Alamort

5. Priya

T he chilly night air embraces me, nipping at my exposed skin, causing me to regret not bringing a thicker coat. In-ground lights are the only sources of illumination for the cobblestone pathways. The door shuts behind me, silencing the constant chatter of everyone’s summer stories. I begin my trek to my nice warm, cozy, and completely silent dorm room, along with a mental list of things I need to accomplish for tomorrow.

I need to go through my manuscript of papers for the school and see what time my appointment is in the morning with the dean. I hope he isn’t an entitled prick. That would be a great way to start my school year with an asshole who thinks he’s holier than thou.

My mental checklist is interrupted when an arm abruptly yanks me off the path and drags me behind a tree. I let out a shriek that’s quickly stifled by a leather gloved hand that covers half my face. A small, sharp object pokes at the side of my throat. Terror has me frozen in place for a second before an eerie calm replaces it.

I don’t care if they kill me. Do me the favor and put me out of my misery. Compared to what I endure daily, it would be bliss. Always on edge around people because I have ingrained the belief that every sudden movement could pose a possible threat. The thought of people’s hands on me makes my skin crawl. Constantly living in fear.

The perfect contradiction of living without being alive. Pretending to be someone I’m not to people who couldn’t care less about me. Pointless conversations about who I am and how I’m doing when no one cares.

Every day is the same, wash, rinse, repeat. I let out a harsh, muffled laugh that makes me sound insane. Who am I kidding? I’m just as fake as all the people I complain about. Can’t even properly fake a smile. The irony.

Who would miss me?

My heart stutters, remembering the only person who would care is missing from me. Addison.

An irritated sigh leaves me at the obligation to continue on for my other half.

I don’t know how much more of this I can do, Addi.

I’m tired of feeling too much or nothing at all. My laughter fades and my thoughts sober. I try to think about what all those shows tell you to do. Usually, they play dead after they've been stabbed, but I've noticed that in most cases, the ones who fight the hardest end up inflicting the most damage to themselves. If I faint, would that work?

The smell of leather, sandalwood, and lighter fluid permeates the air. My mouth waters at the smell, and arousal flushes through my body, sending mixed signals. It’s the lighter fluid smell. It has to be. He inhales a path from the base of my neck up toward the carotid artery that houses my fluttering pulse. Pausing to lick the shell of my ear. A shudder runs through my body at the foreign touch. He lets out a dark chuckle at my body’s response, leaving goosebumps where his warm breath touches.

“I’m gonna release your mouth if you scream… I’ll slit your throat from cheek to cheek. Have you choking on your blood before the first syllable of ‘help’ gets out.” He nips at my earlobe. He has some sort of accent. British? I rack my brain thinking if I’ve overheard anyone today with anything other than an American accent during dinner. I didn’t notice anyone following me outside. I was too busy in my head to take much notice of my surroundings. Pity.

Was he… was he waiting for me? It dawns on me that my razor blade is tucked into the bottom of my black bag in my room. There goes the plan of stabbing my way out of this. My shoulders slump at the difficult situation I put myself in. I nod so he’ll release my mouth.

“Hands behind your back.” He instructs. At least he smells good, right? I cringe at myself trying to find a silver lining in a shitty situation.

Reluctantly, I slowly place my arms behind my back as he ties them together with no slack. The sting across my wrists has me sucking in a breath between my teeth. In an attempt to relieve the pressure on my wrists, my shoulders are pulled back and my breasts push out.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut when warmth floods through me at the approval. Ew. I justify my reaction by realizing I never received praise from my parents that I desperately searched for growing up. That has to be why two simple words are having this effect.

“Why?” I whisper. I swallow when he places the knife back at my throat. Ignoring me, his hand slips up my hoodie. I lean away from his prying hands, resulting in resting further into him. Realizing my mistake too late and giving him better access to dip under my bra and cup my breast. The gloves are icy from the air. He’s gentle at first, then roughly twists my pebbled nipple, drawing a shocked gasp from me. I move away from the pain, but his forearm flexes and tightens around my chest.

“Barely anything to grab onto.”

