Tangled Rose (2 page)

“Good girl,” he said and carefully unzipped her leather racing suit.

That racing suit was her favorite thing in the world. She’d made it herself. It covered her from head to toe in sleek, black leather and there was a zip that went from her neck down to her ankle. Usually it made her feel sexy and powerful, like Catwoman. Now it felt like armor, she felt that as long as it was on she had some protection. Fat Boy’s corpulent fingers were on the zipper, slowly pulling it down, revealing her body to his greedy eyes.

She didn’t want to look at him. She didn’t want to see his face. She looked down at her chest. As the zipper opened she could see that all she had to protect her body from Fat Boy’s greasy hands was a black lace bra and panties.

And that was when she did it. She looked up at him. It was a mistake. Instantly, she knew she’d made a mistake. Not only had she excited him by giving him a moment’s connection but she had also seared into her memory the sight of his fat, disgusting face.

In the blue light of the moon she saw his beady eyes staring at her. They looked like pure evil, black and small. He was like an animal picking over its prey in the night. His cheeks were swollen and plump. His skin was marked in pocks. His beard looked tangled and dirty.

And it was then, in that terrible moment of panic, that she found her voice. She screamed as she looked up at him. His hand came down on her mouth. It was sweaty and warm. He pressed down on her face and she stopped screaming.

“You keep quiet or I’ll really give you something to scream about,” he said.

Rose looked up into his face and then shut her eyes. She didn’t scream again. He continued unzipping her suit. The zip went from her neck down past her navel to her waist and then down her right leg. Fat Boy opened it all the way and then pulled it open so that he could see all over her. Only her left leg and her arms were still clothed. She was bare to him now, just some thin, lace underwear between her and him.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?” he whispered.

She had no idea. She didn’t want to know. She could feel the strength of him as he moved her and pulled off her suit. He was as muscular as he was fat. His arms were hairy and she could smell a raw, animal scent from him. He reminded her of a bear. She tried to resist but it was no good. She was tied up and he was so powerful. He reached beneath her back and unclasped her bra.

“That’s better,” he said as he pulled it off and threw it to the floor.

She shivered in the chill air. Her body was completely exposed. Her breasts were naked to his view. The only thing covering her vagina was the thin lace panties. He stood over her and looked at her for what seemed like hours. She would never forget the steady rhythm of his controlled breathing. He was like a wolf looking at its prey in a forest, waiting for the exact moment to ravage her.

“This is my favorite thing in life,” he said, “this moment, right now, when you know it’s going to happen, when you’re terrified of what is about to happen to you, and you know that there is nothing in all the world you can do to stop it.”

Rose tried not to listen to his words, she tried not to let their meaning penetrate her mind, but she couldn’t keep them out. He leaned low over her face and whispered to her as if putting a child to sleep.

“All you want is to get out of here. You’re frightened, you’re terrified. You don’t know what I’m going to do. You don’t know if I’m going to hurt you. You don’t know if I’m going to kill you. Maybe I am.”

He laughed and then stuck his tongue into her mouth. He licked around the outside of her mouth before sliding it in. She struggled against the ties on her ankles and wrists but it was no good. She was completely trapped, completely vulnerable.

“You can’t do this,” she whispered. “You can’t do this to me.”

She didn’t understand how the world was allowing this to happen to her. How was God allowing this to happen? It wasn’t right. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t hurt anyone in her life. She’d worked hard to get herself together, to give herself a decent life. She’d pulled herself out of the gutter. And now she was being reduced to this.

Fat Boy went back to the foot of the bed. The entire bed tilted in his direction. He was so heavy that Rose thought it might break. She was whispering words to herself and she didn’t realize until then what it was that she was whispering. She’d been praying. For the first time in years, since her father had died, she was remembering the French Catholic prayers of her childhood.

“God’s not going to save you now,” Fat Boy said and then he bent down and placed his mouth on the mound of her pussy.

