He slides into me, rubbing his hand along the length of my spine. His movements are slow and methodical. The push isn’t enough as I rock my hips into him, an indication that I need it harder and faster.
“Are you ready for pain, sweet girl?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
So much trust for him. How can that be? We hardly have much knowledge about one another, yet we know so much.
He pounds into me harder; he’s tantalizing me along the edge as he pulls out. I want to turn around and sucker-punch him, but I don’t have the energy. The withholding of my pleasure is cruel. Before I can comprehend what is occurring, he is probing himself into my bottom. This should feel wrong, right? I should tell him to stop, but I don’t. I want the pain. I need it.
My sweaty palms grasp onto his bed sheets as I push him all the way into my ass. The searing, tearing pain is amusing as my heart whooshes in my ears. My lungs burn and I have to constantly remind myself to breathe. What a goddamn beautiful nightmare this is. Who would have thought this would be such a good hurt?
His hand reaches around me, landing on my clit and I am instantly sent over the edge of bliss. My knees give out as he continues to fuck my ass, finally succumbing to his own orgasm as he spurts himself inside of me. As he pulls out of me, the throb from where he was pounding to life makes me remember who was there.
Welch trails kisses along my back, hugging me with his sweaty frame.
“Do you feel better, sweet girl? Was it too much?”
Too much in a way that makes my heart feel again. But I can’t and won’t let him know that.
“It was perfect.”
For the first time in months, I was telling the truth.
Sweet dreams. Oh, how I’ve missed thee. For the first time, I don’t feel anger. I’m weightless, floating along a majestic rainbow of fucking happiness. I’m content, not craving pain.
Weightless.
Content.
Dreaming.
Hang me here and let me live the rest of my days. I feel nothing, see nothing, and want nothing. This is sheer bliss and I don’t want it to end.
Then darkness, my old friend. Hello, nightmare. Goodbye, dreams.
Stinging.
Burning.
Watching.
I see the face of the devil and rage rises to the surface, but I can’t move. Then a pang to my head wakes me up.
I rub my eyes as my legs remain entangled with Welch’s.
Fuck.
“Hey, you little cunt. What did I tell you two about fuckin’ around in my house?”
Helen grabs my hair, dragging me out of the safety of Welch’s bed. He sits up, staring at me as I am being treated like a fucking rag doll being scattered along the dirty carpet¸ naked. I try to focus on the delicious aftermath of the encounter that Welch and I shared last night. The aching from my bottom makes me realize that it was reality, and not a forced one. It was real, consensual and full of so much that I don’t understand.
“Please, Helen!” Welch screams, pulling his boxers on as he rises from his bed.
Helen drops my naked body in the threshold of my room, but this is just the beginning. I know that. The devil has yet to show up and give me the punishment he deems necessary.
“Claude! Caught the kids fuckin’,” Helen screams down the tiny hallway.
She puffs on her cigarette, flicking the hot ashes on my cold skin. I hear hard footsteps coming closer, yet I’m calm. I’m becoming accustomed to the torture and the forceful sexual encounters that Claude and Helen make Welch and I participate in. But they can’t steal what we shared last night. I won’t let them and Welch won’t either. I feel it.
I see Helen out of my peripheral vision sucking on her cigarette, blowing out the smoke. She bends down to me, the smell of her cig more pleasing than the aroma coming from between her thighs. The woman needs to learn to shower. She takes her stag between her thumb and forefinger and holds my upper arm still. I don’t fight her because she enjoys it too much. I feel the heat coming from the end of cigarette before it meets my flesh and I take a deep breath, knowing that it will inflict a great deal of pain.
I hear the sizzle of burning skin as the end is put out on my arm and I can’t help but scream. Perhaps it’s a bodily response. She reluctantly pulls the butt back and it is stuck to my skin. When she understands her handy work, she yanks it free. I clench my teeth and barrel oxygen hard through my nostrils as a pair of feet stop before my eyes. I try to squeeze my eyes closed so I don’t have to look at the nasty, untrimmed toenails, but I tell myself once more that I need to memorize everything that happens here so it will give me strength and hate to get back at them.
