Page 69 of His Pretty Little Duet

They keep closing.

Open.

Close.

Jake groans. “Fuck. You’re right. Oh, fuck me.” I reach up, grasping his shoulders, trying to see if he’s real, convince myself that this isn’t happening to me, but to the girl on the television. The pain is only a manifestation of my mind. “She’s tight. So fucking tight, boys.”

“She likes it, man. Listen to her moans.”

He gets rougher. His breathing gets heavy, strange, uneven. “Like my cock, our ... dirty ... little... slut.”

Don't touch me. Stop it. Stop it. I don't want it. A violent grunt rattles between my ears. Jake stills on top of me, panting heavily, nuzzling into my wet hair, and I think he must have heard my screams, understanding I need help.

“My turn," Benji declares.

I manage to roll over onto my stomach. Or was I turned? Vomit fills my throat, a mouthful pouring from me along with the heavy fall of tears and sweat. I grip the armrest, hauling myself up but my body is like lead.

"Where are you going?" Benji laughs. Fingers sink into my hipbones, pulling me backwards while I scratch at the couch to stay on my knees. I grunt as my torso is flattened, weighed down by someone sitting on the backs of my thighs. A hand presses between my shoulder blades, decompressing my lungs, squeezing the air from them. I wheeze for more as he starts to thrust inside me, using the body that I'm unable to control but cannot escape feeling.

“Where are you going?”

I tremble violently as I climb to my feet. My toes drag on the carpet with each step, the vision of the bathroom ahead guiding me. It's so many steps. My muscles ache, and parts of me that shouldn’t hurt are on fire. Limping into the bathroom, I slide my feet along the tiles to the toilet. When my legs give up, I manage to pull my body up onto the bowl.

I sit, spread my legs.

A strange sensation leaves me, dropping into the water. Then I wee. I reach for the toilet paper, wiping myself, hissingas the paper feels like razors between my legs, but I’m not sure why. Pushing to my feet, I turn to flush, halted by the sight of red water and thick white blobs in the bowl.

The shaking of my limbs becomes hysterical. My finger freezes on the button, not wanting to flush it in case what I am seeing will be washed away and forgotten. Wide-eyed, tears stream down my face. No. It wasn’t real.

I don't flush the toilet.

Barely alive, I walk back into the main room, head cast down at my feet. They seem to be working now.

“Flush the toilet, dirty girl.”

I convince my head to rise. Grinning wildly, Jake stands opposite me with his thick brown hair mussed.

He steps towards me, and I shuffle to the side until the wall hits my spine.

He laughs. "What? Don’t you like me now?” he says, approaching me slowly. “A few minutes ago, you were hugging me so tight with your pussy you didn't want me to leave."

My blood crystalises, freezing right inside my veins. No. “No,” I mutter, hearing the word but it's not real.

This is the movie.

Jake doesn't stop advancing on me. When his eyes run the course of my body, smirking when they settle on my thighs, I peer down.

My breath catches, and I cover my mouth to silence the sound of the whimpers that follow. It’s a horrible helpless cadence, and I can’t stand it. My thighs are red, raw, and the skin is coated in pink liquid. “What happened? I’m bleeding.”

“You don’t remember anything?" Jake asks, and somehow his already big smile grows, becoming a gash of taunting horror.

"Stop smiling. I'm hurt," I whisper, my eyes bouncing around the room. Where is Benji?

Jake moves towards me, but adrenaline scorches a trail up my spine, forcing my legs backwards.

The sound of Benji snorting something snaps my eyes to witness him rise to his feet. He appears by my side, and I exhale deeply. "I'm bleeding, Benji. I'm bleeding."

"That's enough," Benji says to Jake. "Let her get cleaned up. You had your fun."

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