Page 29 of When Sinners Fear
Grabbing at my hair, he hauls me to my feet. I fight to keep my legs as closed as possible as if that might lessen the burning sensation in my most intimate area. It’s futile, though. He just drags me up, so he can knock me back down onto my back. The ground is hard against my skin, but he doesn’t give me time to dwell on that before he’s over me. He’s only wearing underwear, and as he shoves them down to reveal his penis, my breathing spikes at the realisation of what’s coming next. Seeing one makes me want to feel embarrassed.
His hand moves over it, running back and forth jaggedly to bring it fully erect. I swallow at the sight, fearful of what he’s going to do and how that will fit inside me. He gave me little warning or preparation last time, but he tried to be careful. At least, that’s what went through my mind as I froze in pain. That’s what I told myself. I’m still sore, though. He cut me, and now he’s going to finish what he started. The sound of the men’s voices and cruel words is worse, though. The fear of what they might do is worse. Cruel and disgusting.
Looking up at him, I try to internally calm my skittish pulse, now forcing me into panic. Tears swell in my eyes, and I want to run away, curse and scream, but there’s no escape. I pull every urge and craving in and keep it inside as he lowers himself and grabs my leg to widen it. I want to fight again, to say no, to argue, but I don't.
He slaps my face and holds it firm, forcing me to look at him as he positions himself at my entrance. My lips waiver, body trembles, but it doesn't stop him from surging in without holding back. The stretched feeling snatches my breath, and my gasp can’t be contained. Pain burns and flares through me. He’s rough and hard, and I want to cry and fight, but then I think about those brutes and what they would do.
Knox doesn’t give me a second. He shoves back in deeper.
No. No. No. It’s all I can think as my body goes rigid.
He grunts and gets close to my ear. “Relax. It will be easier.”
My arms are grabbed, twisted harshly by his hands, and raised above my head. The calls and remarks begin from the other men, but I block them out. They’re nasty and vulgar and match how I feel.
“Hold on, Peyton.”
It’s the only hope I have as I block out the ripping sensation inside of me. My eyes squeeze shut, and I try, really, really hard to focus on something other than the present – other than the pain. “Look at me,” he murmurs.
My eyes snap open as he shoves inside again, and I grit my teeth together to stop myself from crying. That’s what I want to do more than anything. I want to cry and scream and plead for it to stop. Instead, my focus stays fixed on his eyes, and I let myself hide in them somehow. I’ll just hide and pretend. But it’s hard, even when his eyes seem to soften and plead a different story than what his body is dishing out.
Sex and losing your virginity were meant to be something you did with someone special. Not like this.
I’m not a girl who’s imagined many first dates or prom nights, but I had thought about what might happen if I met someone special. My brain rushes past a million thoughts as his assault continues. They’re memories of everything between this moment and my fifteenth birthday party. It was the last party my mother insisted on hosting, and the girls only came because they’d been made to by their mothers.
There was a girl – Janine – talking with some of the other girls in the backyard, boasting about one of the seniors taking her to the dance. He was much older than her, and she seemed so smitten. They asked her if he’d want to go all the way, and she just shrugged and gave a coy smile. I remember feeling out of my depth and confused that girls my age would be talking like that as if it was something to be proud of.
There are plenty of things in the world that make sense to me and that I’m able to make sense of, but that was something I couldn’t understand.
With that, a vicious shunt pushes my body across the ground, and my leg gets lifted high, twisting the position and making me wince. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my eyes on Knox and do what he said. No matter how hard I try, though,there’s no way to relax or ease my body into loosening my rigid position.
“You’ve gone soft, Knox. Nice and gentle, is that what gets you off?” Reed’s voice snaps me away from Knox, as does the feel of a metal rim pushed against my head. “You do this the nasty way, or she dies right now.”
In response, Knox stops, and the metal lifts from my skull. I feel my body uncoil tensed muscles for a second. With every drive inside me, I’ve stiffened more, and I know it’s making things worse.
I pant and shiver, attempting to find something in his eyes to help me through, but the respite isn’t long enough to give me time. He pulls out of me sharply, and a cry of pain breaks from my lips. I’m shoved over onto all fours, and he grabs my hips, pulling me back slightly and causing my knees to bite into the uneven floor. The pain seems welcome, though. It distracts me from the burning sting between my thighs.
His hand grabs into my hair and wrenches my head up so the men can watch me. And with his other hand, I can feel him moving and positioning his penis to push inside of me again. This time, I close my eyes, and tears begin to stream. He keeps my head looking up and then pistons back and forth, slapping my skin with his own as he continues his abuse.
“Her ass. Get him to fuck her ass. Make that bleed.”
I don't know who said that, but the small sliver of hope that Knox's words fed seems to vanish as I descend further into pain. My fists ball against the concrete floor, and I keep my breathing as controlled as I’m able, but every muscle tenses as he enters me violently, over and over again.
“Let me go,” I whisper behind my swollen lips.
“Shh,” he hisses as he leans over me and bites at my neck. He pulls me up so I’m completely exposed to their gaze as he slows his torture, and I feel something pushing at my butt. My head shakes, eyes streaming. “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”
Biting at my neck again, he moves his hand around to grope and squeeze at my breasts. The men’s eyes flare, and I can see the lust in them as he pulls at my nipples. It’s uncomfortable, but there’s an edge of something else deep in the pit of my stomach that isn’t just pain. It muddles my head, but anything is diluted by the hard shove from behind as he keeps forcing himself inside of me.
My breathing starts to even out through it, and I slow into the rhythm he creates and block the sensations from down below. It’s just pain, and I get to a point in time where I don’t know where I am or what he’s doing. I don’t know for how long, either, but at some point, he speeds up and shoves me forward again, burying my head and shoulders into the ground before smacking me on my behind over and over. His strikes send shudders through me, and I squeeze my eyes tight against more tears and pain.
He finally finishes, stilling inside me and pulling my hips against him for a second before dropping me to the ground.
There are voices and noises, but all I feel is numb. Cold. Dead.
Snatches. Moments of blank space. I can’t call it sleep because it’s not as restful as it should be. But now my eyes are back open. There’s the sound of something being placed on the floor. I look over and realise I’m back in the cell, and there’s a cup of something and a crust of bread.
My mind registers the images and sends signals for my limbs to move, but they remain motionless. It’s then that the pain screams through me as if it needed a second to wake up, too. My neck, my legs and knees, the side of my face – they all hurt. It’s nothing compared to the sensation between my thighs, though. The stinging has gone, and what’s left is an ache that’s acute and tender and a painful reminder of what happened to my behind. My thighs are still damp and sticky, and I cringe at the realisation that all of this is unprotected.