[A Chapter of a story about my character named Trinity.]
It had only been three days since I’d gotten rid of Nick’s body before I was thirsting for more mangled limbs, more blood, more gore. This was the closest thing I had to an infatuation; the adrenaline rush could knock me out of my little life and bring me higher than the power of God.
I loved watching the expressions on their faces when another limb was snatched out of their delicate little shells; I savored the taste of their fear that lingered in the air around me. I long to hear them shriek like ghouls, I lust to see their souls self-destruct and evacuate their bruised and battered bodies. I adored watching all of their hopes and dreams die right in front of me. I took pleasure in the way they begged and bartered before I started to kill them. But most of all, I loved watching them die.
Chuck had to be next; he was the only one left standing in my way. He left this scum-vomiting city for the big corporate world to become a stockbroker and an almost millionaire; he was a pathetically irrational man hiding behind a business suit and thick mafia-esque hair gel. He might have been able to fool everyone else because no one really looked at him all that closely.
But somebody really should have. I saw him driving to a hospital on the first Sunday I had actually dedicated to studying him. “s**t.” my skin sizzled with frustration as I cursed under my breath.
My thoughts began twisting away from my grip. ‘Is he sick? That hospital can’t take him away from me, he’s mine!’ I was panicking, what if my plan was ruined? What if I could never be alive again like I used to be? I continued to follow him silently as he went in through the back doors of the hospital.
‘What is he doing?’ I thought to myself as I crept after him down the stairs that led to the lower floors of the hospital. He marched confidently down the hallway and through the doors of the first room. My eyes stared harder at him when I noticed he was carrying a red duffel bag with a badly sewn on red cross badge that I knew wasn’t real.
Chuck looked out of place staring at the frail blonde girl who was occupying the room; she was laying in her hospital bed so still that she could have passed for a beautiful statue. Her face was doused with brown freckles and her eyes were sealed shut in a deep and peaceful sleep. Everything about it was quiet, not even the sound of Chuck’s business shoes slapping across the ugly floors could make a pass at the silence.
His eyes scattered around as he scoped over the room to make sure no one was nearby; he didn’t even glance at the heart monitor because he knew that the beat would be stable. He knew this because this was the one place where no one’s heart could ever fail even though virtually no one ever came by. In these lower levels was where all the brain-dead coma patients resided only as long as their families couldn’t bear to put them down like dogs. I squeezed myself into a supply closet that was directly across the hall and cracked the door open enough for me to watch what happened next.
He released his cotton duffel, letting it rock the hospital bed as he carelessly opened it; his bony fingers were searching hungrily for something hidden inside of the bag.
“Ah, there it is.” He smiled with glee, pulling out what looked like a scalpel and holding it to the dim light right above his head. “Time to work again, my dearest friend.” He said, cherishing it in his dangerous hands.
He took his blade and placed it into his jacket pocket as he moved the rough sheet down to her feet, not even glancing at the angel’s face. He ripped open her blue paper gown with his hands, silenced the heart monitor, and rammed his hand into his pocket for his favorite scalpel.
‘What the hell?’ I thought to myself curiously. ‘He was no surgeon, so what could he possibly be doing?’
In a split second his gleaming scalpel oozed red with blood, the heart monitor was flashing green with angry warning signals, and his hands were opening her up and digging inside her body. “Almost there,” he said to himself, concentrating on finding what he was looking for.
The smell of the room was nasty, it took on a mixture of lemon cleaning products and rotting flesh and organs all because of Chuck; his pasty hands were glimmering with sticky red blood and the insides of his dirty fingernails were flinging around pieces of her skin. When his smile took on a creepy tint and sparkled, I knew he had found what he was looking for. He squished her intestines in his hand, dripping blood on the heap of hospital paper. “How beautiful, how precious!” he mumbled sleepily to himself.
I felt myself gasp at the sight of Chuck hypnotizing himself into a calmed state, caressing this poor girl’s organs in his hands. His head popped back and stared straight at the supply closet I was in, and a worried expression hit my face. ‘Did he see me?’ I wondered anxiously, not wanting to have to kill him here. He slopped the organs back onto her body and began walking towards me. “s**t s**t s**t!” I hissed to myself, scoping out the tiny quarters I had been hiding inside of.