Rose gasped. She was in shock. Fat Boy’s tongue was pressing against the outside of her panty, wetting it. Then he pulled the panty to the side and she felt the wet, slippery surface of his tongue directly against the pink skin of her vagina. She could feel her vaginal lips reacting to the moistness of his tongue and she cursed her body for betraying her.

Fat Boy didn’t go down on her the way a man usually went down on a woman. Usually it was a sensual, sexual experience. The way he did it was more animalistic. It was as if he was a dog slobbering all over its food. She hated the sound of it. The revulsion, mixed with the terror was almost too much for her. She wanted to scream but she was too frightened of what he might do. Something about him made her feel that he might actually bite her. He was lapping her up, drinking any juice that escaped from her pussy, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to cry or scream. All she could do was pray it would end soon.

Finally he stopped licking her. She had to struggle to catch her breath. She was so pent up, so tense, that she was finding it hard to breathe. Fat Boy ran his tongue from her vagina up over her navel and between her breasts. It felt horrible. She felt like a worm was wriggling its sticky, gooey way up her body. He brought his tongue up to her neck and then onto her face.

Rose tried to look away but he pulled her face back to his.

“Kiss me, you little bitch,” he said.

She couldn’t do it. He was too disgusting. Everything about him turned her stomach and made her want to die. She shook her head and tried to turn it away from him but he held it in position and put his mouth down on hers. His tongue forced its way into her mouth between her tightly shut lips. She let him run his tongue all over hers, all over the inside of her mouth, and she tried not to breathe the entire time.

As he kissed her he guided his penis with his free hand to the mouth of her pussy. She squirmed and struggled but he was so heavy and so strong that she couldn’t escape him. He weighed over three-hundred pounds and he had her right where he wanted her.

She shut her eyes and stifled a scream as the head of his enormous penis breached past the mouth of her vagina. She gasped. Fat Boy sighed in pleasure. His fat cock slid easily into her moist, open pussy and filled her like a sword in a sheath. Under the weight of him there was nothing she could do but lie there and let him kiss her.

Fat Boy began to rhythmically fuck her pussy, as if he was part of a big machine and his cock was the piston. Rose couldn’t breathe. He was too heavy. She stared up past him at the fan blades. They weren’t turning. For some reason that bothered her. How could she get any air if the fan wasn’t on?

Fat Boy pulled out and plunged back down inside her again and again. She didn’t know how long he would continue. He really was like an animal. As his penis rammed deep within her, he licked her face like some horrible, slimy dog. All she could do was hope and pray that he would come soon. Once he’d come it would be over. She couldn’t believe that she was being raped. She couldn’t believe that she was hoping he’d orgasm just so the horror of it could come to an end. Could this really be happening to her? Was this really what the world was like in the wild northern forests? Was this what happened to women when they got this far from proper civilization? She’d never dreamed the world could be this sinister and dangerous.

She felt a throb from his penis and knew he was close to orgasm. She thrust her pelvis up against him, hoping to end it all, but he pulled out. What was he doing now? He hadn’t come. It was the last minute and instead of orgasming he’d pulled out and was hunched over her.

“You want this, don’t you?” he said, holding his enormous, throbbing cock in his hand. “You want it all, you fucking bitch.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want any of it. She wanted him to get off her. He was crushing her. She wanted him and the rest of the DRMC to release her, to let her go back to the life she had in Montreal.

“Please,” she whispered, but as soon as she’d said it she realized her mistake.

He mistook her pleading for assent. He actually thought she was begging him to give her his semen.

He crawled up over her, so that he was kneeling up above her, his throbbing, pulsing penis just above her face. She could see that he was ready to burst. He was ready to explode all over her. He wanted to come. He wanted nothing more than to have his orgasm. But still he was stalling. What was he waiting for? Let it be over.

“Beg,” he said.

His voice was harsh and dry.

She didn’t have the courage to resist him anymore. She couldn’t oppose him. She couldn’t fight him. He was kneeling above her, his cock in his hand, his terrible eyes glistening down at her.

“Please,” she whispered.

And with that simple word, the pulse of orgasm rushed from his loins through to his penis and his sticky, white semen squirted down onto her face.

