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Dirty hands pulled my painting from the dresser, his fingers smudging all the pretty painted leaves on purpose. I just watched, my hands cradling my face, still in shock from the slap.
And then the realization of danger gifted another slap to the face. I was alone. With the one person I feared most in the world.
“I think you should leave now,” I almost stuttered, somehow managing to hide my nerves.
I pushed my wheelchair toward the door, and he gripped one wheel, throwing me from the chair that landed on its side, its wheels spinning.
He threw the painting to the floor next, all my hard work and happiness ruined in one second.
My arms worked hard to drag my body away, but I knew it was useless and pointless, even as I tried harder.
He crouched over me. His violent hands flipped me onto my back and his heavy body pushed down on me.
I gasped, desperate for air. I couldn’t scream. The pressure on my jaws and teeth became too intense as his fingers dug harder into my cheeks, causing blood to leak down them as his dirty nails pierced my skin.
Terror wrapped around me, holding me down for him in this awful position—below him.
His other hand moved between my legs, and I tried harder to scream as he pushed my panties and all the tissue to the side. He laughed about that, guessing what it was, and then his fingers were invading me.
I whimpered, still unable to scream.
My upper body tried to fight, desperation egging me on.
My nails weren’t sharp enough to damage his skin, but I tried...I tried so hard.
The hand on my face grew wet as tears rapidly fell from my eyes. His violent grasp let go, trailing to the loosely fitted breast cups of my nightdress, where he ripped it open. He licked his lips, his perverted gaze locked on my nipple. I closed my eyes in time to avoid watching his tongue lap over it. I kept them squeezed shut to the point of pain as he sucked me into his mouth, his horrible rough tongue flicking over the sensitive spot.
I kept my eyes closed until my small breasts bored him, and I opened them so he’d know no different. My disgust was plastered on my face, held tightly in place by my grinding teeth, grinding harder as his fingers stabbed into me again and again and again.
I wished for a miracle.
I wished for Mercer to come upstairs, and I ignored the pain still echoing on my face to call out, “Mercer!” The plea was muffled by fear and Damiano’s violence.
“He does not care about you. He won’t save you. He raped you, too, remember?
But that was different. Because he was different, to me, regardless of what I was to him.
Another tear rolled from my eye, bringing forth a dare for me to act out.
I didn’t think about it.
I went in for the kill. I went for his eyes and wished my nails were sharper so I could gouge them out.
Pain rattled through him, a gift from my fingertips. He fell back, his hands leaving my body to comfort the eyes he couldn’t open.
I dragged myself across the floor, the carpet punishing me with each inch as if it was on Damiano’s side. Fire spread across my breasts. I’d lugged myself mere inches when he hauled me backward with bloody fingers.
Fast hands rushed for anything to grab onto to stop him from pulling me into his arms. A nail bent and broke, snapping before the free edge and causing immense pain as my fingers slipped off a bedpost. I grappled with something else, failing to see what it was until I swung it behind me, hitting Damiano in his nose with an empty glass bottle of alcohol.
I dropped it on impact, but he somehow caught it. His movements were much quicker than mine as he flipped me back onto my back and yanked me by the ankles so our bodies lined up.
My heart raced. I could almost see it pounding in my ribcage. My hair frizzed behind me, caused by friction from the carpet, as I shook my head, unable to accept what was about to happen.
The sound of his zipper stopped me dead. I froze, air rushing out from my lungs, too fast for me to inhale a good breath, watching as the pompous swollen head of his cock came out in greeting. He fisted himself, his hands rough, his mouth already drooling and grunting.
His anger bent my fingers as I fought to stop him from ripping my panties from my body.
He didn’t care about the blood between my legs. I needed him to stop, so I reached for the bottle again. I struggled to get a good grip when he smashed it under my palm. A piece splintered into my wrist, disappointing me that it wasn’t deep enough to kill me, saving me from a worse fate. He grabbed a bigger shard. I panicked as its ridged end moved closer to me, and I screamed as loud as I fucking could.