It wasn’t really much to look at: four white walls with five shelves on each wall, all holding different kinds of medical supplies. On the upper shelves were needles, gloves, and vials for blood, the middle shelves had a surplus of bedpans, hospital gowns, and sheets, and the lower levels held a miscellaneous array of things that didn’t seem to be important. Luckily, I noticed a large laundry basket filled with pastel scrubs towards the back of the tiny room and I decided to hide inside of it. I had to take out quite a few pairs of scrubs to hide in it without being noticed, which created quite a pile on the floor just as Chuck walked into the closet. He flipped the light switch on furiously, overturning the piles of medical supplies and bags on the lower shelves until he found an empty one and flipped the switch off, slightly closing the door behind him
A few seconds later I came out from behind the pile and back to my watching post. He was putting the girl’s intestines into the bag, letting them all slop together. He threw the bag into his duffel and opened up an empty thermos, collecting as much of her blood as he could. He took the bottle of blood into his duffel, sewed up the girl, covered her up with a blanket and left the hospital without even flinching.
I left the closet once he was far enough away and headed to my home to watch what he was doing. I had set up some hidden cameras in his house just in case something weird would happen, not knowing how weird it would really get. I turned on my TV that I had set up to the cameras in his house and proceeded to spy on him becoming even more inhuman than I could’ve thought.
Chuck walked into his house with a little happy whistle, trotting delightfully to his bathroom. His house was enormous; I remembered my surprise when I first came into it. It was a two-story home, with beautiful white marble flooring that was covered with cold furniture. He had gigantic black leather couches, black rectangular tables, and a TV that hung in the middle of his blank white walls. The only walls that were painted in the house were in his bedroom: a slathered deep gray room that featured only a stiff black bed and a small night table that was covered with nothing but empty silver picture frames.
Once Chuck had reached the bathroom, he lounged on his overly clean floors and opened up his red bag, emptying out all the contents in the duffel and into his lap. He opened up the thermos of blood and poured it into his bright white-clawed bathtub, turning it into a cherry red pool. He filled the tub about half-way with the girl’s blood before he opened the bag of intestines up and poured them into the concoction, creating a splash of blood that lashed Chuck’s black brows. He didn’t move the trickling streak of blood from his face as he began to strip down to emerge himself in the immoral organ soak.
The intestines in his bath weaved around his clammy pale legs and began emitting warmth, life, and a sickening stench. They swindled around and slithered like a pot of boiling snakes as he slipped in, out of, and through the vine-like organs; wrapping them around his hands like ropes to pull. He took a particularly long sector and wrapped it around his neck like a scarf and yanked it as hard as he could. His face flushed from the lack of oxygen until the intestine ruptured in his hands from the pressure, letting the juice begin to ooze all over him.
A psychopathic laugh rumbled from his teeth and took on the sound of a dozen hissing snakes; his eyes glittered with glee at the blood dripping out of the bathtub and onto his beautiful white marble floors. He squirmed around in the slimy intestines and shook with delight as he dripped its fluids down his mouth and all over himself.
No one else ever saw him bathe in this organ bath, and no one even suspected him to be capable of this variety of evil. Of course no one else even thought about those families that never got to know what really happened to their dearly beloved. The hospital just passed it off by saying that there was a power outage that stopped the life support from working, causing instantaneous death. So then these poor mothers and fathers and siblings and spouses who actually gave a damn cried innocently and thought, “Well, it was their time to go.” But you and I both know that it wasn’t ‘their time’. It was Chuck.
But no one else knows that, now do they? The same way that no one had ever seen him lose his temper and send people into a psychotic break. That poor intern was just sick, Chuck’s sister was just crazy, and his business partner was just on anti-depressants when he killed himself. Uh-huh. Sure. They don’t know who he is, let alone care. When all I could see was a sick man, other people saw dollar bills. It really makes me question people at their core, as if I hadn’t lost faith in humanity as it was.
For right now though, I was basking in uncontrollable and inconceivable bliss. My plan was perfectly crafted. He was coming over to my home to consult me on buying into the stock and bond world this morning.
I headed calmly to the door when he knocked, combing my fingertips through my baby doll bangs as I walked. I wore a form-fitting, casual red dress that didn’t quite pass my fingertips, lined my turquoise eyes with a lighter black eye-liner, threw on my pair of black boots, and kept my hair down to my back: plain, black, and straight.
“Hello.” I said as I opened the door widely with a smile fit for a Stepford wife. “Mr. Baker, correct?” I extended my arm out to shake his hand as I invited him into my home.
His eyes were still the most striking things about him. His irises looked like they were made of tiny green snakes, slithering around in circles to try to eat its tail and his pupils were naturally twice as big as his irises; reflecting all of the darkness he tried to hide inside of himself.
His cleverly trained serpent eyes, sparkling with the ideas of making money, looked me up and down before they finally reached my face. “Yes, and you must be Ms. Maeda?” his words wrapped around me like an anaconda, crushing my bones and poisoning my life right out from under me.
“Yes.” I bared a smile through my teeth as I led him to my dining room. “Coffee?” I asked, pouring a cup. I watched his eyes flicker at the strong pot of caffeine as I poured a cup for him.