The fiends.
The devils.
“Please! Don’t hurt her!” Welch shouts.
Claude laughs. He is enjoying this, just like all the other times.
“Oh, calm down son. I won’t hurt her. You will.”
No. No, I won’t let them tear us apart. I know what they are trying to do, but I won’t give in and hate him. I won’t do it.
A swift kick makes me understand that the wickedness is getting worse. My hundred-something pound body is once again dragged back into my bedroom by the cunt herself as Claude follows her. We are going to be expected to perform for them. For their pleasure and our breaking down because we aren’t worth two shits.
Welch and I aren’t worth anything more than this.
I hear the regular clinks of Claude’s belt and the unzipping of his pants. I’m not anxious because I am trained. It’s disgusting, but just a matter of time before I make a clean break away from these sick assholes. I prepare my body for the lashes of leather, but they never come. The room remains silent with the exception of Helen’s occasional wheezing cough from years of smoking.
I see Claude toss his leather belt across the room, it landing on top of Welch’s bed. Welch stays stoic, unwilling to sway from his stance.
“Hurt her, buddy. Get to it.”
I don’t expect anything less. I know we have to do what we have to do. If not, it is bound to be worse if we disobey. Welch doesn’t move, staying still like a concrete statue. His eyes are fixated in front of him and vacant of any emotion. He’s learned to turn it off, I’ve gathered that, but I’ve never seen him not submit to them before.
What has changed?
Last night.
Oh. My. God.
The throbbing of my behind intensifies and I become angry at myself. How can I recollect on a memory at such a time in my life? My body remembers him and it knows what it wants. God, help me. Make my heart not suffer. Make him hurt me so that I dive deeper into crazy. That’s what I need to get out of this place.
But he doesn’t. He stays there in nothing more than a pair of boxers with his hands crossed at his toned chest. The belt is untouched on the rumpled sheets of his bed as his eyes remain emotionless.
“Welch, I ain’t gonna tell you again!” Claude screams.
I know if he doesn’t hurt me like Claude demanded, he will be punished worse than any other time and I fear he may be taken away from me. I can’t bear the thought as my stomach spills its contents alongside of me. That earns me a kick to the ribs.
Claude starts to charge over to Welch and I cry out, interrupting the imminent fight.
“Welch!” I wail.
Then I remember what I need to say to change things. Give me pain, Welch.
“Give me pain, Welch,” I tremble, crawling over to the bed, grabbing the belt.
Claude seems pleased with my begging ways, stepping back next to his wife as he enjoys the show that I am about to put on. That’s what this is. A show. Emotions aside. I might have tried to kid myself last night and tell myself that I was vacant from feeling, but it was the exact opposite.
Welch makes me crazy with feelings. I’m not exactly sure what they mean, but I just know one thing.
I don’t want them to go away.
I crawl over to him, kneeling at his feet with the belt.<
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“Give me pain, Welch. Please,” I whisper.
That statement brings him out of his stupor as he crunches down to the floor, grabbing the belt. I lay my naked body on the unkempt floor and take a sharp breath of air between my teeth, prepping myself for the stinging.
He leans down and kisses my shoulder, then bends down to my ear.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl.”
Thank God and everything holy.
Filet me in front of them, give them a show. I don’t care anymore. Just don’t fucking leave me. Those are all the things that I wish I could tell him, but I can’t. I don’t speak much. I can’t. I’m not able. But he sees through me. He seeks my pain. Embraces it. Feels it and appreciates it without explanation.
Because he is just as fucked up as I am and I accept that with wanting to know the reasoning behind it. I focus my mind on the incredible moments we shared the night before as the first lash comes down on my back. The musty smell of the carpet is making the nausea return. The second thrash of the leather whips the back of my bare thighs and I yelp in pain.
“Harder and faster, buddy. And with the metal end. If you close your eyes or look away, cupcake, I’ll fuck ya’ myself,” Claude stammers as his wife takes him into her mouth.
