Dissent (29 page)

Oh
my god. I couldn't just stand there. I couldn't just listen to him
tell me all the awful things he planned to do to me. I couldn't let
him have that sick satisfaction. Because there was no way I could
pretend it didn't make me bone-deep sick and scared to be told he was
going to rape me with a knife. There was no way to keep a straight
face in the reality of his depravity.

“I
see those wheels turning,” he said, closing the knife and
slipping it into his pocket. “Whatever you're thinking, well,
you shouldn't give yourself false hope. I've waited too long for
this. I am going to have you. And you're going to fucking scream.”
He closed his eyes, lifting his head, as if listening for music on a
breeze.

And
I flew into him, knocking him slightly out of the way, barreling into
the hall with the bunks on either side. But I had barely reached my
own bed when I felt a hand reach out and grab my hair, pulling it
backward hard enough to rip it out of my head, sending me flying
backward. I hit the ground with a sickening thud, the wind knocked
out of me, making my chest feel like it was compressed.

But
I struggled backward, trying to push myself up, trying to move away.

Then
he was in front of me, dropping down on top of my torso, his legs on
the sides of my ribs. My hands shot out, pounding, scraping, trying
to make enough contact to cause pain, to give me another second to
get away.

“Oh,
yeah, fight me, slut,” he growled, reaching out and grabbing my
arms and pinning them down at my side. I thrust my body upward,
trying to knock him off center. But he just laughed, shifting his
legs so that his knees crushed down on my hands, the bones underneath
his weight feeling like they were cracking. “This pale skin is
going to look so good with red all over it.”

His
hands reached out for my throat, not crushing, grazing, like a lover.
Somehow that was so, so much worse. They moved slowly lower,
whispering across my clavicle, then tracing over the swell of my
breasts. Then he grabbed the sides of the corset, pushing it together
in the center so the studs of the corset popped out of the hooks and
the front started to open. His hands moved slowly down my torso,
pressing, until all of the hooks were empty and the steel-boned
material started sliding to the side. He shifted his hips upward so
the sides could fall down.

The
shock of cool air on my skin made my nipples involuntarily harden and
I heard him chuckle. His fingers moved across my stomach, stroking
upward, across my breasts.

He
leaned slightly forward toward my face. “Now the fun starts,”
he said, smiling slowly. His fingers moved to my nipples, grabbing
the sides of the barbells. And I knew with a blinding, sickening
clarity what he was about to do. And I knew how it was going to feel.
Like the time I got one of them caught on my bra- like a searing hot
fucking poker through your nipple.

Then
his fingers closed, his smile spread, and he pulled up hard.

My
scream reverberated off the walls of the bunk and bounced back toward
me, louder, making my ears hurt. It seemed to last forever, the
pulling, then twisting, pulling harder. And I swear it would have
hurt less if he just ripped my breasts off.

Then
he released them, the pain going from the sharp, hot sensation to a
throbbing, insistent ache. I couldn't bring myself to look down, to
see if the barbells had been pulled through the skin, to see if my
nipples were even still intact.

“Fuck,”
he said, his voice sounding husky, aroused, “that's hot.”

“Todd,”
I said, trying to make my voice calm, trying to not let the pain seep
into my voice. “You don't have to do this...”

“No,”
he agreed, “but I want to.”

Through
the pain, through the helplessness, I felt rage, strong and
indignant. How dare he? Who the fuck did he think he was to put his
hands on me? I felt the anger bubble up from a deep well inside,
wanting nothing more than to get free and rip the beating heart from
his chest. Because no one got to make me feel like that: weak and
defenseless. Because if I had nothing else to defend myself with, I
had my voice.

“You
can hurt me,” I said, my voice wavering with the anger. “You
can rip me to shreds. But you'll never get away with this. You'll
never win.”

“I've
already won,” he laughed, cocking his arm back, just long
enough to make sure I registered what he was about to do, before it
swung out and started pounding into my face, over and over. I felt
the skin break and bleed, felt the bones underneath ache, and burn.
My lip was hit and swelled. His knuckles slammed hard under my chin,
making my teeth clamp down hard on my tongue until my own blood
started to trickle down my throat.

I
thought it was never going to end. I prayed it didn't. How twisted
was that? I prayed he pummeled me until the pain was too much for my
body to take, and I finally passed out into oblivion.

But
then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. He sat back onto my
pelvis, knees pressing hard into my hands. Which was pointless. I was
beyond struggling. I couldn't even muster the strength to swallow the
mouthful of blood. He breathed heavily, looking at his bloodied
hands, bringing them up to his nose and smelling them, his eyes
closing, then reaching up and rubbing the red across his face.

“What's
the matter? Nothing smart to say now?” he asked, looking
positively gleeful in all his bloodstained insanity. “Guess you
weren't as strong as you thought huh? That's a shame. I was looking
forward to more of a fight when I got to this part,” he said,
reaching up toward his neck and pulling something out from underneath
his shirt. It was a chain necklace. Something I always just thought
of as a silly fashion accessory, with a strong, small, padlock hold
it closed in the front.

He
produced a key, putting it in the lock until it snapped open and
pulling the chain down into his hands. His knee pressed harder into
my left hand as he shifted the weight off of my numb right one,
pulling it up across my body and wrapping the chain around it. And
all I could do was watch, knowing whatever was to come was going to
make me wish for death, but also acknowledging there was no use
trying to struggle. It would only excite him more. His knee lifted
from my left hand, wrapped it quickly, then locking them together.

