Page 65 of Fallen Stars

A faintclinkechoes in the room a moment before golden light flickers to life. The man holds a Zippo close to my face as he appraises my features. Warmth grazes my cheek and I momentarily bask in the sensation.

He steps back and moves toward the door. Holding the Zippo high, he lights an oil lamp just within his reach. The room brightens as he stows the lighter in his pocket.

“Not a soul has been looking for you, Two Sixty-Three.” He glances down at the floor, careful not to step in the mess as he walks around me in the center of the cell. “No one from your former life loves you.” He stops in front of me, fists my chin, and jerks up until our eyes lock. “One of us may be your only hope for love.”

A sharp pain expands beneath my sternum as faint memories try to surface.

“They don’t love you, Two Sixty-Three. They don’t want you.” His finger caresses my lips. “If you’re good and do as I say, one of us could love you.” He forces his thumb into my mouth and presses down on my tongue. “Do you want me to love you, Two Sixty-Three?”

I gag as his thumb nears my throat.

He rips his thumb out. “Do you?” he shouts a breath before the back of his hand connects with my cheek.

I disconnect from my body as he continues to assault me with his fists and feet. My mind drifts to the hazy memories of someone soft, warm, and comforting. For whatever reason, I can’t see their face or hear their voice. I’ve forgotten their name. Maybe it’s my mind’s way of protecting what I hold sacred.

I miss them. Desperately. More than a limb. More than the sun.

And the faintest sliver of hope in my heart says they miss me too. I cling to that fragment with the last of my strength.

“You are property. That’s all you’ll ever be. A possession. A plaything. Material goods until you’re no longer useful.”

His foot connects with my rib cage. Pain lances my lungs as a sickening crunch fills the air.

“Mine to punish and fuck whenever I please.”

Chin to my chest, a tinge of iron on my tongue, his Santoni leather oxfords come into view. I stare at the craftsmanship of the shoes. Mentally detach from the situation as I study the stitches and laces. Do my best to ignore the tinkering of his belt as I examine the bottom hem of his slacks.

A soft hand strokes my temple. I close my eyes and relish the comforting caress. But it doesn’t last long.

His fingers comb through my greasy hair and yank my head back. “Look at what you do to me, Two Sixty-Three.” Inching closer, he brushes my hollow cheek with his stiff dick. “Look at how much my body wants you.”

Tightening his hold on me, he paints my lips with precum. Drags the tip of his dick back and forth over my closed lips. And then he forces his length into my mouth. He pistons his hips rapidly and laughs when I choke on his dick.

The backs of my eyes sting as I fight off tears. I refuse to let them see me cry. I won’t let them take that last piece of my soul.

Bile claws its way up my throat but doesn’t surface. My body doesn’t have the strength to vomit.

As he grunts and pummels my mouth, I dissociate from the situation. As this man gets off by violating me, I close my eyes and mentally leave my body.

I search for a happy memory. Anything to divert my attention and remind me of a better life. My life before I was taken.

Salt in the air. A hint of stars in the night sky. Someone holding my hand. Warm, soft lips pressed to mine. Happiness. Love.

A guttural moan followed by the man orgasming down my throat rips me from my memory. My arms dangle as I sway like a rag doll. When he finishes, he shoves me away.

“If you participate, it makes you more valuable.” He tucks himself back in his slacks, zips up and fastens the button, then secures his belt. “In this place, Two Sixty-Three, you want to be priceless. It guarantees your future.”

The warping corners of my mind make me want to laugh in his face and whisper,What future?

I remain silent.

Provocation only ends with more violence. Reticence and submission are rewarded with food and water. Yielding gnaws at my soul, but at least I live another day.

Although I’ve prayed for death more times than I can count, maybe all I need is one more day.

So I surrender.

He opens the door and extinguishes the light. A guard sidles up to him with a plate and water bottle. My newest abuser stares down at the measly scraps and shakes his head.

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