“Thank you.” I knew he loved all strong coffee, I watched him drink about five cups in one hour last Thursday. He loved it more than he could ever love anything, except for maybe the intestines. No, he loved his coffee and lived for those intestines.
He took a sip of his coffee and tried to conceal his disgusted expression. “So, Ms. Maeda,” he started, “I think the best investment for you...” suddenly his eyes flickered shut and his head collapsed on the table. It was such a smart idea to line his coffee mug with venom, look how quickly he fell.
“That was easy.” I mumbled to myself as I injected him with anti-venom and dragged him into my room by the collar of his power suit. “Not so powerful now, huh?” I muttered at him. Surprisingly he wasn’t all that heavy, but that was to be expected since he was so scrawny. I rolled him down the stairs in the reeking basement that was still cleverly concealed by a tattered rug on my ‘hard-wood’ flooring which was truly hollowed.
The impact of hitting the stairs woke him from his relaxed state and pushed him over the edge to the floor. He had no fear in him; he was in love with the pain from the start.
“Heh heh.” he coughed. His slicked black hair moved out of its properly gelled place and a single strand lined his left cheekbone as his blood-coated smile glimmered in the dark. I walked down the stairs slowly, commanding his eyes to stare at me because of my pace and because of the poor lighting. All the lighting that was in the basement came from two fluorescent bulbs that flickered on and off and buzzed; they somehow created a green tint on the gray stonewalls that had nasty blood handprints on almost every inch of its surface.
“I think the best investment for you to make,” I started, mocking him from just mere minutes before, “would be into keeping your mouth shut.” I pointed to the blood-splattered banner on the wall “Here are your rules while you are here, not that you’ll ever be leaving. You better learn to live by them.” I finally reached him and crouched down, picking up the bottom of his chin with my index finger.
“Don’t get too comfortable.” I said, leaning in to his face. “You won’t be here for long.” Just as I was about to lean away from him, his curved tongue slithered out from behind his teeth and lingered on my chin for one sickening moment. I kicked him away from me, stabbing him the stomach with the bottom of my heel.
“You taste sort of… sour.” He said, looking up at me and licking his lips “I like it.”
“You disgust me.” I said with a repulsed chuckle resting on my tongue as I spat on his face. “You can have your own special set of rules. Rule number one: if you ever feel tempted to make a mockery out of who I am, I’ll take off your toes, one by one. And then I’ll be cutting out your tongue. This is what I’d call a nice warning.”
I took a sharpened sword out from the back of my boots where I kept my concealed weapons, flipped it around in my hands and plunged it into his stomach, a heavy flesh wound between his second and third rib. A long gasp of laughter exploded from between his tonsils and bounced off of the sharp tip of the blade. His blood-shot eyes held a pool of tears that were wavering and trying to escape down his cheeks when I grasped the sparkling sword from his stomach.
I walked down into the shadows of the staircase and pulled out a fake brick, revealing a hoard of weapons. “Rule number two: no crying. Every tear will determine how many times you’ll get a visit from me, introducing you to this.” I grabbed a thick nine-tails whip and cracked it on the ground. It had been doctored to fit my twisted purposes, I had attached broken shards of beer bottles, tiny razorblades, and large opened safety pins to the ends of the braided leather strands.
Chuck’s eyes were trying to push back the tears, but something about my methods of torture had sparked a sense of awe and wonderment from him. “I promise, Master,” his words slid from his tongue precisely and lead his possessed eyes into a glittering obedience, “to treasure your words.”
Unfortunately for him, as he had said that, one tear slid away from his right eye. His face began to transform: his nose wrinkled high enough to reach his perfectly angular cheekbones and his lips curled under like a scowling dog. His features that changed the most were his eyes; his eyes began to reel in the hatred of himself.
“No!” he howled in bitter frustration as he began to punish himself, smashing his stone face into the brick wall. Blood began to gush out from his face and a laugh curled out from my lips and spread over my face.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” I taunted. I cracked the whip against the bloody wall and walked over towards him, kicking him in the back so that he fell to the floor face first. I cackled at the blood splatters when the first stroke of the whip smashed into Chuck’s gray pinstriped suit.
He howled out in pain as I smashed the whip into him again and again, shredding his suit to bleeding rags. His wounds started to prickle and ooze with blood as sickly yellow daffodils of pus began to sprout from each gash; they were wilting onto his clothes, smearing into his skin, and they began to seep down to the floor. He was already infected from the rusted blades I doctored into the nine-tails and I couldn’t have been happier.
I decided to leave him for a few hours so he could put himself back together like a bad nursery rhyme that has the power to pick away at you until it borrows itself into a little piece of your brain. But all it did was make everything worse.