The crack of the metal against my spine sends shooting pain down to my feet. I hear an unfamiliar sound coming from Welch. I want to turn around and see him, hear him, and comfort him like I usually do when he has night terrors, but I know the repercussions will be great if I do. Thoughts of Claude fucking me makes my skin crawl as I vomit again all over my chin.
Sobs. Welch is crying as he is forced to beat me while our caretakers engage in oral sex before us.
“I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” he cries.
One last thrash of the metal belt sends me to a state that I welcome.
Complete and total blackness.
My eyes feel heavy as I wake. I try to open them, but all my energy is gone. I feel pain. So much pain, I am unsure where it begins and ends. Throbbing, aching, burning agony is sensed from my head down to my toes. The commotion increases in my ears as I hear sobbing. The familiar sound that came from Welch from before is thick in the air. His cries are full of so many emotions, no words are needed for me to understand how he feels.
Desperation with the urge to give up. I want so badly to climb to him. To provide solace to him because that is what he needs. Fuck! The monster I wanted to become to ruin those bastards is being overshadowed by the feelings that I have for this boy.
Feelings.
I admit, they are there. I’m not sure what they mean, but I’m only certain of one thing.
I need him to survive. It makes no sense to me, but then again, what in this world does? Look at the drastic turns that life can take. I used to be a girl with dreams, with a spirit so high and vibrant.
But she died. And here I am in the next phase of my life. I can only think of one thing.
Him.
His loud screams become brasher by the second as I hear the thrash of Claude’s leather torture device. The sound of it biting Welch’s skin sends shockwaves of hurt straight to my heart.
Heart. Body. Mind. They meet again.
“Claude, honey. I got you off twice. You seem tired. Let me make you a sandwich before we head over to Rex’s house, okay?”
How in the fuck can Helen have a normal conversation in such a situation? The thoughts send dread and disgust straight to my belly and rage to my heart.
Yes, to my heart. Send more vigor to my core and give me strength to rise up so I can learn to balance all these emotions that I feel. I can’t let myself sway from the long-term task of an eye for an eye, but I can’t stand the thought of letting Welch go.
Embrace the pain. Embrace it, Gwen. I chant it over and over in my head until their footsteps leave our room. They slam the door closed while I hear Welch scurry to his feet, running to my side.
“Sweet girl, please…” he trails.
I want to tell him it’s okay, to comfort him like I do while he has nightmares, but I can’t find the energy. My eyes struggle to open as they feel like a ton of bricks are weighing them down. But I promised myself to fight. This is a tug-of-war and I will win. I slowly open my swollen eyelids, it taking moments for my vision to adjust to the sight before me. Welch’s strike mine; I don’t let myself fight it this time. I allow it to happen. His goddamn face is a wreck, mottled from tears. Tears that he shed for me, for us, from this situation that we are stuck in. It’s time for this to be over.
We have to come up with a plan soon before it’s too late. Things are getting worse with each passing encounter and I know it will be taken farther next time. There were others before me. What happened to them? No one cares. I don’t want to be one of the forgotten ones. I want to live.
For the first time in months I admit that I want to escape.
To live.
With him.
I cry. I let the tears fall. I don’t care anymore. They represent so much. Longing, loss, and what I wish I could have. They also show fear. Yes, I am monster compared to who I used to be, but I’m still just a girl who is petrified of so many things.
I’m scared that I am falling in love with someone who I will lose. Someone who I don’t deserve to love because I am just an emotionally, detached, numb little girl that is destroyed. I am a fucked up little monster that wants to kill for peace. How is that any part of normalcy?
Fuck any even keel. All that shit went out the window months ago when my life was turned upside down.
I’m sorry, Gwen. Say goodbye. Grab one bag. Come with us, the line that changed my life.
One bag from a lifetime of memories. Goddamn, living in my head! I hate it! I want the memories to go away! I don’t want to remember! That is worse than anything else, more painful than the blows, the forced fucking, the lewd acts that I have to watch. Please, don’t make me remember them!
Don’t ever forget to laugh, Gwenie.
