by Poppet
“Why the fuck did you call me that?” I snap.
“It's kinky.” He covers the distance, wrapping a strong hand over both cheeks, puckering my lips and kissing me with smoker's breath.
Shove.
“Fuck you!”
He flops down, chuckling breathlessly. “Hey man, jeez like, you're the one with it tattooed on your back. I thought it sexy while I'm screwing you, making you dirty, you on your knees, staring down at those two words.”
I feel stupid. I forgot it was there.
“You dirty, dirty, girl.”
“I'm not.”
“Oh, yes you are. Sarah's ruined your reputation baby.”
Swallowing the panic stuck in my throat, I watch hazel eyes get so close to mine I can't focus on them. I'm too wasted to react with speed.
Somehow Mark has my nylon hosiery wrapped around my wrists. “I heard you like to play games.”
“I'm not in the mood.”
A hot tongue traces down my neck, pausing as stubble scours my breast. He's trying to turn me on again, but I'm gripped with the fear of hearing him call me a dirty angel. Lazy laughter mocks me. He's such a typical surfer dude, that his speed belies his attitude. As my other stocking wraps over my eyes, I'm back in that cell. The hot breath in my ear, the laughter, the teasing, it's him.
“Mark, this isn't funny.”
“It's fucking hilarious. So you like to object when getting your kicks then?”
Pulse accelerating, can't breathe, going to hyperventilate. Tears running into nylon. “Please …”
“Aw, please. Please.” His gruff voice settles hotly into my ear, “Beg baby. Plead.”
Close to hysterical, I manage a quavered whimper. “Are … are you Vengeance?”
“I like that. Vengeance. Suits me.” Laughter binds my panic securely in place. “I'll make you pay for being such a dirty angel.”
“Please … no …” My tears are hot, my sinuses clogging with sobbing. “Not again. Please.”
Light impales as nylon is pulled off my eyes. Squinting against the glare, I stare at his scowling face.
“Jesus Shauna. What the fuck?” He looks disgusted. Like I'm a freak. He yanks my hands free, saying nothing as he gets off the bed, stalking naked out of my bedroom. Pulling my knees up, I bury my nose away between knees, gasping for air.
Inhale. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe out. Wiping my eyes, I grab the gown, hiding a long metal nail file in the pocket. Bravely, I force myself to find him.
He's splayed on a couch, smoking a joint. As he exhales, his eyes screw up, observing me coldly. Why do surfers always have long hair anyway?
“You are one fucked up chick.”
He offers the spliff to me. I take it, inhaling the hot smoke, wanting to choke. I'd do anything to numb this insatiable pain. Handing it back, I go in search of the cherry vodka. Before I manage to unearth clean shooter glasses, his chestnut haired head pops around the door-frame, “See you around Dirty Angel.”
I hear my front door slam shut. I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. Nothing. I'm officially a reject. 'One fucked up chick'.
Pouring myself a shot, I down it. Sliding slowly down the white cupboard to perch on the cold tiles. Broken sobbing the only sound left in my home.
“What the fuck did you say to him?”
Stirred out of hangover slumber, curled up on the couch, I sit up to stare at an outraged Sarah. “What?”
“Shauna, he committed suicide last night!”
Now I'm fucking awake. “What?”
“We woke up this morning to find him with a plastic bag over his head. He left a note, saying 'Forgive me. I have sinned.' ” She paces, agitated. Mascara smudged across pale cheeks. Blue eyes wild, and afraid.
“I … I … he just left. He said I was fucked up.”
“So why the hell did he have a stone in his mouth? He tied that plastic bag so tightly, and then tied his hands together with a tie-strap.” Tears make her cheeks shine like glitter. Walking up to me she screams in my face, “What the hell did you do!”
My rising temper numbs the shock. Righteously I shout back, “Nothing! He scared me. I cried. He left!”
“Did you fuck him?” I nod guiltily. “I can't stay here. You are Pandora. I didn't believe the stories about how you've lost your mind. I can't stick around for your shit, Shauna.”
