Page 31 of Catch My Fall

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I shiver against the draught that prickles at my bare skin, but it’s not the draught that chills me to the bone, it’s his slow, calculated footsteps as he moves around the room as I lie on my side on the mattress.

He grips a handful of my hair and yanks my head back painfully, my neck aching at the odd angle as I’m dragged up to my knees.

His face closes in on mine so we’re nose to nose. “You’re nothing but a worthless whore, Hudson, but not useless. I’m gonna use you until there’s nothing of you left to use up.”

With his free hand he unbuckles his belt and shoves open the zipper before pulling out his rancid dick.

My body trembles. I suck in a gasp, my throat dry and raw. There’s no point in pleading or begging, he’d only do it harder.

“Open wide, bitch. If you bite my dick, I’ll chop your tits off and post them to your brothers.” It’s meant as a warning, but he says it like the idea excited him.

Bile rises in my throat as he forces the head of his dick past my lips.

As he uses my mouth, cutting off my air supply for so long my vision goes hazy and my head goes fuzzy, I find myself wishing for death.

Because even death is better than having to endure this for much longer.

I jolt awake with a strangled cry lodging in my throat as I gasp for breath, my heart thudding wildly in my chest as white noise fills my ears.

I scan the room, and a wave of calm washes over me when I see it’s my bedroom.

I’m safe.

My body is clammy with sweat and I toss the damp bed sheets off of me before swinging my legs out of bed. The warm glow of the early morning sunlight streams through the blinds, casting thick striped shadows onto the opposite wall. It can’t be any later than six-thirty.

My eyes are heavy and puffy from lack of sleep, and rubbing them does absolutely nothing. It took me hours to fall asleep last night, and when I finally managed to drift off, I dove headfirst into a nightmare, something I’ve come to expect since I got out of hospital four weeks ago.

Almost every night when I close my eyes, it’s the same story, just a different part of it. The memories come back in bits and pieces, but each and every one chip away another tiny part of my soul to the point where sometimes, I can’t even differentiate between past and present.

The nightmares feel so real, like it’s happening to me all over again, my mind stuck in a constant loop, replaying it over and over until it drives me crazy.

I thought I could escape it when Alec rescued me, put the whole thing behind me and start afresh, but in my head, when I’m asleep, I’m right back there on that soiled mattress in that cold, dark basement.

After the first few nights where the memories filled my unconscious mind, I thought it would get better, that they’d slowly fade away, but they get worse every single time, coming more frequent and more vivid every night.

I’m terrified of falling asleep, but getting no sleep is not an option.

I pad into the bathroom and flip on the light before turning on the shower. I strip out of my sticky pyjamas and step under the hot spray of the shower as hot as I can take it.

The scolding water cleanses me in a way, it strips off the layer of skin they tainted when they touched me and I welcome the burn on my skin.

When I step out fifteen minutes later, my skin is red and tingly as I pull the towel around my body and dry myself off.

Moving back into my room, my gaze snags on the scars and burns that make up my body in the full length mirror on the wall and my stomach twists.

I hate them. They’re ugly. I’m ugly. Every single one dredges up another memory of how I got them. The cigarette burn on my neck was for spitting in Austin’s face, which also earned me a kick to the stomach.

I touch the scar on my face, the one from my brow to my cheekbone. I got it a few days after I was taken, when I still had the energy to fight back, the fight in me they soon whittled down to nothing.

The guy who did it had a thing for blood, so while he took and took from me over and over again, he pulled out a blade and dragged it down my face. The pain of it took away the pain between my legs, overshadowed it, especially when he pressed into the cut with his fingers. And as the blood dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision, that was the beginning of the end for me, the end of my fight.

There was no point. They fed off of it like leeches. Fighting back only turned them on, so I figured if I stayed quiet and still, I could take that pleasure away from them, that it was at least one tiny part that I could control, though they still found a way to get it by other means.

I force the thought away and turn to my wardrobe, looking for something to wear.

All my clothes are short and tight. Strapless and low-cut and after almost three weeks living off of barely any nutritious food, I’ve dropped two whole dress sizes, but I suppose I should see it as a win. Who knew getting kidnapped, raped and tortured worked wonders for your waistline?

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