Page 52 of Apathy
Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t.
He branded me with violence. He branded me with sick desires, and I couldn’t shake them anymore. I just wanted more and more and more until I couldn’t take anything anymore. I didn’t care who it was, as long as I got what I needed.
“You don’t deserve anything better than this,” he breathed in my ear, while searing pain rocked my body. “You are just a little whore, aren’t you?” He slapped my ass again, and as he started dragging his hand closer to my opening, I stiffened.
“What?” He slowed down and pulled me up, his hand tightly wrapped around my throat. “You think you won’t like that?” The headboard in front of me blurred, my breathing choppy as he kept squeezing my larynx. “You will love everything I do to you, and you’ll beg for more. Because you’re my little whore, pretty girl. You are only mine.”
He pinched my nipple with his other hand, earning another desperate cry. I thought he would stop. I thought he wouldn’t go that far, but I should’ve known that he wouldn’t mind destroying me if it meant getting what he wanted.
Still with his dick inside me, he dipped one finger in my backside, making me moan and cry, plead and beg. I didn’t know if I was begging for him to stop or to keep going. My skin burned, but as he kept pounding in me with sharp, heavy thrusts, the second finger joined, and in sync with his dick, he kept going in and out, stretching me until the only thing I could think about was coming and coming.
But that never happened.
He removed his fingers, stopping completely, my pleading only a whisper on my lips as he let me fall to the bed, with my hands next to my head.
I used to dream. I used to love, but it was all now erased, cloaked in darkness, forever lost to the monsters of this world. They didn’t have to have red eyes or horns. They didn’t have to kick you, but their words cut like knives, and this monster behind me, his words hurt the most, because he was supposed to be different.
Thunder roared through the skies, and I shivered as the demon behind me started moving, holding my throat, and flicking my clit. I moaned. I thrashed. I cried from pain and pleasure, but I couldn’t stop him. Unlike the other times, I was going to remember this, and no amount of drugs or alcohol was going to erase this from my memory.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to deny him a million times, but the beatings were too much to bear. I learned how to keep my mouth shut. But I would rather die than let him think that he won. No, I was going to get away from here. I was going to disappear, and they would never be able to find me.
This town, these people, these monsters, they were going to be just a memory.
But I didn’t know how long I would be able to do this. My body could take a lot, but my mind, my heart, my soul, they were shattering with each day. I feared that there would be nothing left by the end of the school year. I already forgot how it felt to be happy, faking smiles, faking contempt, because I didn’t want them to ask me questions.
No, I didn’t want Dylan to ask me questions. Pure, good Dylan.
I was good at hiding, locking myself inside my mind so that I wouldn’t have to actively participate in what was happening around me. I did it now, because if I couldn’t run away with the help of drugs, I could do it myself.
His grunts were far away from me, just an echo waiting outside the closed door of my mind. I let my body go, giving it fully to him, nodding when he asked me if I loved it, if he was the only person on my mind. I nodded when he told me not to come, but I wasn’t here.
I was back in that tent with Ash. Instead of these two filthy hands holding me, I imagined it was Ash choking me, caressing me, punishing me, making me wait for him and his release. I imagined it was his dick pistoning, his lips tasting me, his scent enveloping me. I let myself get lost in pleasure, because it wasn’t my father fucking me.
It wasn’t a monster who was supposed to protect me, tarnishing my soul. I imagined it was Ash.
It was all Ash.
“You’re so tight, pretty girl,” my father whispered, but it wasn’t his voice.
I lost myself in the land of dreams, where the person owning my body was someone I wanted, not someone I feared.
My father, Judah Blackwood, was a devil, a demon, a nightmare. He was the monster in those stories Dylan told me when I was a kid, and I realized way too late that he wasn’t the caring and loving father I wanted him to be.
“Oh God,” he moaned, placing sloppy kisses over my shoulder. I couldn’t fight the chills spreading over my body, and the sick bastard thought it was for him. “Skylar, you’re perfect.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered because that’s what he always wanted to hear.
“You’re the perfect daughter.” Bile rose in my throat every time he reminded me who I was to him. It was easier pretending that he was just a stranger than my father.
I gulped down the acid rising in my stomach and tightened the muscles in my pussy, urging him to come. I couldn’t prolong this without the pills he always gave me. It was so easy avoiding his eyes, avoiding his face, pretending that his voice wasn’t the same voice that read those stories to me before I went to sleep.
“You’ll always be my favorite girl.” He chuckled. “Always mine.”
If I could, I would stab him in the heart for everything he did to me—for every threat, for every slap, for every piece of me he took with him. He shattered me, made me think I wasn’t worthy, made me think that no one would ever believe me if I told them what he did to me.
“My dad touched me like this as well,” he told me the first time he brought me here.
How many times did I scream? How many times did I cry? How many times did I beg to disappear? But no one ever heard me, because Senator Blackwood held more power than anyone could ever imagine. I didn’t have to know what was going on behind the closed doors of his study to know that the men he used to bring over to our house were not the kind of men you wanted to hang out with.