You’ll find love one day. When you do, you will know, Gwendolyn. You will feel it. In your heart. In your mind. And in your body. You will just know.
“Stop it, Mom! Stop!” I shout.
I bang my head on the floor, pulling at my red strands of hair.
“Stop it! Make it stop! Make me stop remembering!” I bellow.
I feel his gentle hands snake beneath my body and I whimper as he picks me up, feeling his skin touch the welts on my back. His grip is tight, yet soothing as he steps over to his bed. The voices in the kitchen fade as we hear a jingle of keys and the slam of the front door.
We’re alone. Free. Free at last.
“Let’s go. We can leave! Now!” I yell.
“Shhh,” Welch coos to my broken body.
“Make me forget. Don’t leave me. Make me forget. Don’t leave-,”
He interrupts my repetitive statements with a soft kiss on my swollen lips. I pull my arms around his neck, a gesture showing him I don’t want to let him go. God help me, if this is love, this is worse than going mad. If I lose him I am bound to be institutionalized. Fuckedupedness at its finest. But who is to blame? Fate? Claude? Me?
Maybe this is how my life was supposed to be. Perhaps this is how I was doomed to find love. Through peril and heartache, pain and torture. I may never make it to find out. I don’t even know if he loves me back. I don’t care. I just know one thing.
I can’t go on without him.
“Sweet girl, you are too hurt to leave right now. You need strength before we leave. We need a plan. But first, you need to focus on healing.”
“I don’t want to heal!” I shout.
My sobs are out of control as I find the urge to vomit.
“Sick… I am going to be sick!”
He scoops me from the bed and yields a plastic trash can to the edge, allowing me to vomit into it. I continue to dry heave until every muscle in my body screams in unbearable agony. I settle my sweaty face on his bare thigh, trying to calm my breathing. His stoic phas
e for me doesn’t last as his whimpered tears start. He has one hand on my shoulder and the other covering his eyes.
“I hurt you. I hate myself, Gwen. I fucking hate myself more than you know,” he stammers.
I turn my head as my arm pulls his hand away from his face. His eyes, God those eyes. So sad and tormented.
“I hate myself too, Welch. You did what they made you do, not because you wanted to.”
He wipes his eyes again.
“Maybe we can love each other enough not hate ourselves,” he says, staring at me in his eyes.
“Maybe.”
Welch has his arm around me, guiding me down the hallway as we head to the bathroom. He sets me down on the toilet, pulling the shower curtain back and plugging the tub. He starts to run the water, testing its temperature to ensure it is not too hot for my abused skin.
“Come here, Gwen. I’m going to take care of you.”
He has his hand out. Part of me doesn’t want to take it. His sentiments are making my heart turn to mush, but I relent and place it within his. At least we weren’t forced to fuck in front of them this time. My body is trembling from the shock; while he senses that, he places his hand gently on my shoulder. I’m instantly calmed. I feel at ease. But our love won’t be safe from the world’s beastly ways if we don’t get the fuck out sooner rather than later.
I step into the bath tub, welcoming the ideal temperature on my skin. I sit on my bottom and hang my head, claiming rout to figuring out all the emotions swimming around. I just need a good sleep with strength and a plan.
A good fucking plan full of vengeance.
Welch takes a washcloth and lightly cleanses the wounds on my back. I try to remain still, but my body can’t help but cringe from the burning soap that is making its way into the exposed flesh. He rinses the suds away, taking his hand to my chin and tilting it up.
“Just sit there and relax, Gwen. Let me take care of you, okay?”
Those eyes again, full of honesty and hope. I believe every word he is saying to me. I can’t return because exhaustion has taken over. He knows as he takes a cup of water and pours it over my head, drenching my crimson locks. The warming sensation sends shivers down to my toes and I find myself relaxing more and more with each fleeting minute. Welch lathers my cheap shampoo in his hands and works it into my red strands, massaging my scalp. My body can’t help but lean into him as his fingers do magical things to me, erasing the bad moments with each stroke. He rinses his hands then takes the cup full of water, tilting my chin up again to free the shampoo from my hair.
Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts Page 5
