Page 70 of Darkest Oblivion
“Please...” The word tore from me, ragged, shameful.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to give him more.
He didn’t stop.
The scissors lowered, brushing the hem of my jeans.
With slow, surgical precision, he snipped upward.
Denim parted in two, the sound loud and obscene in the silence. My calf, my knee, my trembling thigh—all revealed under his merciless gaze.
“Dmitri, don’t,” I pleaded, humiliation crashing through me harder than the fear.
My body betrayed me, my most hated flaws bared—stretch marks glaring, soft curves trembling, the imperfections I’d hidden even from myself now exposed under his eyes.
He ignored me. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as he dragged the scissors down the second leg, slicing fabric inch by inch. My jeans fell away in ragged strips, pooling useless at my sides. I lay bound, shivering, left in nothing but my panties—the thin scrap of fabric suddenly obscene.
Shame seared hotter than fear. I wanted to vanish, to claw myself out of my own skin. “Don’t rape me, Dmitri,” I whispered, the words ripped from me, naked.
Tears spilled unchecked, my voice cracking like glass. “Kill me, torture me, bleed me dry—but not this. Death would be kinder.”
The scissors stilled in his hand. For a heartbeat, the silence was deafening. He looked down at me, and in his eyes, rage burned—but there was something darker beneath it. An obsession that no death could quench.
His voice dropped, lethal.
“And why,” he murmured, the words a caress and a blade all at once, “should I grant you kindness, Penelope?”
He sliced through the last shred of denim with cruel finality, leaving me bare, trembling before him. “You betrayed me. You handed me to wolves. You sold me out for a taste of freedom you were never going to have.”
His gaze dragged over me, consuming, until I felt skinned alive.
He leaned closer, his scarred chest brushing against my trembling thighs as he caged me in.
His hand gripped my jaw, forcing my tear-streaked face to meet his.
My body shook, anxiety crashing over me in waves, my breath ragged as I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the darkness to swallow me whole.
“You act like a child, Penelope,” Dmitri’s voice cut through, sharp, heavy with scorn. “So naive. So reckless. Running into fire and crying when you burn.”
I clung to the black behind my eyelids, refusing him the satisfaction of my gaze.
Then came the sound—the brutal rip of fabric. Cold air hit my skin as the scissors shredded my panties with one merciless cut.
My eyes flew open, a strangled scream clawing up my throat.
My body—laid bare, stripped of its last defense—trembled violently beneath his shadow. “This is violation!” I cried, tears spilling hot and relentless down my cheeks. “This is cruelty!”
“It is.” His answer was unapologetic, chilling in its simplicity.
His eyes raked over me with consuming possession. “But betrayal deserves no gentleness. Consider this mercy.”
I screamed again, thrashing against the cuffs until the iron bit deep into my wrists and ankles, skin tearing, fire blooming where leather and steel dug in. “Let me go!” I sobbed, my voice breaking, my heart splintering under the weight of his cruelty. “Let me go—you’re not him anymore. You killed him.”
The scissors clattered across the floor, discarded.
The silence after was worse than the cut.
My stomach dropped.