It hurts. It hurts so much to hear my best friend speak like this to me. I want to beg and plead, but instead more tears blur her. Wiping her out of my vision. I'm trying to wrap my mind around this latest development. Knowing the police will probably be here soon to question me. Snapping out of deep thought when she spits out from the front door, a pink case in her hand, “Stay the fuck away from me. Everyone who loves you ends up hurt!”
“My mother is not my fault!”
“Oh yeah? Shauna, you're into some bad shit. And until you sort your crap out, stay the fuck away from me!”
The slamming of the front door, announces the end of our friendship with forceful finality.
Turning my head into the padding of the couch, seeking soft comfort, I free the ache, the turmoil, the fear, with keening. My misery is complete. And he's back. He has to be. So no hugs. No kisses. No love. He drives away everyone who cares. Anyone who dares. Mum, John, Sarah, Mark. I'd better stay away from Victor.
Oh God. My phone skids across the table toward me. I stare at it as if it's possessed. Terrified. Swallowing nervousness, I view the message.
Poor Choice. Choose again.
•
Victor:
Then you shall bring forth to your town's gates that man or woman who has done that wicked thing and you shall stone that man or woman to death. ~ Deuteronomy 17:5
I smile. He was stoned with marijuana and Alpha knows what else. Now he is stoned to death.
Choking on it.
~ Chapter 15 ~
He believes that he will not return out of darkness,
and because of his guilt he is waited for by the sword of God's vengeance.
~ Job 15:22
Shauna:
I can't feel my legs.
Trying to wiggle my toes, nothing. Constricted so tightly they've gone numb.
“Confess your sins.”
I'm in a black hole. I can see absolutely nothing. How can he see?
“Shauna, you do not seem to understand how serious this is. My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add to it; my father chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions.”
Saliva shrivels along with tears at the thought of scorpions.
“That is 2 Chronicles 10:14.”
Squeeaaaal.
Whimper. Sting. Burning in my nape. Quivery inhalation through clenched teeth.
“Can you see how kind and merciful I am? I chose a lighter burden for you angel. I must deliver you. You shall whip him with the rod and deliver his life from Sheol. Proverbs 23:14.”
Gravelly voice too close. “I am merciful, despite this cleansing. I must deliver you from Sheol. I must whip you with the willow rod. I have no choice Shauna.”
“I'm a sinner!” My hoarse voice cracks.
“Confess angel.”
Rasp.
“I … I …”
Crack. Singeing explodes in welting throbs over my exposed breasts. Clamp. Screeeeeaaaaaam.
Can't. Fuck. Tied to something so hard. Can't see. So afraid I think I may wet myself. Am trying desperately to maintain a hold on my bladder. I don't know what to confess to. How have I sinned? What must I say?
“Jesus please forgive me.”
Blunt pain explodes in my nose. Feeling instantly light-headed as hot stickiness gushes over lips, down my chin.
“My father is God. Jesus is an abomination! We follow the old testament. You pray to a God that doesn't exist. You insult the Father.”
A harsh slap connects wetly with my cheek.
“Prayer mocks us. Why pray to God when he's right here? I smite
you!”
Prickles like knives in scalp, agony silently screaming through flesh, insufferable wet tickles rivulet into my eyes, hot dribbling over lips. Unable to move, bound in place with coils of what I surmise is barbed wire. My throat is raw from the screaming, I know it's what he wants to hear, but I can't stop them.
I sense him when a gust of air rushes across my skin, somehow accentuating the throbbing into torturous suffering. My thoughts run amok. This nut-case thinks he's on a holy mission.
“You caused this flesh to suffer. What you do with the flesh cheapens your soul. Flagellation and discipline is the only way back.”
The heat emanating off him causes the hairs on my legs and arms to prickle. I spasm involuntarily, betraying terror. Warm fingers grip mine, my fingernails feel raw from the reflex scratching into something hard and unyielding. Flinching, I try to curl them back into a fist.
“Open your fingers.”
Resistance is futile, but I still try.
“Open your fingers.”
