Page 2 of Creed

My screams.

I refused to give them to him.

He could cause me pain. He could make me cry and beg for mercy. But I will never give him my screams. I will never give him the satisfaction or knowledge that he’s breaking me from the inside out.

Besides the fact that I physically can’t scream—my throat never allowing it since I was a child—I would never scream for this man. This fucking monster.

Until now.

Would he really shoot him?

It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

My captor’s hand slides from my neck to my left breast and he pinches and twists my nipple so hard I swear I feel the fragile skin tear there. I open my mouth on a silent scream as white dots my vision and the feel of a warm wetness begins soaking through the shirt. The sickening, pleasured groan that he releases, accompanied by the blinding pain in my chest, tells me that he’s caused serious damage to my breast. My shoulders shake with quiet sobs at the searing pain that’s starting to consume me, but I remain silent as I cry.

“Nothing?” He has the fucking nerve to sound exasperated. My body jumps as a loud bang sounds in the room followed by a pained, “Fuck”.

“Oops, I missed.” He snorts, but then he begins to laugh. The shaking of his arm as it jostles my injured breast threatens to make me vomit from the pain. “But he fucking pissed himself like a child. Oh, fuck, this is too good.”

My heart squeezes painfully that the thought of the man I love being so helpless and scared to death by having a fucking bullet whiz by his head.

He shouldn’t even be here.

I hate him.

I love him.

I fucking hate that I fell in love with him.

“Let’s try this again, little girl.” He drags his hand down my chest, spreading the blood from my nipple across the tainted fabric. When his hand reaches my sex, he delivers a slap so hard that a quiet, broken cry escapes my throat, the hit nearly numbing the tender flesh there. He shifts, bending closer to me, given the proximity of his voice to my ear. “Give. Me. What. I. Want.”

I’m about to tell him to go fuck himself, but then he does the one thing he’d never dared to do before. The one thing that finally breaks me, that has my fellow captive and love of my life—one of them—screaming and cursing. Begging.

The excruciating pain is unbearable as too many fingers invade my unwilling body. It’s unforgiving and rough and for the second time in as many minutes, I feel something tear within me. But this time, it’s too much. I’d been assaulted before, the trauma of the events still haunt me in my dreams, but this? This has shattered the remnants of my soul. He had never touched me like this before.

Before, it was only about the pain and the pleasure he found in hurting me.

I cry, my hips bucking as much as the chains will allow, trying to dislodge his fingers from my body but it only serves to fuel his fire and he pulls them out almost all the way, only to force them back in, his nails scraping my inner walls and his knuckles bruising.

Over the roaring whoosh of my pulse, over the laughter and groans of pleasure coming from my captor, he is still crying my name, for mercy, for him to take the fucking bullet.

But he. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.

“Let him go.” My voice cracks as I sob around the pain of each invasive thrust.

“You want me to free him?” His voice sounds almost reverent, but I know better.

“Please,” the singular word comes out in a whisper so quiet, I almost don’t hear it myself.

“Give me what I want, and I’ll set him free.” The bite of metal hits my cheek as he shoves the blindfold from my eyes with the barrel. I struggle to blink my eyes open, having not been able to see anything for too long. Or maybe not long enough. I refuse to look at the man who has only ever craved my pain, but my heart stops dead in its tracks when my eyes immediately find the watery, red-rimmed eyes of the boy I love, bruised, beaten, and chained to a chair across the room.

“P-rom—ah—” I cry when he thrusts again and groans at the way my body clenches. It’s not to keep him in, though. It’s trying to force him out, which only makes his efforts more painful, fueling his attack on my body.

“I promise. Just give me what I want, little girl. Just once. That’s all I need and he’s free.” I’m surprised I can hear him over the pleas falling from the lips of the man whom I would give anything to set free, to somehow make him forget about me so he can live his life at peace.

I look into his beautiful watery eyes, hoping he can read the words I won’t say out loud. One of them is bloodshot with dried, crusted blood that trails down his cheek, and the other is nearly swollen shut. There’s also a dark stain surrounding a hole in his shirt that also looks like dried blood.

I remember the sound of a gun firing as I was hauled away from him. My heart shatters as I realize he was shot because of me. He was kidnapped and tortured because of me. He shouldn’t be here and yet he is, because of me. I’m so delirious and desperate that I’ll do anything to give him his freedom.

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