My face burns with humiliation. “Then stop fucking touching me!” I seethe between clenched teeth. I can feel his smile through my hair. This is just a game to him.

“I’m more of an ass man. Watching the way it jiggles as I pound into you from behind while you’re begging me to stop.” He grabs a handful of my jeans, emphasizing his words, squeezing to the point of pain before releasing.

His large hand roams up towards my throat, not enough to restrict my airflow, but enough to send me on the verge of a panic attack to a trip down memory lane. I struggle to breathe, my vision blurs at the edges. Picturing my father’s hands around my throat, in front of me, spewing words of hatred before I’m lost in the darkness.

He buries his nose into my hair and then inhales deeply. Is he smelling me?

“You’re so much more beautiful than we thought you’d be.” His knife traces almost lovingly down my collarbone, pulling me out of my memories. It feels sensual, a whisper on my skin. Wait, ‘We’? Who is ‘we’?

“But sadder than we expected.” His words are like a pebble thrown in, disturbing my calm. The long drawn out pause letting the words settle over him has my hackles raising. His head tilts like he’s listening for something. “Your eyes say more than your mouth ever will.” Another dramatic pause from him before he continues. “The eyes never lie. A poetic twat. He needs to mend and coddle it better. Attracted to broken things.” He shakes his head. The irritation is clear in his tone. This guy is crazy. Certifiably. If there’s a ‘we’, why is he the only one tasked with doing the dirty work? Who are the others?

I strain my ears, listening to hear if there’s another person around with us, or even farther away. Only to be met with the chirping of crickets and whispers of the wind on my skin. The hoots of an owl are the loudest, and I count it out twice. Holding my breath, I wait for the third hoot to bring the superstition of death to fruition.

“Are you going to kill me?” I need to know the answer, whether to give myself peace of mind or mentally check to see if I’m okay with it as I claim I am. I’m saved from having to do self-reflection when he thinks it over.

“No, not today, unfortunately. Today is a social call.” Relief floods through me. His hand lets go of my throat, wandering down my body to the waistband of my jeans, slowly using the knife to tease underneath the button.

“A reminder that you’re exactly where we want you to be.” As soon as it pops open, I clench my teeth to keep myself from doing or saying something stupid. We’re cheek to cheek. The stubble on his jaw scratches my skin. In tune with how he’s clenching his in response, my every exhale he greedily inhales like his own personal life source.

Loosening his grip a fraction, it gives me some breathing room. A jerk of my hair followed by a snip. Uh ouch? What the fuck? I use that minor distraction to my advantage, hopefully making contact with something that’ll allow me to get closer to the path of the dorms. Using whatever strength I can muster, I bring my leg forward and rear it back as hard as I can. Only to connect with air. His hand that was unzipping my jeans quickly moves and squeezes my throat much harder this time, while pressure is applied to my pelvic area. A reminder of the sharp knife pushing back into my skin, hard enough to leave a cut. A hiss leaves at the sting.

“I’ll give you a reason to scream if you don’t stop kicking about.”

I struggle against his hold, now banded across my abdomen. His knife sinks in deeper before the pressure leaves momentarily to grab something from his pocket as I suck in a lungful of air. My breaths come out short and shallow. Dread forms a hollow pit in my stomach.

What is his plan? The pain isn’t an issue. I can deal with that. It’s second nature at this point. Not knowing how far he plans to go, that makes my stomach turn. A loud rip and a thud hits the ground behind us. Tape covers my mouth. His arms are a strait jacket wrapped around me, plugging my nose over the tape. If I thought I couldn’t breathe before, he really made sure I’d have a problem doing so now.

He sinks his teeth into the juncture of my shoulder. I screech behind the tape. He broke skin. My breaths come in ragged gasps, fighting to keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks. “Don’t cry, don’t cry” is on repeat. Years of abuse coming in handy for once.

“Are you going to cry? I hope you do,” he coos. The preparation for this is obvious. My lungs burn, my head is light and dizzy until he suddenly releases my nose. I draw in as much air as my nose will allow, cursing him under the tape. It comes out as nothing other than a muffled complaint, that he blatantly ignores.

