Page 57 of Ends of Being

Fuck, I didn’t even feel him do that.

I try to lift them, but I can only move about an inch before they fall from the heaviness of them. Somebody’s talking, but I can’t quite make out the words, and it’s only the implication of their tone that makes their intent clear.

I’m not sure what drug they gave me, but for the moment, I’m weightless, and it makes me consider what very limited options I have at this point. I’m deeply inclined to fight but given I don’t seem to have any control over my body or my words, it doesn’t really seem possible.

But, every once in a while, I get this weird zap, almost like the spark plugs of my nervous system are attempting to ignite, like they’re attempting to call the light in time to jolt me back to now, but then it’s gone. So, all I can think is that at some point, the heavy-weighted feeling is going to dissipate, and the full force of that spark is going to jump through me, reigniting me into being.

It reminds me of those instances where people play dead, waiting for the perfect opportunity to retaliate or escape. It’s far easier to separate yourself from the now when things become blurry and disconnected, to save up the rage and malcontent for a moment where it’s most useful instead of wasting it on the questions that weave in and out of consciousness.

Have I been in this vehicle for five minutes, five hours, or five days? Will I ever really know? Are we even moving? Has the world stopped? Have I stopped, or is this just what death feels like? Is this death, my bodily death, or merely the death of the mind which has fragmented in order to let me escape into the void? Will we survive? Do we care?

Even when you allow yourself to squeeze down between the cracks of your psyche into that dark realm where nothing can touch you, there’s the odd kaleidoscope of rage and pain cloaked in shame. With nowhere to direct it, this aching shame turns inward, wreaking a scarring path of destruction on your mind until you end up so pushed down into the pitch black that you can no longer see beyond it. It is limitless, endless, depthless.

But there’s still that spark, that excruciatingly agonizing spark that insists you move beyond the hurt, agony, and shame you’re suffering. The sharp spark that commands you to open your fucking eyes and do literally whatever you have to do to overcome this and walk away from it.

They say the majority of people who are drugged tend to remain complacent and accommodating, but there’s a small percentage of people who eventually turn. Where all that complacency finally builds up and twists in the guts to the point where it bubbles and boils over into complete mania, where no amount of drugs will assuage the raging bloodlust that takes over. And then, you burst through the first obstacle of your befuddled and broken mind and manage to acknowledge the effect of man-made weapons.

That’s when the blood starts to flow.

I don’t know if I ‘ve ever previously considered whether or not I was a murderous person. Does it really matter if it’s self-defense or revenge? Murder is murder, right? Even the most docile animals in the wild will lash out viciously if they have to defend their own.

I suppose that’s how, in the blink of an eye, I went from being limp and incoherent in the back of an SUV to unleashing all the pent-up rage that had been festering inside me for an unknown amount of time.

At first, it’s like a faulty fuse, and I finally understand the words they’re using equate to a conversation about them getting rid of me. And not get rid of me as in killing me, no; death would be a blessing considering they’re discussing the shipping option—humans for sale.

I’ve heard rumors about skin trade in the past, but until it’s in your face as your possible future, it’s hard to even fathom the horror of it all. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. All I know is that the pain is real and as long as there’s pain, that means I’m still alive, and as long as I’m still alive, I can attempt to fight back.

It was the searing pain that truly woke me up. I had been lying like a limp rag on what appears to be a mattress on the floor, listening to unknown voices discuss that their time with me is almost up and it’s time to get rid of me. The van is coming. I need to be prepared to be transferred for sale.

I can still feel the drugs coursing through my veins, and even those words don’t do much to bring me back to reality, the searing pain between my shoulder blades has all those sparks igniting at once, and it was only due to these men’s idiocy that they miss the growl that’s brewing inside me. They all pal around for a bit, but eventually, they start to wander off, one by one, until finally, only one person remains.

I open my eyes and look up at him. It’s not jackoff; it’s some person I’ve never seen before except for within the inky darkness of my memory. He smiles at me, leering at my naked form as he says, “Did you wake up for one last go?”

If I had any emotion left, I would cringe, but there’s no time for that now. I attempt to smile at him, but the pain in my face prevents it, and I can only assume they must’ve knocked me around at some point. So, I raise my upper body off the mattress, bring my legs up so I can spread them wide in invitation.

The fact he doesn’t find my behavior shocking is a pretty good indication as to how the last bit of time must’ve gone. I try not to think about it, pushing it back down past the pain and focusing on my present self.

He drops down between my spread legs and unbuckles his belt, opening his pants and pulling out his cock. He strokes himself a few times and spits on his hand to lube himself up before grabbing my hips and jerking me closer to him as he shoves inside of me.

I don’t allow myself to recoil; instead, I reach up and pull him down closer to me, wrapping my legs around his hips and locking them to keep him there. He chuckles in my ear, hot breath and spittle coating my skin, and I manage to push back my sense of self and shove back the shame trying to sink me down deep into the darkness.

I tighten my legs around him, then pull my arms tighter, bringing him closer until I’m clinging to him. I turn my face into his neck, my arms tightening further to lock him into place as I latch on, sinking my teeth into the skin over his carotid like the rabid fucking animal I am. He screams in my ear, and my eardrum thrums in pain, but I don’t let up.

I hold tight with my grip, my legs banded around him, and my arms holding his head down so I can gnash at his neck with my teeth. I adjust my bite on his skin, sinking in deeper and being rewarded with a gush of blood that washes over me. It’s in my mouth and up my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut in order to push back the darkness that dances before me.

I don’t know how long I lie there with his limp body on top of me before I finally loosen my grip, spitting blood as I push him away from me. I roll painfully over onto my stomach and retch over the side of the mattress, blood and bile splattering everywhere. Rolling back onto my side, too exhausted to even attempt to wipe the blood and vomit off me, I catch my breath.

A tapping noise in the distance catches my attention, and I slowly push myself up onto my knees and for the first time, take a look at the eerily dark room they’ve been keeping me in. I don’t waste any time taking a tour. I just scour the area for any kind of weapon. All I find is a four-inch utility knife someone left behind when they’d finished cutting up an apple.

Perfect.

Footsteps move down the hall, so I scurry back to the mattress, pushing the dead guy off onto the floor and then lie down so I’m partly on my front with the knife hidden beneath me. I focus on controlling my breathing, keeping my eyes closed, so I can focus on the sound of the person coming into the room.

He curses, his footsteps becoming hurried as he sees the mess I made of myself and the mattress. “What the fuck did you do, Curtis?”

I hold back my snort of disgust, remaining motionless even as I want to jump up and watch the look of surprise on his face as he bleeds out. I know how all of this will pan out if I don’t take all the precautions I possibly can, the biggest and most important being the element of surprise.

I wait for him to inch closer, my eyes closed and unflinching as I feel the mattress sink down under his weight, feel the weight of his hands settling on either side of me as he leans closer, likely to see if I’m still breathing or not. He tenses as he catches sight of Curtis, and he curses again as he eases off the mattress to go check on his friend. “What the fuck happened to you, Curt?”

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