Page 4 of Are You Scared, Krowe?

It's going to rain. I hear thunder, and the sky is lighting up with flashes of silver, but I can't move.

Why can't I move?

"Fuck, Scarecrow. This is what you were hiding under all that fabric?"

The voice sounds far away, and I can't see anybody. The night is too dark, even in spite of the light.

"The rain..." I mumble.

My lips feel heavy, and my mouth is dry; my body doesn't feel like my own.

"I'll make it rain for you, Scarecrow." Someone chuckles, and the sound feels like it's coming from somewhere beyond my eyesight.

"She already made it rain." Someone laughs. "The bitch pissed herself."

The thunder feels like it's in my head. It's all around us, shaking the ground beneath me... the ground I'm lying on.

"I'm not touching her now. That's disgusting."

"Suit yourself."

"How's she feel, buddy?"

I remember falling down, getting dizzy, my stomach hurting.

Fuck, my stomach still hurts. I think I'm going to be sick again.

I try to flip myself over; I'm going to choke on my own vomit if I don't. I've done this for Mom a dozen times, rolling her onto her side when she's drank too much and I can't stay to watch her.

"Someone grab her arms; hold her down."

The hands come fast; they're immediate. I feel them on my shoulders, my wrists, other places. They're cold and heavy, and they don't relent as I try to wriggle out from beneath them.

"Please." I'm not sure the word actually makes it off my tongue. It feels too heavy to move. "I'm sick."

"You're not sick." Someone pants. It's breathless, frustrated, like I'm annoying them. I think it's Krowe. "You're fine. Just relax."

"No." I moan, but it turns to a gasp as the pain shoots through my stomach again. A sob racks through me, because I feel like I'm going to die right now.

Everything is wrong, and I'm dizzy and nauseous and in so much pain.

Where's the pain coming from?

"Shut her the fuck up so he can concentrate!" Someone snaps. "There's a long line here."

A line?

The shaking beneath me gets faster, the thunder more insistent.

"A storm..." I warn them, just before something pushes against my mouth.

It's warm, soft, and I think it's a hand... someone's trying to get me to stop talking. Why?

"Christ, not like that. I don't want to see your hairy asshole when I blow my load."

Thunder rumbles again like a warning.

"Just like that..." Someone croons, and I squint, trying to see through the darkness to tell who it is. "Go on, open up."

I want to ask what's going on, but then something is shoved into my mouth. It's warm too, just like whatever they pressed against my lips. But this time, it touches my tongue, and the vomit swells again.

Panic flares in my chest at being trapped, pinned to the ground; the adrenaline must puncture the fog because the darkness lifts, but there's no shapes I can make out... nothing but one big blur of white.

"Oh, fuck..."

"Already?" There's a chorus of chuckles from somewhere, but I can't turn toward it to ask for help because I'm suffocating on whatever they shoved in my mouth.

They gagged me?

"I can't fucking hold off. It's too good. I'm gonna—"

Something wet splashes against the back of my tongue, and my stomach heaves, desperate for release. But it doesn't come, and I'm not going to die by suffocating on my own vomit because that's a shitty fucking way to go, so I work hard to swallow it down past my protesting gag reflex.

The gag disappears, and I heave in breaths, desperate to quell my heaving stomach.

"Christ, she swallowed it all!"

"What a fucking whore. We should keep her... like a pet in the storm cellar."

There are tears in my eyes, leaking down my face, but I can see past them enough to make out the blob receding above me as the weight disappears.

After a few more blinks, I see him. Krowe.

He's grinning still, that beautiful mouth curved into a devious smile, and his head tossed back.

"Krowe..." I gasp.

He told me I was safe with him, and I believed that. But why doesn't he look concerned?

I’m really sick.

Something is wrong.

"Oh, fuck, Scarecrow." He gasps, and I feel nails digging into the skin on my hips. "Say my name."

I blink, trying to clear the image of him into something more like normal. It's hard, though, because he keeps moving closer and then further, closer and then further, the blurry image of him bobbing in and out of my eyeline.

The thunder is louder than ever, and I'm not too proud to admit that I'm scared.

Something is wrong.

The combination of drinking so much on an empty stomach and then the adrenaline of hearing that story... it must have sent me into a full-on anxiety attack. That's why everything is fuzzy.

