Page 38 of Can You Take It?

One of them holds me down while the other forces himself inside me. “You’re so fucking tight, babe. We’re gonna make you scream. You like that, don’t you?”

I thrash and struggle, but they’re too strong. They take turns, violating me with each thrust, their hands groping and degrading me further.

“Please, it hurts,” I cry out, my voice hoarse from screaming.

“Shut up, bitch,” one of them snarls, slapping me again. “You’re ours now. You’ll take it and like it.”

I feel their hands everywhere, grabbing, pinching, and pulling. They laugh at my tears, mocking my helplessness.

“You’re such a good little whore,” one of them sneers, thrusting harder. “Scream for us, baby. We love it when you scream.”

“Please, please stop. I can’t take it anymore,” I whimper.

They don’t listen. They never listen. The assault continues, each thrust pushing me further into despair. Their hands grip me tighter, their laughter ringing in my ears. I feel my spirit breaking, my will shattering under their relentless abuse.

“Beg for it,” one of them demands with a cruel whisper. “Beg for us to fuck you harder.”

“Please, no more,” I sob. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Louder!” he yells, slapping me hard across the face. “I said beg for it!”

“Please, please fuck me harder,” I choke out, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “Just make it stop.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his grip tightening. “Now, take it like the dirty slut you are.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear, wishing I could be anywhere but here. Their words cut deep, their actions deeper. I feel broken, lost, and utterly defeated.

The minutes stretch into an eternity, each one more torturous than the last. I lose track of time, of everything except the pain and the voices taunting me.

“Look at her,” one of them says, laughing. “She’s fucking loving it.”

“Please,” I whisper one last time, though I know it’s useless. “Please, just let me go.”

Their laughter is the last thing I hear as darkness finally, mercifully, takes me.

“You know,” Luna chirps, “a little ‘please’ can solve all your problems.”

I’m pulled from the memory as Luna’s voice disrupts my thoughts. She’s trying to be helpful, offering some naive piece of advice, and it grates on my already frayed nerves. I can’t help myself; I have to set her straight.

“Please doesn’t make it stop, Luna.”

In my experience, a simple “please” doesn’t stop anything. For two years, I was violated by countless men. Begging, pleading, crying—it never made a difference. It only stopped when I became unresponsive to their abuse, but then, it was replaced by something much worse.

When I look back at Luna, I catch the shift in her expression. Her eyes widen in confusion, and I realize, with a sinking feeling, that I might have shared more with her than I intended.

I need to get out of this fucking conversation. “I need to eat,” I mutter, pushing myself up and heading toward the kitchen. My body moves on autopilot as I distance myself, needing a damn break from this emotional tug-of-war.

Luna’s quick to uncuff me, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her gaze. She’s about to say something—probably another one of her annoying optimistic remarks—but I cut her off by rummaging through the cabinets. I can feel her eyes burning into my back, but I keep myself turned away.

I grab a glass, but my hand slips, and the glass shatters on the counter. Fuck. I reach to clean it up.

Luna reaches for the shards too, and in my rush to move, Iaccidentallyknock her arm into a larger piece of glass.

“Fuck, Luna, you’re bleeding,” I say, playing up my concern,

She looks down at her hand, finally noticing the deep cut. “It’s nothing,” she brushes it off. But blood is already dripping onto the counter.

I grab a dish towel and start wiping up the blood. “I’ve got this handled,” I tell her, gesturing toward the mess on the counter. “You should go clean that up before you drip all over the place.”

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