I didn’t have time to react; I didn’t know how to react. Usually, in situations where I felt scared or threatened, a savior would step in. A person who hated the world and everyone in it—everyone but me.
Heavy arms forced me around, pulling my jumper up over my ass as it tried in vain to hide it.
Movement sounded behind me and my legs were kicked apart. Someone hit the back of my head, knocking my face into the concrete for the second time. My neck twisted causing pain in my throat, so intense, I couldn’t even scream. The position was suffocating me, and the wall was rubbing at my face like sandpaper, creating minor imperfections that only time could heal.
My fingers splayed, pressing firmly to the wall, niggling closer to my face. I prayed for a small separation from the stone. . . from my body.
But I got neither, with the giant creep holding me in place.
My cellmate moved behind me. Stepping out of his trousers, he left them behind on the floor with mine.
A heavy thrust pushed my skin deeper into the concrete, and as a result, my neck hurt more, too.
A pain ripped through me, starting at my rear. I screamed, and a distorted sound evacuated through my lips before dirty fingers forced themselves into my mouth and gagged me.
I almost fucking died from the pain and pressure caused as the guy behind me fisted strands of my hair and pulled my head back enough to clamp his mouth over my dry lips, whispering sour promises against my skin. The pain in my throat blasted me harder than whatever he’d shoved into my ass. But every part of me hurt.
I sealed my lips shut to avoid his dirty kiss. The threats on his tongue, of a more brutal fucking, acted like a superglue to my mouth.
I felt my insides stretch uncomfortably, making room for my cellmate, who was pushing himself deeper inside me. His hands were on my hips steadying me as I shifted away from the thickness of what I could only assume was his dirty fucking dick.
“Please, God. Please, God. . .” let this end, I begged, but God didn’t hear my almost silent pleas.
I fought for freedom, but I was one teenager against a small and hateful army of criminals.
My eyes moved swiftly in their sockets. Searching around the cell, I took in the appearance of the pricks fillingthe space as they moved in and out of my view.
My abuser—my cellmate—was older than me, by at least twenty years, like most of the others in here.
The badly designed tattoo on his face, one I’d seen before—an upside down cross in the center of his forehead reminded me of my father, because in a different place, he wore the same mark—that of the devil, or so, that’s what my mother had said.
My daddy wore it on his hand, claiming that when he lifted said hand, the cross was no longer upturned, claiming it as a symbol of God—something he only ever said to please his susceptible wife.
She was such a gullible idiot, believing all his damn lies.
No, that was the damn lie, one I’d believed for too fucking long.
My mother was no idiot. She was the worst kind of woman—someone who had been through hell and could only drag herself out by trampling over all the people she dragged down with her.
An enemy to her own gender.
An innocent, turned traitor.
I thought of her, and it ignited a strong sense of anger, fear, and hate, but nothing was as strong as the anxiety pills I’d taken this morning, muting the other part of me that usually took over when I felt any of these emotions.
Nothing but the pain.
My cellmate, or the prick I shared a cell with, as he’d be known going forward, pulled out of me, then pushed back inside quickly, forcing me to take all of him.
His thrusts became violent and short, stabbing into me until it became lethal enough for me to struggle to breathe.
I shook my head, causing myself more pain, and I closed my eyes. . . needing to be anywhere but here.
I prayed when my lids rolled up to reveal my sad eyes, I’d be somewhere else.
But I didn’t get my wish.
The noises in the room echoed, bringing me back to the cell. Laughs got louder and louder until all sounds blurred like my hazy vision.