"Say my fucking name, New Girl."

I blink; surely, that instruction is for me. Why does he want me to say his name? I can hardly even breathe.

"Kroweeee..."

My entire body trembles with the force of the thunder rattling the cornstalks around us. Why is no one else bothered by it?

I hear him panting and decide maybe he is worried, that he just doesn't look like it.

He presses his head to mine suddenly, and his skin is warm against mine. It's a small comfort, but it doesn't last. He pulls away almost immediately after, and then he moves away from me entirely. I watch him recede, watch him step to the side, his chest heaving like mine as he catches his breath.

I take him in, shirtless, and wonder where his clothes are and if he'd offer me his jacket. It's suddenly freezing, colder even than it was five minutes ago when I first woke up.

I notice the letterman jacket is on the ground... and so are his jeans.

I blink, my vision focusing on his bare legs, hairy and pale. I track them up to his waist and a shock flits through me at the sight of him, buck naked; his dick is at half-mast, somewhere between erect and limp, and it shines in the moonlight, wet with something red and shiny.

"No fucking way that whore was a virgin."

"You stole her V card?"

"Fuck! If I'd have known, I'd have fought you for first."

Everything hurts.

It hurts so fucking bad I can't breathe.

The tears come faster now.

"Please..."

Someone looms over me, and it only takes a moment for Jackson's face to come into view. It's a handsome face, but something about it is sinister as he stares down at me. I don't think he's going to help.

"It's okay." Someone soothes, and I feel a hand in my hair, brushing it off of my sweat-slick face.

I forgot there were hands holding me down until Jackson lowers himself to his knees before me, and alarm bells shoot off inside my head.

"Help!"

The sound is stronger now, but it gets swallowed up by the thunder.

Except, the thunder isn't thunder at all. It's... laughter.

"I know, Scarecrow. It hurts, huh?"

I whimper in agreement, because words take too much energy to form.

"Let me help loosen you up."

I think he's going to try and give me more to drink. Isn't that what they did last time, when they said I could let loose?

But he doesn't tip a bottle to my lips. His hand disappears between my legs, and I realize I'm not just pinned to the ground.

I'm naked.

Fear ratchets through me as he moves closer, and I fight.

I fight, because I know what's about to happen, what maybe already happened.

Pain blooms in parts of me I've never considered, and terror leeches into every hard-fought breath.

"No!" I gasp when I feel his touch on my bare skin, in my most intimate spaces.

I flail my limbs and kick and scream... in my head.

In reality, I can't make myself move even if they weren't holding me down, and my stomach is threatening to revolt again at the new, horrible realization of what's happening.

"Relax, Scarecrow. It'll be so much easier for you if you do."

I don't want easy.

I want to go home.

I want to shower their touch off of me, to curl beneath my blankets and wait for death to sweep me away, to vomit up every drop of what I now know is the cum that I swallowed.

"No!" I scream in pain as he spears into me, his fingers tearing through already ravaged flesh.

I miss the numbness that’s fallen away in chunks since I woke up on the ground. I miss not knowing what was going on.

This is so much worse.

"Look at you, taking three fingers like that. I'm gonna get you to four before I fuck you... I'm gonna get my whole fist in there by the end of the night, so I can move you like the scarecrow you are."

The burn spreads as his thrusts grow more vigorous, uncontrolled.

Slowly, feeling comes back to my toes, my fingers... I twist them, desperate to grab hold of anything to get the upper hand, to push off the ground or kick him in the face. But my body still isn't my own; it doesn't obey my commands as I give them, and it's all wasted effort.

"There's the fourth." He says proudly, his voice low and gravelly as he whispers to the skin of my stomach.

Fighting is useless, and it fucking hurts.

Every motion I make against him feels like his fingers will shred me from the inside, and I think I'm bleeding. Something wet rolls between my legs, dripping onto my asshole, and I realize he was right.

It kills me a little more than I've already died, trying to calm down enough to lay here and take it. It feels like acceptance, like agreement, like... consent. But it's not.

I don't want this from any of them. Not Krowe, who watches me with his hand stroking his thickening cock, not from Jackson who pries me apart with his fingers until he decides he's had enough of that.

His cock is a relief, a blessed break from the previous torture.

It doesn't reach as deep, doesn't stretch me as far.