His teeth scrape roughly at my pulse point and goosebumps rise across my skin. The bite now feels entirely numb. It has to be bad if it’s numb. Or it’s the adrenaline masking the pain because he’s trying to fucking suffocate me. My mind is slow and sluggish, but every nerve feels like it’s on fire. It could be the feeling of being so close to death. It’s closer to my sister, would it be that bad knowing I’ll see her?

I shake my head at the heady feeling of what he’s doing to me. Is it wrong to feel this way?

His hand slowly disappears into the front of my jeans, my stomach erupting with butterflies. The scrape of a pointed edge causes my breath to hitch. Slowly inching lower where no one but myself has been. I focus on a fixed point on the ground to stand stock still. I’m not about to get carved like Freddy fucking Krueger's plaything. He pulls out the knife and brings it to his lips. From my peripheral vision, his tongue flicks out to lick the flat part of the blade. The tip covered in blood where he nicked me. My thighs squeeze together simultaneously, my eyes shut, trying to sort out my body’s response.

Removing the knife from his mouth, “Oh? You like that?” There’s a smile in his voice. I shake my head like my life depends on it. “Then why can I feel the heat of your pussy through your jeans?” His voice is husky as he whispers in my ear. “Why is your heart suddenly racing?” His tongue pushes against my pulse to prove his point. “Are your nipples hard? I don’t like liars. There’s nothing wrong with liking it. We all have our own kinks. Yours just happens to be outside in the middle of the woods with a stranger.”

My stomach drops. I don’t know what made me think he wouldn’t notice when every part of his body is resting against mine. Shame burns my cheeks. My brain continues making excuses to exculpate my reaction, anything to not think about his fingers.

“Does it hurt?”

I nod frantically, hoping that’ll put a stop to this. “Good.” He chuckles darkly. My thighs rub together an effort to alleviate the tingling. His body pushes me roughly against the tree, face first. The hardness hidden behind his jeans pushes up into me, causing a spark to ignite in my core. Putting more of his weight onto my body, the bark of the tree cutting into my skin along with the finger he slowly pushes deeper into the front of my jeans. Inch by agonizing inch.

I stand on my tiptoes to quicken his pace. I might as well get it over with. Then he abruptly stops, sliding to finger the side where the string of my panties rest on my hip. The knife dips into the side of my jeans, nicking the soft skin, leaving a slight tingle in its place before he does the same thing to my other side. The fast movement is far more uncomfortable than the knife. Quickly ripping my panties from my jeans, rubbing against my skin like a fucking rug burn.

My face is the color of a tomato. How horrifying to be pushing him closer to -. I stop, unable to admit to myself what I was doing.

“In case you thought of running to the ‘headmaster’ as he likes to call himself, you’ll find that he answers to us. And you don’t want to upset me .” His threatening words contradict his soft tone. “Or do. I’d like to play again.”

Then he shoves me down to the ground. I curl up in fetal position, making myself as small as possible to seem unthreatening. When what I really want to do is castrate him. Show him what I can do with my razor. He cuts whatever was holding my wrists and I bring them over my head.

“Eventually I’ll mark your skin where everyone can see it.” Pressing down roughly on the bite mark, I flinch, holding back a whimper. He seems to get off on my reactions. “If it was up to me, we would have had more fun tonight... Next time.” He promises, his footsteps slowly recede into the night.

I blink in disbelief.

What the fuck just happened? My body and mind are at war with each other. I don’t know what I feel. It was wrong. I want to get back to the safety of my bed to hide from the world. On shaking legs, I hastily zip my jeans since he cut the button off, and sprint as fast as I can to the dorms, avoiding being seen or stopped by anyone.

A cold sweat breaks across my flushed skin as I feel inside my bra. Hoping the key card to get into my room is still there. I slow down when I get to the glass doors that lead to the common room of the dorms. My heart is racing. The feel of eyes on me crawl over my body. The same slimy feeling I got at the gas station. I peek over my shoulder once more to make sure no one is behind me and slink into the safety of the dorms.