by Poppet
The high pitched squeal dissipates into the duvet smothering her face when I'm forced to press the bruises. Despite her feigned fear, her body is ready, saturating the dark with musk. She cannot lie, she adores the purging. Her body betrays her.
Forcing entrance, I delve to excavate the evil from her, gripping the bruises, each time I do she tightens, making my task that much more enjoyable.
I live to obey Father and do his bidding, and I'm beginning to see how service to him can be enjoyable even if it's a sufferance. Allowing her a moment of air, I pull her head away from the bedding with a malicious tug on the hair tight in my grasp.
After all, I work for a giving God. It's unfortunate that I must beat her, connecting her back with buckle lashes as I purge her with my own body. Pulling out I twist her over, slapping her thrice with all the muscle effort I can muster, one hand on her mouth stifling the howl as tears of baptism run free, glistening her eyelashes with moisture.
Removing my full weight off her, she seems to float in and out of consciousness. Closing my armour again, I bend over her, twisting the earring in her ear so the pain brings her back to awareness. Blank eyes stare at me, even in this light I can see bruising adding to the others, now covering her wrists and neck. I love her lips swollen like that.
Using my abrasive gruff voice, I whisper into the ear, “Shauna, if you break his heart, I'll come back and break you so that you never walk again.”
Swiftly, collecting my belt, I disappear into the night through her open balcony. Rushing back to the observation darkroom to see how soon she'll come rushing to my door, begging me to help her. She'll see how much she needs me.
Only Victor is dependable. Only Victor understands.
~ Chapter 26 ~
My best work is often almost unconscious and occurs
ahead of my ability to understand it.
~Sam Abell (Photographer)
Victor:
Absently running surgical wipes over the leather, I wait for her to move. To run to me. I can hear the muffled sobbing through the speakers. Gold wire leading to Infinity speakers, crystal clear clarity. Hopefully she's having some crystal clear clarity of her own now.
Huddled tightly in a ball on her bed, I wait, losing my patience with the endless sobbing. An hour and twenty-five minutes of non stop shuddering breaths and plaintive weeping. Finally the foetal form moves.
Inching slowly, ragged gasping punctuated with whimpers, I see shaking fingers grip the bed tightly, her thin arms quivering with effort as she pulls herself forward.
Just stand up. Stop being so bloody dramatic.
She slides onto the floor, a hand clenched tightly over her stomach, as she begins to crawl with mind numbing slowness. It's like watching a chameleon that can't decide if it wants to take two steps back before taking one forwards. Literally she hovers between movement, tears streaming, shining her face into pearlescent beauty.
“See how wealthy I make you? Ungrateful woman.”
Her voice and breathing are still mixed together, little whimpers of broken breath, as if inhaling and movement are painful. Why are women so despicably weak? Are they all this pathetic? There's no one to see this, so why put on a show?
“God's wrath hurts doesn't it? He is a jealous and vengeful God. Sometimes you just have to learn this the hard way, angel.”
I am still angry she pushed me to this. Thumping a bitter hand on the desk I yell at her pitiful image, “Look what you made me do to you!”
She collapses, wrapping her face in her own fingers as a moan of agony haunts my darkroom in chilling pain. Shivers run through me, my interest captivated now. Leaning closer I inspect the rendition on the LED screen before me.
Slowly the hands sag to flop loosely at her sides, and I see her face. I'm shocked. Frozen in disbelief at the puffy, bloody and rapidly bruising face of my angel.
Reaching out to touch it, my head shakes in denial, “No.”
She inches forward again, keening moans accusing me. Violent trembling accompanies every move of limb. Getting onto her knees and lifting her torso up with a grunt to reach the bathroom light switch.
Changing screens I watch as she pulls her legs into the room. Whimpering all the while. Jolting brokenly like a short circuiting robot, crawling to the loo. She wretches into it.
Coughing, spluttering, a low howl swirls through the room again. Using it for support she pushes and pulls herself off the floor before sagging over the basin, running cold water.
The water runs red.
