly.

Taking the opportunity, I suck in air and scream as loudly as I can. I’m praying Mr. Ilavich hears me. It’s only when my attacker punches me in the side of the head that I remember Mr. Ilavich is away.

“You loud little bitch!” he hisses as he stuffs some material into my mouth, both stopping my scream and my ability to bite. “I don’t mind a screamer but teeth are a no, no,” he snarls, leaning forward and biting into my shoulder. The pain is immense, burning like his teeth are made of lava. Pulling up, his mouth is dripping. Crimson drops land on my face followed by a chunk of my own flesh. “Unless it’s me doing the biting,” he adds. The purest kind of evil is looking down on me with depravity saturated in every word.

The stupid thing is, all I can think as he binds my hands to the bed is ‘Thank God I’ve gotten over the flu, or I wouldn’t be able to breathe.’

There were many strange thoughts to come during his four-hour assault.

He strips me with the touch of a lover; a caress hiding the lie of what he truly is; a monster. His hands travel over my skin, exploring my flesh. He tries to soothe me with gentle shushing sounds as he parts my legs. I fight, forcing them to close but he’s stronger than me, pressuring them to open for him.

Sobs burst from my chest as I lay bare to him. This is so different to how he was moments before when he tore into my shoulder with his teeth. I panic when I feel his breath on my navel, travelling down between my spread thighs. He swipes out, tasting me, and I can’t stop him. He toys with me, bringing feelings I don’t want. I hate my body for betraying me and letting this man elicit any arousal in me but he appears to know how to work my body, to turn it against me. In the most horrific moment of my life, he feasts on me like I’m his lover and the best thing he’s ever had on his tongue, his fingers sliding inside me with skill. I’m repulsed, my stomach twisting with the heat of arousal, but unable to stop my body from responding too. It’s the worst kind of torture. I hate him . . . I hate myself. I know my body is reacting to an action, stimulation, rather than emotion, but it’s still a betrayal, one I’ll never forgive myself for. He pulls the material from my mouth.

“You’re clenching your dirty fucking cunt, coming all over the place like some cheap slut gagging for attention.” He rubs me roughly and then rubs my treachery all over my face. “Taste what your hungry pussy gave me so willingly.”

“Fuck you!” I scream, before biting down on his finger. I draw blood, I can taste the iron twang hit my tongue. He quickly pries my jaw apart and I try pulling and kicking to no avail.

His fist impacts the side of my head, making my vision blur. “No, you vile slutty little cunt—fuck you! I’m going to punish you for drawing blood.”

The worst part was over, the soft side was more humiliating than the anger, which came next. The pain and brutality of him using anything he could find to rape me with. He hated me with every part of him. His fists rained down whenever my spirit would gain momentum and I tried to fight him off. The tearing and bruising throbbed with such intensity that my mind tried to turn off and take me into the darkness but he wouldn’t allow me to go. He used freezing water to bring me around from the dazed state and then took a belt to my tender flesh, the hiss of the air and sharp snap as it lashed against me caused vomit to rise and spill from my mouth. He mocked me and called me cruel names. In the end I didn’t focus on the feel of him, or the sounds he made, or even how he moved me many times, at one point dislocating my shoulder when he pulled me so hard, turning me, not caring that the binds wouldn’t allow for it. I concentrated on the sound of the rain beating heavily on my window, and the faint howl of the wind that always carried through the attic above my bedroom.

When he untied my wrists and threw me from the bed to the floor, my head thudded brutally on impact. My nails dug into the wooden floorboards as I tried to drag myself away from the soundtrack of his mocking laughter. The tearing of my fingernails being left in the floor as he hauled me back by my ankles was excruciating.

His filthy dick abuses me and spills his fluids inside me, stinging every tear he causes. I know when he coats me in his DNA that he probably plans on killing me. The fear is gone. He uses me up and rapes the fight out of me.

My mind wanders to my childhood, the way my dad would smile at me whenever I managed to complete another curl on my letters, or when I learnt a new word. My mother’s happy laughter soothed my soul as she walked with me to school and praised me for all my hard work.

As he forces his hand inside me and tears me apart, I let myself drift away to my memories.

I remember Sammy, our pet tortoise, and how I would tape Barbie to his back and watch him shuffle around the room with her for a companion. I remember feeding my uncle’s Koi in his huge pond. I remember Jimmy, the boy who used to live next door before he drowned in their pool.

I’m drowning now, in the taste of my own blood.

I must have passed out because I can’t remember how I ended up in the shower stall on the tiled floor, cold water bringing me round to consciousness. I wish it hadn’t. He’s emptied my bottles of shower wash and shampoo over me and scrubs at my skin, making sure to clean me thoroughly, and then pushes the head of the shower inside me. I beg him to stop, my throat too raw for my screams to make a sound.

When he’s finished, he warns me that he could come back anytime. I don’t feel the blood running down my legs, or the pain in my cheek where he hit me time and time again. I don’t feel the soreness in my backside or the stinging bites on my chest. All I feel is an overwhelming grief when I fall out my front door to flee and find he’s broken Ginger’s neck and left her out in the rain.