“Please,” she whispered again.

Again a pulse of sperm gushed from him and fell down onto her pretty face, falling on her mouth. She licked the semen and to this day she could still taste the metallic, stickiness of it. She could still smell it. For as long as she lived she would remember how she felt at that moment. She felt utterly abused, utterly worthless, utterly alone.

III

R
OSE HAD LOST TRACK OF
how much time she’d been lying on the bed since Fat Boy had raped her. It was a day, two at the most.

“Are you okay?”

It was Patrice. She was safe, for now. She hadn’t set eyes on Fat Boy since the night he’d raped her. If she never set eyes on him again it would be too soon.

She looked at Patrice. He acted kind but she was frightened of him too. She knew that if Fat Boy could have her so easily, then it was the same for her other guards. So far though, she didn’t get that feeling from Patrice. She prayed she could trust him.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I was just remembering something.”

“It looked pretty intense.”

“It was an intense memory.”

“What was it?”

She looked at him. She
wanted
to trust him. She was dying for someone to trust, someone she could think of as an ally, as a friend. But she knew it was too soon. She knew nothing about Patrice other than that he was a DRMC member and that was more than enough to make her distrust him.

“Nothing. It was nothing.”

Patrice nodded. He finished loosening her cords so that they didn’t cut into her flesh quite so painfully.

“Does that feel better?” he said.

She didn’t know how to take him. Was he trying to be friendly, to be kind, or was he just toying with her?

*

M
OST OF THE DAY PATRICE
sat outside her room on the landing. She could see outside when he opened the door. Her room was on the upper level of the motel overlooking the parking lot. Across the lot was a highway and then trees. Trees were everywhere in this place. She was so far from civilization, so far north, she wondered if she would ever be able to escape.

Patrice knocked lightly on her door before entering. She thought it was weird, pointless even, considering she was tied to the bed. It had been a few hours since he’d last been in the room.

“You okay?” he said.

She didn’t answer. It was such a strange question. Of course she wasn’t okay. She was a captive. She was anything but okay.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be sullen. I’m not here to hurt you.”

She looked at him. She knew she should try to be friendly, she should try and maintain as positive a relationship with him as possible. She knew that. She was his captive, he was her guard. He had absolute power over her. But something inside her resisted. She couldn’t bear to be friendly. After all that had happened, making friends was not on her list of things to do.

But surviving was, she told herself, and if she wanted to survive, she needed friends. She gave Patrice a thin smile. It was hardly a smile at all, but it was enough. He came into the room.

“I can turn on the TV if you like.”

She didn’t say anything. She just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t pretend that she liked him, that everything was okay. She couldn’t pretend that she wanted to watch television. She’d been raped! She’d been kidnapped. She’d been tied to a bed for so long that she didn’t even know how much time had passed.

“I could use some water,” she said.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course you could. I’m such an idiot.”

He went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of tap water. He’d loosened her cords but she was still tied to the bed and the only way she could drink was for him to help her.

He sat on the bed next to her and put his arm behind her head and helped her up a little. She leaned forward and drank from the glass. A lot of it spilled down her chin but she didn’t care. She was parched. She felt the water flowing into her stomach and giving her life.

“Is that better?” he said.

She looked at him and then looked away immediately. She didn’t want to make friends. She didn’t want to be a fool. She’d studied psychology in school. She knew about captives identifying with their captors. Patrice looked kind but looks could be deceiving. He seemed like a nice guy but then what was he doing with a gang like the DRMC?

He was just a little younger than she was. He was probably twenty or twenty-one. He had short brown hair that curled tightly. He was wearing a white shirt under his DRMC jacket. She could tell from the patches on his back that he was just a prospect for the club. He was still putting in his time, doing simple, menial tasks while he earned his way up the ranks to full membership. Being a prospect meant he still had to prove himself. Maybe the club hadn’t had time yet to harden him. She knew that the DRMC was a mean club, it was cruel and it hurt the people that opposed it. She knew that too well. But maybe this man, Patrice, was still a good kid.
Maybe
.