Page 7 of Bound by Wreckage
“Get your ass out here,” Big Jim, one of my brother’s friends, orders. Not wanting any more trouble, I go as he harshly grips my arm. Memories of Nox’s touch float in my head as I try to wipe away Big Jim’s touch. It doesn’twork. This is cold and callous, familiar and despising.
“Buck wants you in his room, now.”
Big Jim pushes me to Buck’s bedroom door. My hand shakes as I reach for the handle. He’s behind this door.
He’s pissed.
He’ll hurt me.
I wish he’d just kill me and get it over with. End my life and be done with it. But I’m not that lucky. No, my luck ran out a long timeago. Buck has come close several times, but always stops right when I’m on the cusp of seeing the light—the end. It’s a vicious cycle that’s been on repeat for more years than I care to remember.
Letting out a deep breath, I turn the knob and step into the room. A loud crack sounds in the room, and pain spears me in the head. It’s the last thing I remember as my body freefalls to the groundand everything turns black.
My only thought is maybe this time I won’t wake up.
**
Everything and everywhere hurts. My entire body screams so badly, I can’t move. My eyes are swollen and can only open a small bit, enough to see I’m in Buck’s room on his bed. But he isn’t here. A small bit of relief hits, very small.
My limbs are so heavy, like they are lead weightsand I can’t pick them up. Dammit. This isn’t good. The last time Buck did this to me, I had to lay in bed for days which only pissed Buck off more. Then it took me even longer to get healed because he couldn’t keep his hands off me. Punching bag should be my name. He could be angry at anyone or anything, but it always is taken out on me.
Come on, Carsyn. You need to get your ass up andget moving. You can’t lay here. It’ll be worse if you do.
Memories of the last time explode. There’s nothing worse than not being able to move while a man does what he wants to your body and you can’t fight him off. It’s one thing when I have all my control. It’s a complete other when there is none. There are different levels of fear and pain. Some may be scared of a spider or a snake.While, for me, I’d welcome those any day to Buck and his friends.
Inside, I don’t even know anymore what level I’m on. It has to be close to resignation because as each day passes, the hope gets dimmer and dimmer.
You can do this. Get your ass up.
With every bit of strength I can muster, I force my legs to swing off the bed. Sharp pain shoots through my spine as I will myselfto sit up. A small scream escapes me as I suck in deep breaths of air. Buck did a number on me, and my naked body shows it. The positive is I don’t remember it. The negative is I don’t remember it.
Considering between my legs throbs and burns, I can only imagine what he did to me. Or who did what to me. Buck has no problem sharing me with the entire place as long as everyone knows I belongto him, and he’s not shy about objects he uses inside of me either.
It even hurts in my lower stomach like something penetrated me deep inside. There’ll no doubt be blood in the stool when I go to the bathroom.
Slowly, I rise and make my way to the bathroom inside the room, each one of my muscles protesting and on fire with agony. My insides slosh, and I swear I feel like they mayfall out. The woman in the mirror is beaten, broken, and alone. Dead.
This is not what my mother would’ve wanted for me, but it’s my fault she’s not here, living and breathing.
This is my penance.
One that I wish would end.
My mother was so strong and determined. She took life by the horns and lived. She took me to my first concert when I was only six saying I had tosee Bon Jovi in person, there was no other way to hear them. It was the first of four concerts we got in before I lost her. Each one a memory I hold onto. Mom took me to art shows that I thought were boring as hell, but having lived without her all these years, I’d give anything for her to take me to one now.
Only, my mother would be disappointed in me. To see the woman I grew up to be,she wouldn’t respect me or find pride in who her little girl became. She wouldn’t be able to look at me. A woman that I hate to even look at in the mirror myself. Looking over my naked body, bruises, cuts, and welts cover every inch of my flesh. There is no mistaking the outline of handprints and a leather belt.
A shower is out of the question. As much as I want to wash everything off me,the water will make everything hurt worse. It will inflame only to leave me with more torture. A lesson I learned a long time ago the hard way. Fuck.
I do my business, which takes a hell of a long time considering my mobility is shit.
This is my life. My lot in life. My punishment for what I’ve done. I’ve accepted it for years, but I’m not sure how much more I can take.
Honestly,I’m more than ready for it to end.
