Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,169
feral growl, he jabs his elbow into the back of my head, the momentum causing me to fall forward, face first. My hands slam against the hard concrete, only seconds before my face does, catching my fall. A fierce kick to my ribs forces the air out of my lungs and has me gasping for breath as pain blooms.
Forcing me onto my back with his booted foot, he straddles my thin body, wrapping his meaty hands around my neck in a vise-like grip. Clawing at his hands and forearms, my body begs my lungs for air; my chest caves with discomfort. With what strength I have left, I kick my legs in vain, connecting with nothing as my hands futilely try to pry his lithe fingers off. His dark eyes glint with a cold emptiness and anger as my lungs burn with white hot pain. My vision blurs from the tears and black spots dance wildly behind my eyelids.
This was it.
I always knew I’d die down here, I just never wanted my death to be like this.
His fingers tighten, cutting-off my air supply. Choking, the instinct to fight overrides my freezing terror. I squirm, scratching my nails over his wrists. It does nothing to stop him, if anything it only entices him to hurt me.
The sound of a door crashing open and the scuffling of boots can vaguely be heard over the roaring in my ears. His heavy weight is yanked off me, prompting me to gasp for much needed air. I roll over onto my side, choking on my ragged breaths and sputtering sobs. There’s a fire radiating from my throat and neck, constricting my airway. My chest rattles on a sob as I look up, spotting four filthy men standing near the door, watching me like predators.
These were the usual men that came in every day. The men were some type of Middle-Eastern or Arabic descent. It looked like they wore the same thing every day: black pants, boots and a long shirt that looks like a robe. Oftentimes, the headdresses they wore concealed their identities. Some looked like balaclava’s with only their eyes visible. For the most part, they spoke broken English to me, but when they spoke to each other it was often in another language. One they knew I didn’t understand.
The man on the far left of the group, Danish, with the full beard and soulless, black, beady eyes, takes a threatening step forward and smiles, revealing his decaying, yellowing teeth.
“Time to play, pet.”
With my heart lurching in my throat, I shuffle to my feet as terror overrides my body and I retreat until my back collides with the cool wall.
I had nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. Not again. Please, not again. My body won’t be able to handle it so soon.
He easily closes the distance between us, smoothly flicking open his switch blade. My heart hammers in my chest and cold sweat seeps from my pores as the blade gleams in the dim light. With his knife, he traces the contours of my bony shoulder and collarbone, sending a wave of dread through my body. Danish rests the tip of the blade on my sternum, and I stop breathing. One large inhale and the blade could easily nick me. I swallow down the horrible feeling brewing in my gut. With the very tip of the knife, he places it over my filthy shirt, and seamlessly cuts straight through the front. Right down the middle.
The degradation. They lived for it. Lived for making me feel like I was nothing. Nothing more than a filthy animal. And it worked. Even now, it worked.
An ugly sob rips from my chest and I beg through broken, incoherent sentences for them to leave. To spare me just this once. Ignoring my pleas, he shoves me down onto my knees while the other men grip onto my arms, effectively holding me in place, forcing my body to be still; baring my naked chest to them all.
And that’s when I hear it.
The slither of the whip hits the floor and as if on cue, my body starts trembling uncontrollably. My stomach churns violently as the bile rises in my throat. The whip is the worst of their beatings. Just thinking about the pain that’s to come, I begin to lose all sense of reality and snap.
“Please!” I scream hysterically. “Don’t do this. I’m sorry. I’ll eat, I promise I’ll eat,” I sob, pleading with them. “I can’t take this