Scarlet rivulets trace her arms like grotesque veins. Short screams intersperse the rinsing of her mouth. Lifting her head to stare into the mirror, straight at me, she rolls her bottom lip down with fingers shaking so violently I can't focus on them. I stare at the mess. The belt has cut her arms. Puce welts criss-cross over the creamy skin.
Gently I stroke the face of my broken angel, “Shhhh. I'll make it all better.”
The mouth that was cutely curled up in the corners this afternoon has turned. Her misery is touching. Leaning closer I examine the dried cuts on her brow, right cheek, and lips. Her lips are blue! Fuck me, this is worse than I've seen. Usually my victims are dead. No bruising or bleeding to mock me with. Tears still flow from her eyes, which are so swollen I'm surprised she can see out of them. The left one is turning kohl black.
Sitting back, my stomach clenches in a sickening twist. “Jesus.”
Her lips quiver, and I watch the grimace of agony as she pushes herself up on the basin to stand erect. Each breath is exaggerated with a faint squeal.
Stumbling into the shower, she fumbles with the taps. Soft wailing flows into the room around me as water bites into cuts. Slowly she slides down the tiles huddling into a ball, hugging her knees, sobbing again.
Unable to look away I stare at the pooling water around her, running dark with blood. Rolling onto her back, her neck arched, she lets out such a god-awful scream that I'm tempted to cut the audio feed.
“Hush …” Trying to soothe her with a gentle caress, my fingertips slide down the cold screen.
Deep moans saturated in anguish smother my calm.
“No baby. No …”
This hurts me. I love her. An uncomfortable ache grips me, and the first tear I've allowed in over twenty-five years escapes my control. “You made me do it! You made me!”
I can't watch her. Unaware that it is loathing and self-disgust gripping me, I leave the darkroom. Reminding myself, “What are these wounds on your breast or between your hands? Then he will answer, Those with which I was wounded when disciplined in the house of my loving friends. Zechariah 13:6.”
Striding purposefully to the fridge I pull out a beer, twisting the cap off. Castle lager is something I'm still getting used to, living here. There must be something decent to watch on TV. Flopping down I switch it on, flipping through the many DSTV channels. Nothing. It's all crap.
Actually, I wanted to research how they make ink from oak galls. Slugging the beer, I open my MacBook Pro and enter my search into Google. Propping my feet up, I relax back.
“Much better.”
•
Shauna:
Oh God! My face! Jesus! I hurt everywhere. He wants to kill me. I know he does. I wish he would. Then this pain and misery can stop. I think I'm in shock. I can't stop shaking.
My eyes catch the ring of blue around my neck, in the mirror. I have to wash this blood out of my hair. If I let it dry it will just hurt so much more washing it tomorrow.
I hate you! I HATE YOU! I wish your fucking god would smite you!
Sobbing wells up like an oil spill. My very soul hurts. Spilling smothering black lifeless fluid out of the emptiness inside me. My heart breaks at the sight of me. No one will love me now. He's destroyed the only thing I had to attract with.
Desperation oozes through me, breaking my will. Taking a deep breath, forcing my legs to co-operate, I stagger into the shower. Grasping the tap to turn it. Please! Oh come on. I'm so fucked. Open damn it.
With a mammoth effort punctuated with a grunt, I get the slippery thing to move open. The effort makes my shaking so severe. Shit. Maybe I've got brain damage. Is this a seizure?
Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ. Searing agony slices into my skin with the sluicing sprays. Trying to hush the automatic squeal of pain. Turning the other tap open, my strength deserts me. Leaning heavily against the tiles, my legs refuse to support me. Quivering pathetically, my knees buckle and I slide down the cold tiles with each centimetre a lifetime of hellish torture.
Despair lodges into my broken heart. Vengeance just stole the happy bubble of hope I cherished. He says I have to never break Victor's heart. But now I'm too broken. My tendons and muscles scream at me with every inch of movement. I have nothing left to offer. It's too early for common compatibility. All we had was animal attraction.
