Moonlight.Mature

Let me know what you think please.

The knife glints in the moonlight, dripping with sparkles and glinting powerfully. It knows what it is needed for, eyeing me up. I struggle. I push and scream and kick with all my strength. A sharp hand across my face tells me to silence myself, but the hysteria and panic ripping through me continues to overspill in the form of the high-pitched noise erupting from my lungs. Hands. I can feel them, strangers hands, gliding over me, fingertips pressing against my clothes. Burning through to my skin and even further, melting my insides; so unlike how another’s touch would spread happiness through me. Warm. Safe. So unlike this now. The tears roll down my face in torrents. Salty and stinging. I weep and sob and shriek uncontrollably, pushing against the force that binds me, attacking and defending as one, yet neither appearing to be effective. I am losing the fight. My strength is failing, my limbs are on fire. I continue to scream, my breath rasping through my throat as it drags out; my voice is hoarse now. A quick movement lurches me and my body is thrown forward too suddenly. I hear my skull crack against concrete, the hardness of the crash stunning me. Putting an end to my screams. I don’t stop to wonder why nobody comes to look for me, to find me, to save me. My mind isn’t capable of thinking such complex thoughts. All I think about is the roughness of my being hauled upwards again. Angry words. I cannot hear them, cannot decipher. All I hear is the blood pounding in my ears.

    Something hot trickles into my eye, half blinding me as I go weak. I cannot struggle anymore. The pain in my head sends white stripes of light across my vision as I hit the ground once more. A furious roar pierces my senses. Those hands again, in my hair, fisted into my shirt, pulling. Dragging me mercilessly across damp grass and gravel. Tree roots and rocks stabbing and slicing at my back and legs and my scalp is set on fire. I hear a ripping through my clothes; the rocks are getting sharper and now they penetrate my skin. My face is feverish from the boiling tears refreshing in my eyes and over spilling down my cheeks, mixed with the slow trickle of what I now realise is blood, hot from the issuing wound in my head. My eyes are not in focus and I cannot make out where I am being taken. I smell undergrowth and I hear leaves whispering to each other quietly. It is unnaturally quiet now. I can hear his rattled breathing as the effort of the slow-paced hauling of the lump of meat that is my body catches up with him. His curses under his breath, but I still hear. My senses are enhanced in this experience, this new danger that envelopes me. I don’t dare to hope that it will let me go.

    He stops and releases his hold on my hair. The fire in my head threatens to split my scalp open and I squeeze tight shut my eyes. It is still dark. I cannot see the moon anymore because it is shrouded by the canopies of the trees above me. Maybe there isn’t a moon in this hell. It would be far too beautiful to hang in the sky and witness such horrors. I hear his voice again, scratchy and rough. Not like my favourite voice. A voice rich with honey and smooth as velvet. To make a comparison would be a sin, for there is no other voice on this earth as beautiful as my favourite voice. A stab at my heart as I realise I probably won’t be hearing that voice again. Not in this life.
   This new voice, the one who is present with me now, tells me to stand up. The muscles in my body refuse to co-operate. Another curse. Stupid bitch. Yes, that is me. Who I am. What I am. I am nothing. Those same hands again. Again and again. They won’t stop. They set me on my feet. Not gently. I feel myself sway. His voice is close now.

“Fucking hell.”
I blink. That iron grip pressed onto my shoulders and I stumble backwards. My bruised, battered back hits a tree trunk and I wince. I look into his face for the first time tonight and he is grinning. Smirking. Leering. He smells victory. I smell the alcohol on his breath, foul. His body presses against mine, trapping me, holding me in place. I tremble. Shake and shudder so violently, for now I can comprehend what is going to happen to me. I cannot let it happen; I will not break my promise. My hands curl into tight fists at my side and I attempt at causing some damage. It is useless. He catches my fist in his palm. Then the other. A laugh so terrible, it pierces my eardrums, like scratches on a chalkboard. Grinding.
“Nice try, bitch.”
The fists uncurl as he wraps fingers around my wrists, crushing them to the trunk above my head. Transferring them both to one hand, the other travels down slowly. I flinch away. His fingers trace along my face and down again, along my neck, pausing at the jugular, waiting for the pulse, beating ferociously. What he desires. I start to sob when his hand reaches my breast. I cannot help it. I cannot control the true sorrow that threatens to swallow me completely. I am sorry. I do not mean for this. Help me. The buttons on my shirt start to unfasten, fingers working quickly. With experience. I am sick to the very bottom of my stomach. I splutter and gag and heave. Empty retches.
“Shut the fuck up.”
 A frustrated snarl and the click of a knife as it snaps open once more. Tearing. My shirt leaves my skin, the coldness of the air absorbing through my pores, chilling me to the bone and further. I shiver continuously. Tears won’t stop. I weep. I am so sorry. I lean my head back and close my eyes, defeat washing over me so strong, I wince. Acceptance to my fate doesn’t make it any better and now I cry uncontrollably. Weakened. Weak. Weak minded and weak willed. Weak, weak, weak. I think about the only time I ever feel strong as his hand travels over me, inside my bra. He grunts. I shrink away automatically. My eyes are shut. I will not watch. I felt strong around one person. I let this happen. That person is not to blame. I am sorry.
“I said shut up!”
I am thrown, broken, beaten, to the ground. Straddled. I cry out, helpless. Merciless laughter, it fills the air. Disgusting. Cold, hard hands; they fumble at my belt. I try to kick out, flail my arms, shrieking, my strength somewhat returned. Not for long. A fist. It pounds into the side of my head. Again and again. My punishment. I feel the blackness being draped over me. I feel his hands, past my belt, fiddling with the buttons. He is desperate. Hurrying. Why? We are alone. Alone in this hell hole. He has all the time in the world, because no one will come. I should have known that from the start instead of keeping this glimmer of hope inside me that someone will help. That hope fades and dies now. Consciousness leaves me slowly. Torturing. A blinding light reaches my eyes even though they are already closed. Reaching past my eyelids, white hot and burning. That hand. I cannot feel it. Not anymore. So this is dying. Deafening roars of unknown noises in my ears, blinding lights in my eyes. Strange. Not how I imagined dying to be. Something was wrong. I tried to look though my throbbing lids, heavy. Useless. One last blow and I felt the final wave of blackness take over me. I am lost. I am sorry.

The End

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