Page 8 of Demise

There is no way, right? No. This man is clearly unhinged. He’s completely delusional, bouncing in and out of reality at the drop of a hat. He’s confused and enraged over something that happened over twenty years ago.

“Of course, everyone knows it. The way her death was swept under the rug. You were sent away. Putnam went MIA for months. It’s obvious!” he snarls, his hands shaking as he drops the loofa.

He falls to the ground, holding his head in his shaky hands as he begins to sob.

“Giselle! My sweet, sweet Giselle.”

I don’t move a muscle, tracking his movements carefully, when all of a sudden, his tears have dried, sobs have ceased, and he looks at me with a blank face that chills me to the bone.

“It’s okay, though. Things are okay now. We can start our lives now, together.”

Knowing this is probably the wrong move, I say something stupid, hoping maybe it will shake him out of whatever delusion he’s living in.

“We can’t, though. I’m Skyla, not Giselle. You don’t love me; you love my mom, Professor Corwin.”

“You’re GISELLE!” he shouts, peeling my soaked shirt up and over my head. He’s clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed since my shirt can’t come off with my hands being tied. In his anger, he grabs the thin material, ripping it in two and exposing my breasts. Only my panties remain, but apparently I don’t get to keep those either.

Corwin rips those off as well, cupping more and more water over me. He abandons the loofa, covering his hands in shampoo as he begins scrubbing my hair. He yanks and pulls my hair, and I wince before he shoves me underwater. I hold my breath as one hand pins me to the tub, and the other aggressively rinses my hair before yanking me from the water.

I gasp for air, heaving and coughing as he grabs a bottle of conditioner.

“I bought the products you love. I want you to smell the same way you always have,” he says as he lathers my hair with a coconut scented shampoo. One that’s definitely not one of mine. I guess we are back to thinking I’m my mother.

He gives me the same treatment as before, shoving my head underwater as he washes away the conditioner, scrubbing my head aggressively as he yanks me out once more.

“Much better,” he says as I choke and gasp for air.

He pushes to his feet before bending down, scooping me out of the water, and carrying me into the bedroom. Water pours from my naked body, and I cringe as I feel his hands on my bare skin before he lays me on the bed.

“Now that you’re clean, let’s get you into some fresh clothes. I still have some of your old ones,” he says as he begins rifling through that duffel bag he brought.

A white blouse and skirt in hand, he turns and sets the clothes beside me as his eyes roam over my body. I attempt to cover myself, but it doesn’t work. Moving to the dresser, he rifles through one of the drawers before pulling out a knife. My eyes watch him carefully as he steps beside me, slicing the rope free between my hands and legs.

Instinctively, I stretch my limbs, the skin worn and raw from the rope. Corwin’s eyes trace over my breasts, falling down to my legs before forcing them apart. He stares at me with pure lust, and fear clenches inside me. When his hand comes up, presumably to touch me, I fight.

Kicking him in the side of the head, I attempt to scramble off the bed, ignoring my screaming ribs as I scoot to the edge. I don’t make it far before he recovers, smacking me across the face. Again and again, slap after slap sends my head spinning before he crawls on top of me, his towel falling away as his limp shriveled cock flops onto my thigh. It’s fucking revolting, but I don’t have time to focus on it before his hands wrap around my throat.

He's choking me hard, shaking me as he speaks through clenched teeth.

“Stop fucking fighting me, Giselle! Just fucking stop!”

I gag and choke as I attempt to breathe, and he squeezes harder. My fingers dig into his hand, attempting to claw myself free when he winds back his hand for a slap so hard it forces meto see stars. Blinking hard, I shake my head as Corwin releases my throat, cupping my face tenderly.

“My love, are you okay?” he asks. “I’m so sorry. You just…you can’t run. It’s not safe, okay?”

I look at him in revulsion, but don’t say anything as he nods to himself, like my silence is compliance. What a mistake that will be for him.

“Come on, lay down,” he says as he lays on top of me, pinning me into place. My ribs scream as I attempt to shift beneath him, but he only bears more weight down on top of me.

“What about my clothes?” I wheeze.

“We don’t need clothes between us. Rest, my love,” he says as he nuzzles into me, the sound of his heavy sleeping breaths coming faster than I’d anticipated.

I try to move slowly, but I can’t budge an inch. The pain inside me is so overwhelming, I’m ready to vomit all over again. My body begins to shake in fear, and Corwin seems to subconsciously press more weight down on me in response.

I don’t know how many hours I lay there. Too many to know for sure. Each attempt at moving him off me is met with defeat, and I can’t help but sob. I feel my eyes grow heavy despite my best efforts to stay alert. I know the drugs are still in my system, though. I know that it’s partially out of my control, and before I can stop myself, my body shuts down, and I fall asleep.

Movement shakes me from my sleep. It’s slight, but the motion jars my ribs, forcing a whimper out of me.

---