Page 13 of Corrupted Torment

Is this death?

Suddenly, I open my eyes, I have to know. I turn over my noncorporeal hands and shudder at the ability to view straight through the other side. Have I become a ghost to this horror show? I glide closer to my physical form; my eyes may be closed, but it seems I am still breathing. My chest slowly rises and falls.

For now, at least.

The connection to my body and its pain is now broken. A blissful reprieve from the torturous hurt this man is bestowing upon me as he rips away my virginity. In a not-so-distant memory, learning about sex, me and my best friend Zee giggled, both swearing we would wait until we found Mr Right. Guess that option is no longer mine to choose. At least someone has not brought her here. She’s not suffering this same futile destiny.

Curling up next to my body, I take a slight comfort in watching my chest rise and fall. Reassured that despite the lacking connection, I am still alive. I don’t know what has happened to me, or how, but I still draw breath.

This monster of a man can’t see me, making no reaction to my presence in this form. I touch a hand to my physical shoulder, but it goes straight through. I don’t know what I expected, maybe to merge back together with myself. Like I had seen in that movie, the one I was too young to see, heck I probably still am. But for now, at least, I am stuck apart.

The girls’ screams have died down, much like my own. All that’s left are a few echoing whimpers. I wonder how those that ran have fared? Did they escape this act of violence or is fleeing just a futile attempt to prolong the inevitable? They knew enough to run. I’ve been on this island for a week, and no one told me what to do or what was coming.

Fliss has abandoned me.

Hurt thrums through my translucent veins at the thought of how the door was so unforgivingly flung in my face. She had known what the sirens brought. What these men would do to me, yet she offered me no reassurances, no comforts, only her brutal betrayal.

I turn over, putting my back to the scene, not able to look any longer as the monstrous man violates my body. His grunting crescendo of moaning pleasure is something I long to mute. I stare out into the darkness of the camp. I can only make out the faint glow of coals from fires burning out, barely there, until they’re snuffed out into ashes.

A door bangs, and my head swings in that direction. I squint my eyes, trying to make out the looming shadow that makes its way out from Fliss’s home. I move forward, my ghostly form floating easily above the camp.

My eyes widen in shock as I draw close. Fliss’s limp body is slung over the shoulder of another man. Her silvery, hovering form trailing close behind him as he walks them away from camp. Not once does she glance in my direction, but as she drifts past my broken body, I swear there’s a look of guilt on her face. Especially when she ignores me as I call her name.

* * *

AGE THIRTEEN

I close my eyes with the sound of the siren, shoulders hunched, and take in slow, deep breaths. Chris’s hand squeezes my shoulder as she rises from our seated position by my fire. The older girl isn’t a friend, not exactly, but she is the only company I have on this island. Especially since Fliss disappeared.

I hadn’t known as her translucent hovering form had followed her physically unconscious body that it would be the last time I would see her. How could I have known that? But I know the others blame me for her being taken. I don’t know why though; it’s not like I could have stopped it, even if I tried. As I am pushed further and further outside of the group, I know they place me solely at fault.

Chris went against the grain; she dislikes the mentality of the group. She has never been a leader like Fliss, always sticking to herself, following the rules and keeping her head down. I know she only stays with me out of pity, not a genuine appreciation for me. For her, I’m the lesser of two evils. I accept it, and it beats the silence. Plus, I quite like the sarcastic older teen and hope one day she’ll grow to return the favour.

I open my eyes and watch Chris’s progress as she runs along the pathway towards the beach; the wind pulling at her roughly shorn hair. I still have time to run, or time to hide, but I have yet to decide this week's game plan.

It is a game I am tired of playing. The same repetition of that shrill call signalling you to make your move. To decide where you want to be on the board of their chess game, with them always ten steps ahead.

I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been on this island, but it must be around a year. A year of torment and harrowing experiences I can’t bear to relive. From my body being violated time and time again by multiple different men, to the stinging pinch of a needle with an unknown surprise to be had.

Over that time, I have learned things, taken in the knowledge of how these men work, to use that to my advantage. The problem is, I am growing so tired of playing. I am sick of the certain result and numb to the pain of their victory.

Am I truly willing to give up the fight?

Each of these predators has a preference. The first kind lives on the thrill of their victims staying hidden in the shadows of the rundown homes we live in. Breathing in our fright as they stand inside our doorways, watching us and waiting. They let the fear ratchet up inside us, enjoying our inability to escape. They wait for every anxious-riddled pore to fill, and when we are just about ready to break, they make their move.

These are the monsters who like to creep under our beds at night. Knowing each time they come to our door, the memory will come to haunt us. The fear of their presence re-emerging in the dead of the night has some girls huddled together. No longer able to sleep alone; no longer willing to use their own beds. I can’t blame them.

I have no option but to remain alone.

The second kind of predator lives for the hunt, the chase, and the catch. Stalking their prey through the forested landscape of the island. These beasts are the least complicated of the three types of predators that keep us trapped here.

That perhaps makes them the most confusing of all.

They can cause us harm in the pursuit without remorse and happily inject us with unknown substances. Strangely, it is rare for them to use us for their pleasure and, from what Chris told me, on those rare occasions, it has never been with the younger girls. The hunt satisfies their real wants and needs.

The third kind is the worst predator of them all; one who lives for the pain. These demons don’t care which way they achieve their goal, as long as it hurts. It doesn’t matter how old their prey is, they will always end up being left weak and vulnerable where they lie. Sometimes even left for dead.

These are the men I try to avoid as the siren rings, as they hunt me relentlessly across the island. I hadn’t known what was going on; not known what was coming for me the first time. When the black-eyed devil had taken his fill, he merely laughed. Enjoying my fruitless fight as I barely scratched at his skin.

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