Page 16
Story: Our Little Dove (Hush #2)
Two weeks later
I have been isolating myself for weeks after I went to Molly’s and received that horrific video. Healing the scars they left on my body, but I still feel like I am bleeding inside.
I have been working and going to the grocery store, but I haven’t seen or really spoken to Joel or Molly.
Last night was the second time I rewatched the video in its entirety and while the events are fucking sick and depraved, I focused on them instead of myself. The image of myself naked, bleeding, and unconscious is burned into my psyche and I doubt I will ever get over that.
I sit in the living room, alone with my thoughts and a flickering television screen.
Supernatural is on, I think.
I hold up my phone, adjusting my eyes to its brightness as my fingers tap on the screen with a mix of desperation and determination.
Opening the video again, I inhale a heavy breath as I ready myself for what I know I’m about to witness. Again.
Each time it replays, I convince myself that re-immersion into the haunting scenes will somehow lessen the pain and betrayal I feel. I want to desensitize myself to it, but it seems impossible.
My heart pounds against my chest, matching the rhythm of the way they fuck me on the screen. The room fades away, consumed by the darkness that engulfs me as I delve into this horrifying clip.
It unfolds like a grotesque dance, each movement a jagged step towards my own unravelling.
A chill runs down my spine as I witness my body being violated, every moment a reminder of the depths of depravity that exist within my captors.
I cannot tear my eyes away from the screen, imprisoned by this perverse fascination.
Why am I still surprised that they sent me this fucked up video? They never said anything, from the bits and pieces I remember, that would make me think they weren’t insane. They were honest and open about their intentions from the beginning. They never lied to me.
My goal is clear - scour every frame for any overlooked detail that might aid me in finding them. Kieran and Fintan.
Tonight, however, feels different. As I continue to watch the video, a disturbing mix of emotions floods over me. The initial feelings of betrayal, anger, and detachment are still there, but now they are accompanied by something else.
A dark and twisted desire begins to stir within me, like a slow-moving drug seeping into my veins. It’s a need that I can’t ignore, and as I witness the two masked men using my body, it becomes almost overwhelming.
My heart races and the urge to touch myself becomes irresistible. As disturbing as it may be, this newfound craving pushes me to delve deeper into the details, determined to track them down and exact my revenge.
My morals fade as I remember their words: “…Your sexy little sobs and whimpers might scream ‘no,’ but baby, your body speaks volumes about what you truly crave. You are just as hungry and depraved as we are.”
They were right. I am just as sick as they are.
I feel as though I’m not only watching the screen but experiencing it—all over again—as if for the first time. With my fingers grazing the hem of my underwear, I slip my hand underneath the fabric.
I grip my cell phone tighter, the screen glowing brightly as I replay the video again and again, each time focusing on a different detail. Every scratch, every bruise, every moan pulled from my throat, I analyze and memorize.
With my fingers inside me, I think about Kieran - fucking me while I flick my pierced tongue side to side, tickling the roof of my mouth as I imagine Fintan’s piercings moving in and out.
I can barely make out the flickering images on the screen as I grow wetter, fucking myself harder and faster as they do on the screen, drawing my orgasm closer.
It’s enough to fuel my obsession with finding these men.
The faceless figures who had control over me.
They are like demons haunting my conscious thoughts.
They have been present in my every waking thought for weeks. But now, as I touch myself, I feel a strange connection to them. A twisted understanding of their desires.
My orgasm builds, fueled by the depravity and violence depicted on the screen.
I can’t help but moan, the sound getting lost in the darkness of the room.
My breath hitches as I picture their masks, their hands, and their breath on my skin.
Each detail is etched into my mind, becoming a blueprint for my revenge.
I am no longer just watching helplessly at what they did to me. I am feeling, experiencing, and understanding. And with that, I decide that I am no longer their victim.
With each stroke over my sensitive clit, I am taking back control, claiming my body as my own.
I’m losing myself in the darkness of my own desires, merging with the depravity that had been inflicted upon me.
My breaths turn into moans, growing louder and louder each time my fingers find their way back inside.
As the orgasm crashes over me, I feel as though I’m being possessed by some darker version of myself. The orgasm is unlike any I have ever experienced by myself. It’s not just bliss, it’s primal.
I have never made myself come like this.
My body convulses, and I feel as though I’m no longer a passive observer in this horrifying scene. I’m a participant, and I’m the one in control.
When the orgasm subsides, I take a shaky breath. The room spins slightly, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve lost my grip on reality. It doesn’t matter. My desire to find Kieran and Fintan has only intensified.