Curling over, I hug my knees and cry. Grief envelops me. The loss of hopes, dreams. Vengeance, I hate you. Demented fucking bastard. If there is a God I hope you die tonight.
Rolling to bathe my face in the invigorating spray, I release it. Screaming out my agony, my pain, my broken desperation. I can't summon the strength to move.
I lay there long after the hot water runs out. Shaking violently. This is the only thing reassuring me I'm alive.
Turning my head, I force an eye open, puffy eyelids press back. Blurry. Everything's out of focus. My eye stops on the pink of my razor. I stare at it, considering the options for a long time. But the eye shuts, aching mercilessly. Even the water on my lips feels like I'm smashing them into concrete.
I hate you. I hate you.
Sob. I really wish you would die!
~ Chapter 27 ~
To photograph truthfully and effectively is to see beneath the surfaces and record the qualities of nature and humanity which live or are latent in all things.
~ Ansel Adams
Shauna:
“SHAUNA!”
Roused, I listen. Loud vicious banging on my door. Slowly I roll over onto my knees. My body feels seized up like rusty cogs. Movement is an effort. Clenching my teeth I make myself crawl to the towel rack. Feebly pulling the pink towel down to my level. Sliding it under my palm, I push it with me to the door. Slowly advancing to the noise.
“Yesh?”
“Shauna? Honey?”
“Mmm?”
My face is so tight with swelling, speaking makes my whole face ache. I lean heavily against the door. Pulling my knees up as I haul my body into a sitting position.
“Open the door.”
“Na uh.”
“Come on angel. I'm worried about you. Let me in. Please?”
“Uh, don'ch whunt you ta shee me.”
It sounds like he's crouching, as his voice seems to come from my level now, with better clarity. “Shauna is everything all right? You don't sound well.”
The compassion in his tone breaks my heart wide open. Suppressed emotion comes flooding out again, making my body shake against the door, rattling it. Sobs force me to breathe. Too upset to speak further. Shaky deep inhalations make my lungs hurt my tender back more.
“Shauna if you don't open this door, I'm going to kick it in.”
My objection comes out as a wailing that sounds desperate even to me. Forcing myself up to twist the handle and move the bolt. Scrambling to move away when the door opens. I hide my face in the towel, stifling sobs.
Such a warm hand touches my shoulder. “Shauna? Shauna, you're scaring me. What happened?”
He tugs the towel, and I don't have the strength to hold it in place. I raise my hand and hide behind a palm. “Don'ch loohk.”
A strong warm hand moves mine away. He sits next to me, pulling me into his chest, wrapping softly embracing arms around me, rocking me. “Jesus. What the hell happened? I'm here now.”
“Venchuhnce.”
He cradles me, warming me, wrapping the towel around me. “You're frozen. Your hair is like wet ice.” He rubs a hand to warm my back, eliciting a wince of pain. “Oh baby. I'm going to find that prick and cut his heart out.”
As if life isn't hard enough, my phone starts ringing.
“Want me to get that?”
“Uh uh.”
Pushing with more inner determination than I knew I own, I crawl the five steps to answer it. “Hulluh?”
“Uhm 'kay.”
“Denchist. Nohvacain.”
“Shanks Duhd.”
“Luhve you choo.”
Dropping the phone back in the cradle, strong arms hoist me into the air, hooked behind my shoulder blades and knees.
“I don't give a shit about how stubborn you are. You're coming home where I can take care of you.”
I don't have the resources inside me to complain. Closing swollen aching eyelids, letting my head rest heavily on his chest. I only open them again when he lowers me onto his bed. He grabs the camera off the night-stand and before I can object, snaps photos, blinding me with the flash.
“Nuuuuuuh!”
“Shauna, this is evidence. We have to.”
Holding a hand up defensively, I manage to rock my head from side to side, muffling out, “Uh uh.”
He puts it down, to my relief. Leaving my vision briefly before returning with one of his sweaters. Helping me put it on, then gently laying me back down. Wrapping my hair in the towel.
