Page 30

Aisling

E verything hurts.

My head, my body–every part of me feels like it’s on fire. And I just want the ringing in my ears to stop.

Fuck.

I open my eyes and am immediately blinded by the harsh fluorescent lights hanging above me. The walls are smooth, concrete painted over in that hospital white color. Not a stain or crack in sight, it all looks too perfect, too pristine. Too intentional.

I take a deep breath in, and my stomach turns.

It smells like bleach .

So fucking much of it that I swear I’m losing my sense of smell.

It’s the kind of clean that doesn't feel safe.

One side of the room is blocked off by those sliding curtains like they have in the hospitals, hiding something.

Cabinets line the far wall, filled with who-knows-what, and a stainless steel table near it. Clamps, knives, scalpels. Torture instruments of all kinds line the cold metal, glaring back at me.

I try to stand, but my body doesn’t respond. It’s heavy, unattached–there’s probably some kind of drug running through my veins right now.

Not to mention the fucking chair that I’m strapped down to, bound so tight that it’s creating a hot irritation around my wrists and ankles.

Looking around once more, I spot a small camera blinking in the corner.

Watching .

Remembering isn’t easy right now, like trying to find a needle in a haystack. The last thing I recalled was walking to my apartment, I was about to step onto my street when someone came up behind me.

I tried to scream, but their hand covered my mouth, a rag coated in what I think was chloroform. And then it all goes dark.

Now I’m here.

Where is here ?

No fucking clue. But I’m going to find out.

“Let me fucking out of here!” I screech towards the camera, pulling at my restraints.

Nothing.

My fingernails dig into my cuticles, a nervous tick that I thought I had lost. But under the circumstances I’m currently in, I think I’ll give myself a pass .

Silence.

Letting out a small sigh, I sink into myself and feel the cold biting at my skin.

I wait.

For what? I’m not sure.

But I know nothing good ever waits behind doors like that, so I guess it’s time for me to face my nightmare.

Hours pass, maybe days. I spend every moment hoping something will happen.

Anything.

At this point, I’m begging the darkness to devour me.

I haven’t eaten or drunk anything for who knows how long, but that didn’t stop my body from having to relieve itself.

I’ve never felt more disgusting.

More exhausted.

More hopeless.

A lock clicks, filling the silence, and my fingers begin to tremble.

Don’t let them see your fear.

Don’t let them see you .

The only door in the room creaks open slowly, every inch louder than it should be, each sound a countdown to something I’m not going to escape.

I ignore it.

A couple of tall masked figures enter the room, covered in black from head to toe. The only part of them showing is a small area around their eyes peeking out from their balaclava.

They don’t speak.

Just move in silence, working to undo my ties.

I don’t move

I don’t protest .

It’s not until their touches turn painful that my voice starts to make itself known.

Their hands grab at me, clawing at my soiled clothes, stripping my body of its only armor.

Tears well in my eyes. I know what’s coming.

I just don’t want to believe it.

Once I’m bare, the larger one stands behind me, locking his arms between my elbows, holding me open like a doll on display.

I don’t watch as the man in front of me undoes his zipper, the sound causing every alarm bell in my head to go off.

Searching the room for some sort of escape plan, I come up short, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

Moving quickly, I throw my head back. The back of my skull connects with the guard behind me, and I hear a soft crack before he releases me.

He scrambles to grab his nose, blood pouring out everywhere like a macabre waterfall .

“My fucking nose! Fucking bitch,” he shouts, as the other guard reaches for me.

I slip away quickly, but don’t get far before I feel fingers entangling in my hair.

Feral screams rip from my throat as I’m dragged back so hard I can feel pieces of my hair being ripped out.

I scramble backwards, both guards stalking toward me like they’re hunting prey.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” the taller one growls, eyes narrowing on me as he stalks closer.

My body tries to bring me to my feet, but I’m not quick enough.

He pushes me back to the ground, stepping on my face with his boots as he starts to undo his belt.

“Bad girls get fucking punished,” he chuckles. “And fuck am I going to enjoy making you bleed.”

