Page 25 of Darkest Descent

I was a monster.

I hunched up on the frigid floor next to the sheets Hunter delivered, along with a cup of coffee and a bowl of tomato soup. Even a ham and cheese sandwich. But they sat there, cold, untouched, because I couldn’t, wouldn’t, take my eyes off my sister. Hours had passed since Hunter left her strung to the ceiling, and she hadn’t complained once.

Whatever he’d said to her, threatened her with. She believed it. With her whole being.

I stumbled to her, holding the stale sandwich in my fist. “W-will you eat?” I asked, hopelessness sinking over me when she didn’t react. Her eyes were open, her chest rose up and down, but it was like she’d managed what I’d always been able to. She’d gone somewhere else. At fucking last, she seemed to have done it. The selfish part of me wanted to force her back, to make her eyes glitter like they did when she was full of emotion - good and bad. They shone when she laughed, when she was angry. The urge to see that from her, to gain that comfort, was eating me alive. But I sighed and stepped back.

I decided to leave her there.

Looking up at the ceiling, at all corners of the room, I glared. “She’ll die, you know!” I yelled. “If we don’t clean her up, get her some medicine. You’ve had us long enough now that I don’t think you want that to happen!” I waited, listening for the sounds of him returning, I hoped with an entire fucking ambulance crew to repair every wound he’d caused on my sister. But nothing, only silence. The occasional creak of rope straining on wood as Alice shifted.

I stood there for at least an hour, listening, waiting, begging. Pleading with the damn fucking universe with not a stitch of clothing on, dirty and depraved and disgusted with myself.

And I decided, when Alice finally made a sound, a small whimper, that I needed to suck it up and be the strong one. I’d hurt her, sunk so deep into my mind that I became his weapon.

“Al,” I said, reaching for her and lifting her face with both my hands, making her look at me. “Alice.”

She groaned unhappily, tried to turn away. I kissed her lips, and she squeezed them shut, shaking her head. “No,” she muttered, “No, no no…”

But it was something. So I did it again, pressing my tongue into her mouth and forcing her response. It wasn’t a sexual thing; it was an awakening. The only thing I could think of to bring her back. Because despite the nicer part of me deciding to abandon her there, I couldn’t resist trying to claw her back to me. She’d done it for me before, comforted me in this way, calmed me with soothing words and gentle kisses. I needed to tell her I loved her, that I was sorry. I needed her to return to her selfish brother so I could apologize.

“Alice, come on,” I whispered against her lips. “Kiss me back. Come back.”

“No,” she repeated, over and over, until I pulled away, unwilling to force her to give to me again. It was only a fraction, still close enough that we shared our air. War raged in me, the selfishness, the ache to keep her safe in her mind. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Alice,” I told her. “I don’t have words. But I will nurse you back to health however I can, then we will escape this hellhole. I promise.”

She released a sigh, and moved, lolling her head forward and looking up at me through salt caked eyelashes. “Lying’s for wimps.”

Hunter returned when I was asleep. I didn’t even know when it happened, when my body gave up and my eyes closed, but when he walked through the door, I woke with a start. Still by Alice’s side, curled up at her feet amongst the blood and piss and cum, I jolted, and he laughed.

“I brought supplies,” he said, dumping a thick black hold-all by my head. “Get her down and let’s see the damage up close.”

With my lips squeezed together to stop myself saying something I’d regret, I did as he asked, using the chair he’d bought to reach her wrists, untying them with as much care as I could. The skin was raw where the rope dug into it, and her fingers clenched and unclenched in relief, despite her silence, as I released her. We tumbled to the ground in an awkward tangle of limbs, her breathing hitching, a small moan coming from her when her arms lowered below her shoulders.

“Shh,” I hushed her, stroking her skin, massaging her forearms and biceps, and kissing her forehead as I settled her onto the mattress.

Hunter walked up behind me as I kept muttering to her, and he nudged my side with the tip of his shoe. He was fully dressed, I realized. So often he came down here in minimal clothing, like he’d rolled out of bed or been relaxing. I hadn’t even thought about him leaving the building. Where did he go? He was wearing shoes, a jacket.

I looked up at him when he prodded me again. “Clean her wounds, put that fucking puffy diaper looking thing over her pussy. I’ll be back tonight to double check your work.” He turned to leave, but glanced over his shoulder at the door. “If she dies now, it’s your fault.”

16

Alice

The world disappeared in a fog of medicine zapping through my veins and the pure horror of trying to reconcile with what happened to me. Who had done it. The person I should be safest with, most loved by, he’d raped me. Anally raped me with our captor, and only after had he so much as flinched.

I couldn’t see a way to recovery, a way to come to terms with the loss I felt. The loss of my body, of him. Of everything I held dear.

So I let the world fog over, didn’t fight the waves of what could only be narcotics numbing my system. It was nice, sinking into that oblivion for as long as it would have me. There was no need to be awake. My body didn’t belong to me anymore.

I dreamed of life before, so recent but so damn far away. Of sunshiny days and laughing with friends on the beach. Of dancing, walking home with sore feet as the sun appeared over the low-rise buildings. Even of sex, healthy, consensual, underwhelming but safe sex. Not forced, not with my brother. Not while I wept.

And when reality tried to force its way in and wake me up, I refused it, staying under the surface, pushing cognition away in favor of the bliss in the back corners of my mind.

“Alice,” my brother’s voice said, soft and warm as it broke through my defenses. “Come on, if you stay unconscious forever, you’ll starve. You need to drink.”

He sounded like he was repeating himself, maybe for the millionth time. But after what he’d done? He could suffer a little longer. It was hard to reconcile my brother with his actions. I understood they came from a place of duress for him, but he hadn’t refused, not once. He’d fallen so deep into his head that he was a zombie, he’d fucking participated and orgasmed from my pain. How could I look at him? Find comfort in him? Let him heal what he’d broken?

---