“Stay right there. For Christ's sake I'm a doctor. You should have called me. I'm getting you pain killers and anti-inflammatory's. Then you are going to rest, while I go lock up your home.”
“Uhkay.”
It feels like two seconds when he pulls me up into a sitting position again, “Drink.” Tablets are placed into my mouth gently, putting a straw in through my swollen lips, he orders, “Drink.”
Obediently I let him take care of me. He didn't run. He didn't freak. So calm in a crisis. “Luhve you.”
He kisses my forehead tenderly. Wrapping me up in his duvet. “I love you too. Now rest baby. I'll be right back. And I'm locking you in. You're safe now.”
“'kay.”
Closing my eyes, feeling warm, snug, safe, and cherished, the happy glow wraps itself around my broken heart again. Almost instantly, I'm asleep.
•
Victor:
Fuck! Fuck! I never bruised like that. She looks like she's been hit with a Boeing. Stupid fucking fool! Now I have to wait to give her those orgasms. Now I have to nurse her back to health. Her parents will probably fly over from the UK and interfere. I'll put her mother straight back in hospital if they try.
Rushing, I speed through her home. Slamming the door to the balcony closed. Locking it. Choosing not to take her contraception. She can wear my t-shirts. She'll be in bed for days. Now she won't be going to the dentist.
I can give her sleeping tablets, telling her it's for the pain. She'll take them. Then at least I can get back in here and put a new feed in. Wireless technology is such a brilliant invention.
Trying hard to suppress the panic I felt when I woke this morning and saw her still in the shower. I thought I'd killed her. I can't lose her. She's my angel.
This is good. I can make this work. Now she can really feel rescued. After all, I am a tender and loving angel too. I'll make her fall so deeply in love with me. The relief in her eyes. Her shame at being a victim. She's just the right mind to fall into the trap. Her gratitude will enslave her. It's all downhill from here.
Yes, this is the best move I've made yet. Genius really. Father's divine hand is in this plan. As subconscious as it was to my logical mind, I see the genius of the plan.
Now she can't run away. Now she is all mine. And when I use my skills to correct the scarring, she'll love me for saving her pretty face. She'll give me anything I want.
And what I want Shauna, is my son.
I turn the shower water off. Almost slipping on an errant puddle of blood. Automatically I flush the toilet. Picking up a cloth and wiping the basin, then the floor. I catch my grim expression in her mirror. Vengeance can be a real bastard. Fran
tic I start cleaning the carnage. Locating the bleach next to the loo, I swab every surface.
Moving to the bedroom, I stare at the dent in the bed. Blood staining the white silk, looking black now that it's dried. Intense remorse grips me. Caressing the cold place that she occupied in anguished sobbing for over an hour. Rage grips me as I yank the bedding off. Taking it with me.
Slamming and locking her front door, I return to mine. Closing the door softly. I have her phone and keys. Supplies can be ordered in as she needs them. I shove the bedding into the Speed Queen. Pouring in Vanish and powder, switching it on.
Stealthily I return to the bedroom. Pausing I stare at her angelic, fragile body, smothered in voluminous bedding. The black wrapped snugly around her slumbering form. Harshly swollen lips parted so she can breathe.
Laying down imperceptibly next to her, I examine her face. The bruise on her right cheek is greenly yellow. The swelling of both cheeks is as severe as anyone who's had wisdom teeth out. Her precious nubile lips are cracked, crusted blood mars their perfection. Leaning in I kiss her nose with butterfly lightness. “I'm sorry baby.”
I have this wrenching queasiness whenever I look at her. I didn't mean to be so rough. I couldn't see how her body would react to the punishment. Only Father can see the future. I'm a humble servant of the Lord.
Turning away, bitterness souring my mouth, I leave to fetch the salve for the bruises. And all that swelling after a night in cold water. I'd hate to see what she would have looked like without the bracing compress of a shower long gone cold.
Returning with the balm, I pull the duvet away, administering to my precious angel. She's all mine now. I'll keep her safe. Once I've traced every cut and bruise with the salve, I rewrap her, like the precious gift she is, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed.