His dick springs free from his pants as the other guard drops to his knees between my legs, forcing them open with his rough hands.

“Flip her over,” the one above me orders as he lifts his boot from my face. I choke on my breath, the tears forming quickly.

I don’t want this.

But it doesn’t matter what I want.

I’m theirs to use now.

They roll me over, forcing me onto my hands and knees. The one behind me grips my hips, dragging them back towards him as the one in front of me drops to his knees, lining my mouth up with his dick.

A single tear trails down my cheek, but before it can fall, a gloved hand reaches up, wiping it from my face.

“Yes slut, cry for me,” he says before lifting his mask just above his jawline, placing the tear soaked glove to his tongue. “Fucking delicious. You aren’t gonna have any of these left by the time we’re done with you, dollface. ”

Without warning, they both breach me, like they've practiced this before. No lube, no stretching. I cry into the emptiness, the only reply is the soft hum from the fluorescent lights.

“Take it, bitch,” the one in front of me growls.

My vision goes white as they pound into me, a relentless battle of them versus my body.

And I’m fucking loosing.

It feels like hours have passed by the time they’ve had their fill of me.

My body is bruised and bleeding thanks to the knife and scalpel they found in the room. At least they didn’t break anything… at least not that I can feel.

Not that I can feel much right now other than the dull ache of being used like a fuck toy over and over again.

They drag me into the corner, pulling back the curtain to reveal a toilet and a shower-like hose extending from the wall like a snake.

“Boss wants you cleaned up before he comes to see you,” he states flatly, like it’s just another job for him.

“Hope he likes sloppy seconds,” I say before spitting at them.

That earns me a hard slap across the face. He throws me into the corner as the other guard grabs the hose sticking out of the wall.

“This is gonna hurt, bitch.”

It doesn’t register at first. What he’s talking about.

But then, I hear it.

A hiss.

Like steam escaping a pipe.

Then, I feel it.

Pressure.

So fucking much of it.

My body screams, crumpling on instinct. My knees hit the floor first, elbows scraping against the cold concrete before I feel pain radiate through my body from my shoulder, crunching under me.

And the stream keeps coming.

I try to move, but everything is slippery.

Wrong.

Every time I raise my arm, it’s knocked back down.

Every time I try to breathe, it’s like my lungs are caving in on themselves.

Every movement I make offers a new spot to hit. My stomach, my arms, the bruised mess between my legs.

The water isn’t just cold.

It’s violent.

Pinning me. Flattening me. Drowning me without even entering my lungs.

I think I scream, but I can’t hear the sound of my voice over the shrill roar of the pressure washer.

It’s drowning everything.

My vision goes white around the edges. There’s a bright, blinding light, and I know I’m going to pass out if they don’t stop.

They don’t.

This isn’t about cleaning me, it never was.

This is about pain.

Punishment.

Helplessness.

This is power .

And I hate that they have it.

Because this thing, whatever it is or whoever’s behind it, has already won.

I close my eyes.

Stop thinking.

Stop fighting.

I try to go somewhere else– anywhere else.

But it finds me there too.

My body folds in on itself like it’s trying to disappear.

And at this moment, I let it.

The water finally stops.

I barely notice until one of the men kicks my foot.

“Yep, still alive,” he confirms.

Yeah…barely… no thanks to you.

I respond in my head, but my voice is too weak to form words.

My body is trembling, the shock still running through my veins like a bad trip.

They don’t offer me clothes or a towel. Just watch as I try, and fail, to get to my feet.

I hate this fucking feeling.

They don’t care that I’m naked and soaking wet. That my skin is raw or that my body is carved open with small, stinging cuts.

I’m just broken, damaged goods.

“We’ll let the boss know you're ready,” the taller one says, giving me a wink as they walk out.

The sound of the door clanging shut behind them echoes like a bad omen.

I close my eyes tightly and try to ignore the dampness. The pain.

I think of him…his strong arms and warm scent. The way he made me feel safe, even when my world was falling apart.

I know he’s out there, burning down everything in his path to get to me.

I smile to myself because pretending helps.

At least a little bit.