His voice is so calm, as if he's offering me a cupcake full of delightful sprinkles. Battling him silently, my jaw clenches, the stress forcing more hot running from my brow into my eyes. My mouth is caving, baring my teeth the gnashing hurts with effort.
He ungrips them, holding their shaking still by pushing hard on my knuckles. The bang causes me to flinch at the same time as the fire bursts through my hand, up my arm. Hunching forward, the contents of my stomach threaten to suffocate me, gargling my howling. Alien screaming rents the silence.
No. Oh fuck.
The spikes on the chair press deeply into my back when I recoil. “Please! … Please!” Hack. The warmth of the cathartic purge oozes down my body. “I beg for forgiveness! Please! … I repent!”
Unable to think coherently. Excruciating pain refusing to subside. My voice beyond hysterical. I hear the words, not knowing when I thought them or how I said them. I wish I was deaf. Unable to bear the raw terror and pleading falling remotely from swollen, broken lips.
Screeeaaaaaam. Hoarse gasping.
Choke. Shuddering convulsions.
Hot, cold, ripples through my body. Numbing my thoughts with consuming agony.
He repeats the feat with my other hand, slowly easing fingers out of the tight fist I'm trying to make. Bang. Jolt. Trembling violently, the burning is like acid. I cannot control the shakes. Forcing myself to think, to beg, choking on my swallowed scream.
Shocked inhalations. Sobbing. Blubbering, “I repent … r-pent. F-f-for-give … mm-me.” Sagging brokenly, spikes pin in. “Mercy. P-lease …”
“Old testament punishment that befits the crime, Shauna. Letting out evil.”
Embalmed with unsurpassed agony. The violent slap jars me away from the fog that caresses me with oblivion. My wail ricochets mockingly off the walls. Blind, I feel everything amplified; seeing nothing but lights exploding behind my retina.
Something pushes its way into my mouth, clamping the tip of my tongue with an object, cold and rigid. His voice breaks my choked inhalations. Insipid calm, laced with disdain. “Your tongue devises wickedness; it is like a sharp razor, working deceitfully.” Pausing, he whispers reverently, “Psalm 52:2.”
The soul splintering pitch of my own scream separates me from reality. I am agony. The fragile grasp on my humanity, utterly obliterated.
… My eyes snap open, wild; tasting blood where I bit my tongue.
Bondage. Duvet bondage. Hysterical, I wrangle, flail and fight out against memories revisited, caught in the net of my bedding I thrash to get free. I hate him. Hate him! He ended every session with, “I only do this because I love you. Because God loves you. You are given another chance to be righteous.”
I can't find the lamp. It's unnaturally dark in here tonight. Where the fuck is the lamp?
My reeling thoughts recall the explanation, as he sliced labia before numbing me unconscious with an injection. “You fucked your way to hell. Whore of Heaven. Defacing the perfection you were meant to save for me. I am chosen, yet you lay instead with satans walking in bodies.”
A numb seeping heat creeps down my thighs. My breath wrenched out with the angry clenched fist inside me. “I am the right hand. I will tear down the walls you've built. Resurface the unchaste inside you. I will rip it out and give you a new body, dirty angel. Your body has been the vessel for evil.”
My senses yell at me. Snuffing the haunting dialogue.
With every instinct I own, I know there's an intruder here.
Trying to hush my pounding heart to hear, I lay perfectly still. What should I do? If I scream, will Victor hear me?
Breathing shallow, terror grips me, a cold tear of sweat runs to my elbow; waiting, watching. My heart batters like a moth against a singeing light bulb; throbbing against my ribcage.
He's here.
He's come.
Oh God.
~ Chapter 16 ~
†hen take an awl and pierce his ear through to the door, and he shall be your servant always. And also to your bond-woman you shall do likewise.
~ Deuteronomy 15:17
Shauna:
Rasp.
Breath shivers in and out of my restricted lungs. Tensing so much, a cramp claims the tendon in my neck.
Rasp.
Oh God. That was much closer. Terrified, my breath pauses so long, it burns. Rigid, pressing myself deeply into the bed's embrace. Forcing my eyelids closed tightly; this is a living nightmare. Please, don't let this be real.
