My heart raced. Every vein inside me throbbed in panic.
Jake! I need you! Was my primary thought.
I did the only other thing I could think of, I bit down as hard as I could, digging my teeth all the way into the flesh of Owen’s hand. His blood instantly flooded my mouth, tasting of liquor and copper.
“Motherfucker!” he shouted. But, he never loosened his grip, and he never missed a step.
Hot tears streamed down my face.
“You think that’s going to change anything?” He spoke with a playful tone piled on top of his menacing laugh. I knew now that this was just a game to him, with rules I didn’t have any hope of understanding.
I screamed into his hand, blowing his blood into my nose, breathing it into my lungs. I coughed and choked but didn’t stop the onslaught of teeth into skin. I bit into him again, only this time he released me. I spun around, trying to gain some footing on the uneven sand only to be met with the wrecking ball of his fist smashing into my right cheek. It crunched under the pressure of the blow, spraying the blood from his hand all over my face. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, like my head had exploded. My entire body vibrated as my legs collapsed under me and I fell onto the beach.
“Fuck, Abby. Look at what you made me do!” Owen scolded me like I was a child who’d knocked over my dinner plate at the table. “If you’d just behave yourself, it wouldn’t have to be like this.”
Words I’d heard before and had hoped to never hear again.
Owen paused and let out a deep sigh. “Either way, baby, it’s gonna be real special.”
I drifted in and out of consciousness after that punch.
Truth be told, I wished he would have knocked me out cold.
Owen took both of my feet in his hands and dragged me under a palm tree leaning over the water. I couldn’t open my right eye, the vision in my left had begun to blur. I kicked my legs aimlessly as hard as I could, hoping to hit something or anything of Owen’s that would cause him to stop. Either my kicks were so weak they had no effect on him, or my perceived kicks were purely a product of my subconscious still willing me to fight.
He dropped to his knees, hovering over me. His sweat dripped onto my forehead like water torture. His pungent body odor mixed with the smell of the salt in the air. I spent the last bit of fight I had left trying to keep my knees together when he pushed my shorts down off my legs, shoving his hands between them and holding my thighs open with his elbows. He hooked his fingers through the crotch of my underwear, ripping them off in one swipe, groaning when his fingers brushed over my sex. He brought my panties up to his nose and sniffed. His jaw tightened. The thick vein in his neck throbbed. His rage erupted.
“I can fucking smell him on you, you fucking whore!” he roared.
He tossed them blindly into the canal. He used his knees to keep my legs spread open, then positioned himself between them.
This is really happening...
I tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak groan. A wave of nausea washed over me. I turned my head to the side, and I threw up into the sand, choking on the chunks of fried chicken as they came back up.
Had it been only an hour since I was with Jake? Was it possible?
Because now I was in hell. With the devil himself.
Owen didn’t seem to notice the vomit, and if he did, he didn’t seem to care. With one motion, he pulled down his jeans and freed himself of his boxers. He forced one hand under my back, yanking me closer to him, and with the other hand he thrust himself inside me. I could feel the grit of the sand from the beach tearing at my insides like shards of glass. The burning was like nothing I’d ever experienced from external touch. This wasn’t like my skin was being ignited.
I cried out.
This time, I was the flame. The pain was blinding. All I saw was white.
I couldn’t make myself believe what was happening. As a product of the most fucked up home in some deviant God’s creation, I was being faced with the one thing I’d managed to avoid. This can’t be happening. I kept telling myself over and over again. This can’t be happening.
Only, it was happening. There was nothing I could do to stop it.
The pain was worse than when my mother carved me up like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey. It was worse than being stabbed.
Worse than being beaten.
Worse than anything.
I cried out again and again as he entered me. Every sound from my mouth was answered with a blow from his closed fist. “Don’t fucking cry, you bitch,” he spat, thrusting harder, punishing me. “I know you like it.”
He closed his eyes and moaned. When he opened his mouth, I could see strands of saliva connecting his top and bottom teeth. I tried to scream again, I wanted someone to hear me, but this time, no words came out. “I heard you moan like the whore you are when you fucked Jake tonight. I know this shit turns on girls like you. So, moan, you fucking bitch!” With a twist of his hips, he sliced into me like a serrated knife. The more I tried to resist, the more forceful his thrusts became.