Page 105 of His Pretty Little Duet

Looking at my capo, I nod my condolences, grip his shoulder and squeeze before heading out of the cavernous space, even more driven to get back to my little deer.

Fawn

My palms sweat,the perspiration gathering between them and the polished wood of his office desk. On the computer in front of me, the recording plays like a cult film I saw once; only the girl in this movie looks just like me. Same blonde hair. Same small figure. Same nervous tick as she twirls her near-white blonde hair around her finger.

The boys... they look like my brothers, one fat and smirking, one nervous and eager, one cunning and handsome.

No.

Why aren't you smiling at the girl who looks like me, Benji? Why aren't you smiling sweetly at her?

The boys take turns licking the girl between her legs while her head rolls with sporadic consciousness.

A pounding begins in my brain.

Why aren't you asking them to leave, Benji? So you can be alone with her? Why?

The girl who looks like me passes out, and the fat, smirking one thrusts into her so hard her entire body pulses up the couch. So hard her eyes fly open with the force of it, and the firstwhimpering sound escapes her contorted, hopeless throat. I hate her... Hate how weak she is.

“Like my cock, our ... dirty ... little... slut?”

Why don't you care, Benji?!

The pounding in my head becomes a physical boulder of sound and pain, slamming from one ear to the other. The wordnoon repeat. A chant. A cry. A plea. I want to save her. I want to climb inside that monitor and drag her the fuck out.

"Where are you going?"

Now the girl is trying to get away, and she's so weak. So utterlyuseless.Her body isn't working at all, not for her at least, but it is working for them...

I shake my head slowly, whispering, "No,"before begging the girl on the monitor, "Get up. Please.Please get up. Don't let them hurt you."

But it's too late.

Because the cunning, handsome one that looks like Benji is pinning the girl's chest to the couch and fucking her from behind.

No. No!

I burst into tears, the current flooding my face, making the vision of the girl who looks like me, who is being fucked by her three foster brothers, a blur of gyrating fierce movements.

Their grunts are clear and haunting. I'll hear them forever. In my head. In my nightmares. I'll hear the grunts like a battle drum, the last sound before a willing walk to death. I cover myears as the drum beckons me to silence it forever, to do anything to stop it.

My heart twists.

But it's not me.

I shake.

But it's not me.

I feel hollow, painful helplessness.

It.

Is.

Not.

Me.

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