Rasp.
Shaking whimper mocks me with my own voice. Panicked eyes open to comprehend he is over me. Staring hard into my face. Two eyes wetly glisten inside a mask. The blood is thumping in my ears like a war siren. “Please …”
“For you are like tombs that have been whitewashed, which look beautiful on the outside but inside are full of dead men's bones and everything impure.” Rasp. “Matthew 23:27.”
“Vengeance, please …” My muscles have atrophied in his presence. Strength and control deserting me. Trembling, I anticipate punishment.
“Who gave you permission to remove the earrings?”
Rasp.
“N..no one.” Even my voice has deserted me. Barely a whisper.
Creaking leather announces the hand next to my head. A harsh grip forces my head left with a wrench on my ear. Something metal glistens in front of my eye. Flinching, as a splinter prick prods under my lashes. I'm too afraid to move. Almost faint. So tense.
“And thus you shall do to them to cleanse them: sprinkle the water of purification upon them, and let them pass a razor over all their flesh … Numbers 8:7.”
“P-please …”
“Yes, you are right to beg. Now I must pass this razor over you.”
Rasp.
Dizziness spirals when the threat of cold steel runs over my arm. Co-operate. You have to co-operate to stay alive. Tears rush when the blade brushes over my cheek to my neck. Shuddering. Can't swallow with the ache lodged in my throat. His grip in my hair so tight, keeping me still. Twitching nervously when my drawers are removed and the kiss of cold steel roams.
Rasp.
Desperate pleading when he turns me around, opening my body by bending me over forcefully, running that god forsaken blade over every fucking inch of me without concern for my modesty. “Please …”
The threat of the blade slicing, forcing me to whimper, crawl, bend, move, as his hands suggest with pressure. I'm almost relieved he's using my hair to grip, I was afraid he'd shave everything. Shaky inhalation.
Rasp.
He pushes something into the top of my ear. When I was found I wore earrings at the top of both my ears. It burns uncomfortably.
“Bring him to the door or door post and pierce his ear. Exodus 21:6.”
Rasp. “It burns, yes?”
“Yes …”
“You like to sin, don't you angel?”
“No …”
The prick back under my eye pushes, forcing a hot blood tear to fall.
“And you lie, thinking I cannot see the sin surrounding you.”
“Forgiveness … I beg forgiveness.”
“Hosea 7: It never enters their heads that I will remember all this evil; but their sins surround them and I cannot avoid seeing them.”
His gloved hand grips mine. I recoil involuntarily as he forces my hand to close over clammy, hot, erect, skin sheathed muscle.
Rasp.
“I have seen you kiss the temple that doesn't belong to God, Shauna. Now you are going to willingly sprinkle the water of purification over yourself.”
Fucked up freak.
He slides my hand with his imprisoning it in place.
“Purification by water or fire – your choice dirty angel.”
Rasp.
Motivated, I numbly work on his penis. My ears burning. Leather accosting my sense of smell. Overpowering all other scents.
Rasp.
One hand yanks my head back. Pain shoots through the anchor follicles of my long hair. His other shreds asunder the cotton camisole with the blade. Spattering hot sticky wetness on my body. Ill. I feel ill. Degraded. Dry heave. Sucking air in urgently, inhaling to calm my reaction, forcing the horror down.
Don't piss him off.
Shuddering repulsion wracks me.
Rasp.
The blade runs over my right eyebrow.“Sinners have to shave their hair off, Shauna.”
No! Not my hair! “Please Vengeance, no!”
“But if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her head shorn or shaven, let her cover her head. 1 Corinthians 11:6.”
What's that smell?
Rasp.
Pushing my undies back at me. So dark I nearly missed it.
“Cover yourself, whore.”
Trembling fingers fumble, urgently complying. Cold liquid runs over me. Overwhelmed with fear, I clutch at his legs, begging, pleading for my life as petrol permeates, stinging my eyes with fumes. “Please. Please … Vengeance, please. No! I promise I'll be good.” Sobbing. “Please …”
He thrusts me away and I lose my balance. So pitch dark, I can see nothing.