He
scooted down my body, reaching for his zipper, pulling it down, and
dragging his hard cock out of his pants. He sat back, watching me as
he stroked himself, slipping one of his hands in his mouth to taste
my blood. Then me moved further downward, sitting on the sides of my
ankles as he released his dick and started pushing my skirt upward
until it bunched around my waist. His hands went to my panties,
slipping under and ripping the fabric off. His fingers moved down to
my thighs, sinking in, raking downward, making the skin burn and cut
open. His hands stopped at my knees, grabbing them, pushing them open
and holding them against the floor, exposing my pussy to him and he
looked down at it with a look of expectation that had dread shoot
through my body like electricity.

And
it sparked the instinct deep inside to self-preserve, to fight, to
save myself. My hands may have been incapacitated. But the idiot
forgot all about my fucking legs. I waited until his fingers released
my knees and moved toward his pants, then dragged both of my legs up
toward me quickly and shoved as hard as I could at his body, sending
him flying backward.

I
shot up, flying onto my feet, trying to run. But he was in my path.
And he was so fast. As I tried to get past him, he swung around,
reaching out and grabbing my ankles from behind , and pulling. I felt
the swirling feeling of helplessness inside, knowing I was going
down, and realizing I couldn't break my fall.

I
hit the ground in the galley, right next to the mini-kitchen, my face
cracking so hard against the floor that I felt a blackness settle
over my eyes, like my brain was trying to decide if I was going to
pass out or not. I tried to press myself in toward it, but as I
grasped for it, it pulled backward, leaving me only with the reality.
My jaw and cheek pounded, a tooth came loose and I turned my face to
the side and spat it out.

His
weight went down on the back of my calves as he laughed, a twisted,
demonic sound. His hands went to my ass, slapping hard, over and over
and over until the skin felt raised and painful. His legs shifted,
pushing my thighs apart and I had the rolling sensation in my stomach
in knowing what was coming. Knowing I couldn't stop it. Knowing I
probably wasn't going to be allowed to survive it.

I
felt his fingers snaking up my inner thigh and I spat out the blood
filling my mouth, sucked in as much air as I could, and fucking
screamed. I screamed a sound that I didn't think I was capable of, a
shrill, blood-curdling, non-stop, ear-piercing sound. His finger
pressed between my folds, pausing, getting off on my distress, before
shoving his fingers inside me with a sharp pinching sensation.

They
were thrusting wildly inside of me, scraping against the walls,
trying to draw out any kind of torment he could.

“What
the fuck?” a voice screamed and I felt the fingers slip out of
me. “Mother fucker!” Jay's voice screamed, then all I
heard was voices. Joey and Mike and Burt, the sound of the crowd Jay
had invited back being shoved off the bus, Burt screaming at them to
call the police, then locking the door. Protecting my privacy.

Todd's
body was shoved off of me and I heard the sound of his head smacking
off the ground, I heard the screaming from Jay, livid, words that
weren't even words as his fists started landing their marks.

“Darcy,”
I heard someone say next to me. Burt. His voice paternal, shocked,
worried. His hand reached out to touch my face and I flinched away.

“You're
going to kill him,” Mike's voice said, sounding like he was
full of barely-controlled rage himself.

“Good,”
Jay's voice shot back, then the sound of a snap, bones breaking.

“Stop,”
Joey's voice pleaded and I imagined they were grabbing at him, trying
to pull him away. “He's passed out. He's done.”

“It's
not done until he's fucking dead. That fucking traitor,” Jay
raged.

“Darcy
needs you,” Mike tried, and I could hear the struggle end, I
could hear the shuffling as he crawled toward me, stopping next to my
body. “Get me a blanket,” he said and I could hear
someone going to oblige. I felt the material settle down on my body
before Jay's hands reached for me, turning me onto my back.

“Oh
my god,” I could hear Joey say, sounding like he was going to
be sick.

“Where's
the fucking key?” Jay asked them.

They
started to look around blindly, dropping to their knees and looking
under tables. I swallowed hard, finding my voice, weak and not really
mine. “In his pocket.”

Mike
grabbed at his pockets, pulling out the key and giving it to Jay. His
hands fumbled, shaking, his knuckles broken open and bleeding, making
his fingers slip. But the lock finally gave way and he carefully
unwrapped my hands. “I'm gonna cover you up,” he said,
reaching for the ends of the blankets. “Put your hands up and
hold the material away from your chest,” he told me. So I
didn't get the material stuck to my nipples.

“The
cops are here,” Joey said, and as he said it, I could see the
flashing reds and blues.

Burt
rushed to the door, pulling it open, and two blue-clad officers
stepped in.

Jay's
eyes stayed on my face, sad, worried. “Darcy, stay with me,
pretty girl,” he said, but even as the words passed into my
ears, I felt myself slipping away. Because I finally could. I could
let go. I was safe.

And
even as I started to give into the darkness, I felt an obnoxious
swell of adolescent hope that maybe, just maybe, when I woke up,
Isaiah would be there...

Twenty-five

I
remembered the events after. I remembered waking up in the ambulance.
I remembered the flash of the cameras outside the hospital. I
remembered the bright lights and the smell of antiseptic. I
remembered the stabbing in my arm and the delicious feeling of
morphine filling my bloodstream.

I
was awake. But I wasn't at the same time. I felt like I was in my
body, but detached from it, and from what was going on around it. I
sat on the hospital bed. I was talked to by doctors but their sounds
fell muted on my ears. I remember Jay standing by, refusing to get
his hands taken care of, watching me with terrified eyes. Like I had
broken.

I
guess I had.