Page 30 of Tortured Eyes

Sucking air into my lungs hurts, but I can’t give in. I wait for my lungs to respond and breathe heavily for a few seconds before rolling over to try to repeat my previous attack, but a boot to my back knocks me face-first onto the floor with my hands buried under my chest. The weight of my captor on my back stops all my attempts to move. His thighs close around my sides, and I’m trapped.

Tilting my head to the side, I rub my face against the floor to try to release the blindfold, but he grabs my hair and pushes my face into the concrete, stopping any movement. My nose and mouth squish against the rough ground, and I get a mouthful of dust as I try to breathe.

Pain races from my scalp and down my spine, joining up to the rest of the bruises over my body like a giant dot-to-dot. It swells and grows with every beat of my heart.

A gentle touch smooths my hair from my temple, back and forth as if trying to soothe me.

“Stop it. Don’t touch me.”

Suddenly the weight on top of me shifts. But a swishing noise stops me from moving, and then I feel the pull of something on my shirt, the sound of fabric tearing. Cool air hits my skin and sends me into a panic.

“No, no, no.” I struggle under the weight now, fighting to knock him off. “Logan, stop. Don’t do this.” He doesn’t say anything. Just moves his weight, and then it’s my trousers being torn to pieces, and with that, my own skin. Each shake of my body might give him pause while cutting my clothes from my body with his knife, but it also cuts my skin.

Hot rivulets of blood trickle down my thighs and over my calves as I fight, but with no change to the outcome. His weight traps me, and now the thin scrap of my panties is the only barrier to him violating me.

“Logan, don’t. You don’t want this.” But I know that's a lie. He wanted me from our first meeting, and I wanted him. Not like this, though.

“Who says I’m Logan?” A strange voice I don’t recognise whispers in my ear and sends a new dose of fear over me. I had assumed Logan was my assailant or at least one of them.

“Who are you?” But my question is met with silence.