I close my eyes and try to breathe through the pain. Weird, that I'm numb, unable to move some parts of my body, and yet in absolute agony in other spaces. Spaces that are useless to help me escape.

My mind wanders, slipping away from me. It fills with images of the scarecrow, a man tied to the stake, watching this debauchery, my misery, completely unable to stop it. I think of the family he murdered, of how much blood there must have been.

It feels like I'm bleeding a lot.

A hand closes around my throat, and my eyes spring open at the realization that I was, indeed, drifting away. I don't know how long Jackson's been choking me. I just know that his hand tightens, pinching off the air in my lungs until my chest feels like it may explode.

I can't hear anything; all the sound seems to have been sucked out of the world now, like we exist in a vacuum. All I can see is him, his eyes dark and his jaw clenched as he bobs overtop of me, rocking me apart as he fucks into me and strangles the life from me.

It would be a mercy, probably, if he doesn't let go. To go back to the abyss, the dark and quiet where I see, hear, and feel nothing.

But it's a mercy that doesn't come because the pressure disappears from my neck first, and then from overtop of me.

I'm gasping, retching, choking on the air that my lungs are desperately trying to drag in, when I hear him groan.

A moment later, he's gone, and the touches of my captors shift, letting me roll onto my hands and knees. They must have finally realized I'm going to throw up, that if they don't keep me from choking, they'll be responsible for murder on top of rape.

I'm freezing cold, my forehead pressed against the ground as I dry heave. Nothing comes up, but the pressure builds in my skull until my eyes feel like they could pop out of it. Tears drip slowly down my cheeks, and my chest seizes, unsure of whether to breathe in or out.

My mind is made up for me a moment later when there's pressure between my legs. The heated flesh of another cock rests, waiting, soaking in the moment... but not at my entrance.

"No!" I gasp, white-hot panic bursting across my flesh. "Wrong hole! That's not-!"

I think I hear a chuckle in my ear half a second before blinding pain shoots through me.

"If you wanted her asshole, you should have brought lube." Someone grumbles.

The breaths in my ear are short, jagged and full of excitement as he holds me against him, an arm wrapped around my stomach to keep me from escaping even as I try. My hands can't get purchase beneath me as his cock slowly pushes in, and my body tenses, trying to fight it, to keep him out.

"Your cum's dripping out enough to do the same thing."

I feel him forcing me to open around him as he eases inside of me agonizingly slowly. It steals my breath again, makes fire dance across my skin, and agony invades every cell, every thought and every breath.

"Breathe." Someone suggests, and I know the command is meant for me, but I can't. It hurts too fucking much.

"Almost there." The voice in my ear turns to a chuckle, and I groan, right before he grips my hips and slams the rest of the way inside of me, when that groan turns into a scream.

"Breathe. You're useless to us if you die before we've had our fill."

"Speak for yourself," someone says. "I'm getting my dick wet, whether it's warm or cold by the time I get there."

All of the blood is in my head, all the air in my lungs, refusing to move.

"I said, fucking breathe!"

The hand across my face leaves me with no choice but to do exactly that. I suck in a sharp breath as the palm collides with the side of my face, missing my cheek and catching my eye.

I wince, everything inside of me cringing at the shock of the blow, the sting that burns across half my face.

"You don't need to slap her around!" Krowe growls.

The sound of his voice makes my chest ache more; I'd forgotten he was here.

Now, I know he betrayed me. He lured me out here under the guise of being interested in the new girl, and I fell for it like the stupid fucking girl that I am.

Dumb.

So fucking dumb.

"Fuck that. Slap her again. She clenched around my dick so good."

I see the hand as it moves through the air, but someone else's flies out and catches it mid-air.

"I said no."

There's a grumble behind me, and as if in protest, whoever is fucking me shoves deeper inside, jutting their hips against my ass. A palm spreads over my spine, forcing me down.

And finally, I don't have to see any of them anymore. I bow my head to the ground, letting the pebbles dig and cut into my forehead, letting my skull knock against the ground, letting them do what they're going to because I can't stop it anyway.

"It's okay, New Girl." Krowe says. His voice is a falsehood of soothing as my rapist reaches deeper, thrusts harder and faster, taking complete control of my body. "Three down. You're a quarter of the way there."