I take a moment to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I can barely believe what just happened, but I know this is a turning point. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I need to find them and confront them.
I stand up slowly, my legs feeling slightly wobbly. I toss my phone onto the light-oak coffee table and make my way back to my bedroom, where I collapse onto the bed, still panting from the intensity I felt a few moments ago.
As I am lying here, I start to think about a plan. I need to find out where Kieran and Fintan are. They must be somewhere close, given that it all happened within twenty-four hours even though it felt like days.
I remember the chloroform, but did they give me something else to make my memory and sense of time this fuzzy?
A thought occurs to me - Molly. I get the distinct feeling that she knows more than she told me.
She spoke with them, after all. There has to be more to it than what she told us the day I showed up on her doorstep.
I was strangely excited to tell her about the experience before that godforsaken video fucked it all up.
Well, that, and both she and Joel were acting strangely. Guess now I know why they were horrified.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I get up and head to the bathroom to clean up. Stripping down, I step into the shower and turn the valve on full heat. I manage to block out my emotions and numb myself under the warm water.
I’m back on my couch again, my hair still wet from the shower.
I am engrossed in an episode of Supernatural, fuck-knows which season , when I hear a knock at the front door. My heart skips a beat as I glance at the time on my phone—it’s late, and I don’t want to deal with anyone right now.
I rise from my seat and make my way to the door. With each step, a sense of apprehension gnaws at me.
As I open the door, lock eyes with Molly, her expression a mix of anxiety and guilt. My stomach churns at the sight of her, remembering everything I felt the last time she stood before me, and I can feel tension crackling in the air between us.
“Hey,” I greet her, my voice strained. “What are you doing here?”
She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, her gaze flickering away from mine for a moment before meeting it head-on. “Can we talk?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I exhale an already exhausted breath and step aside, allowing her to enter, before closing the door behind her. She takes a hesitant step into the dark living room, her eyes scanning the space as if searching for something to focus on other than me.
“Have you just been sitting in the dark?” she asks, focusing on the tv. Sam Winchester is her favorite; I’m team Dean all the way.
“Yes,” I bark. “Are you going to talk?” I ask, my voice tight with apprehension.
Molly takes a deep breath and clears her throat, her fingers twisting nervously in front of her. “I—I need to tell you something,” she begins, her words coming out in a panicked rush.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I remain silent as I wait for her to get to the point. I don’t feel like seeing her or anyone. All I want is to find the masked men who turned my world upside down.
“I filled out a consent form, sort of, for the… the fake kidnapping thing. I didn’t want to mention it in front of Joel, but I just… I had to tell you. I am so fucking sorry! I feel like it was my fault.”
My blood runs cold at her confession.
Are you fucking kidding me? A consent form?
Anger surges within me, threatening to spill over.
“You did what? What are you talking about? You said you didn’t arrange anything! What fucking consent form?!” I demand, my voice rising with each word.
She flinches at my tone, but her eyes flash with a hint of defiance.
“I emailed the company to arrange the kidnapping for you and they sent over a form, they said it was a formality and I had to fill it out on your behalf since it was going to be your experience. They assured me that the information would be safe, and they only needed it to match you with the best actor for your personalized experience.”
I stare at her without uttering a word as I try to process her confession. She gave them my personal information.
How else would they know my name, where I live, what my number is, or even where I fucking shop for groceries?
My expression turns to a scowl as I watch her, my mind reeling.
“I know, okay? I know it was stupid,” she retorts, her voice shaking with emotion. “But I’ve been feeling guilty for two weeks, and you… you refused to text me back or return my calls, so I decided to come over.”
Tears well up in her eyes, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I just needed to tell you.”
Silence descends upon us, heavy and suffocating. I take a deep breath, my anger gradually dissipating as I realize she might be able to help me find them.
“I appreciate you telling me,” I say finally, my voice clipped. “I need you to give me the web address and forward all the emails you sent them. Promise me.”
Molly nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Sure, I-I promise,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “Will you ever tell me what happened that night?”
“I don’t know, Molly. Listen, I have work in the morning. Tell Joel I’m fine and send me everything ASAP,” I say coldly as I open the front door and step aside, waiting for her to leave my house before I have a complete meltdown.
She sighs, nods her understanding, and steps toward me, giving me a one-armed, unreciprocated hug as she steps outside and starts walking toward her car parked behind mine in the driveway.
I should get some rest. Tomorrow is another day of working with unoriginal people who are seemingly never satisfied with whatever designs they get. I know my day will probably be bleak at best. Hopefully, the tedious coding and mindless design work will offer me some respite from my dark thoughts.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16 (Reading here)
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67