Chuck was completely losing his mind; all of his sanity was collapsing inside of him and tumbling away from his disintegrating body, polluting the air like a chemical burn. He smashed himself into the bloody mass he had created in the basement wall and blood began to gush all over everything. It splashed against the walls and the ceiling and began to drip down all over him like rain.
“Let me go! Let me out!” he roared. His eyes were darting all over the place, trying to find something that was stable enough to stare at that wasn’t covered in blood; his soul was speeding away and there was nothing for him to hold on to.
“Drip, drip, drip.” he chanted to himself as his body began cringing involuntarily to the sound of blood hitting the floor. The smell of blood was overwhelming him, his snake-like eyes were rattling against his skull and far back into his head until he couldn’t fight his urges anymore.
He dragged his fingernails that filth had claimed deeply into his face, slowly ripping off chunks of blood-covered skin. The way that he proceeded to peel off each layer of flesh was so precise, it could have looked like he was only coaxing an orange out of its friendly shell, hungrily awaiting for the juicy reveal of the fruit that was made of bare muscle and bones which had held his pasty face together. The right side of his face was completely ripped to shreds and all that visibly remained were muscle, bone, and tiny fragments of facial tissue.
He smiled lovingly at the decaying strips of flesh that lay in his hands as a deep-throated maniacal laugh erupted from his spine and shook him so hard that he fell to the floor. His already decrepit face crashed into his arms that shielded his left eye from an irreversible injury; he fell so violently that his wrist bone was visibly popping out of his skin.
“P-p-pretty skin,” he slithered, ripping off layer after layer of flimsy arm tissue with his teeth and spitting it out into a pile he had created. The blood that was dripping from the ceiling and seeped into his eyelids, obviously burning into his green irises as he kept on with his sickening task. He cradled his arm between his legs, rocking back and forth slowly.
“Shhh, don’t cry.” he whispered to his arm. “She’ll hear you, she’ll know! You have to be q-quiet!” his light whisper was turning into a shrill yell. He hadn’t noticed that I was sitting in the middle of the stairs, watching him rip himself open. He was so involved in himself that I was curious as to what he would do if he figured out I was there.
“Ch-uck.” I sung out slowly. “Where are you?” my voice was taunting him, his ears perked up at the sound of my voice like a terrified child who was about to get whipped.
He forced a smile on his lips that made him look even crazier as he began to crawl all over my floor, looking for me anxiously. His fingers were being smashed under his knees as he crawled because his wrists were facing away from his body as he forced himself over to me.
“Master,” he slurred out with an awestruck face, his voice lined with fear. “I promise I didn’t cry. I promise.” He wrapped his bloody arms around my right leg in an embrace. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
I kicked him away from me with my foot; his face was filled with sadness like a puppy that had just been kicked. It would’ve broken my heart if I actually gave a damn.
“Don’t beg like that.” I barked, “You look ******** pathetic. Move.” He began to crawl obediently away from me until he slid face-first into one of the deeper pools of blood on the floor. He emerged from the puddle after a brief struggle and kept moving forward for a few feet until I signaled it was okay for him to stop.
Two of his teeth surfaced in the middle of the pool, floating for only a moment before they sank down into the thick blood and sweat concoction, but Chuck was so desperate for my approval that he wasn’t even phased by the pain. It made me incredibly certain that he either didn’t remember who I was or was pretending that I was someone else. Poor sick man didn’t understand that sucking up to me now wasn’t going to do him any good.
“Chuck.” I started by addressing him by name, “Who do you think I am?”
He looked at me with a fanatical look of certainty before he responded, “I-I…” his voice trailed off. He was finally realizing that he didn’t recognize who I was.
“My name is Trinity.” I said with a razorblade edge in my tone.
His eyes exploded with a sudden knowledge and it hit him all at once; that’s when he realized he was done for.
Rape isn’t as black and white as you see it in the movies. During the whole experience, your life doesn’t just flash before your eyes as a single tear streaks down your cheek and you find yourself completely repulsed, but yet semi-unaware of the events going on around you. It’s not just a bad dream you’ll wake up from any minute now, not for me at least.
It was a regular day, no I had no sense of impending doom as I walked to a party because my mom was too drunk to drive me to it, not like she would have let me go otherwise. She was always a b***h when she was conscious. But anyways. It wasn’t a really great party, or a get-together of close friends; it was the regular thing- booze, guys who were horny enough to lie about anything and everything to get some, and girls who were too drunk or high or both to realize it.
And music. Really deafeningly loud music, the kind where it all sounds the same, but was so loud that you couldn’t even recognize that it was music or comprehend that there were probably words in the song or album or whatever the hell it might have been. It was the guy next to me who was throwing up his guts for all I knew, it was really that bad.
I was attempting to watch some infomercials on the five-inch wide black and white TV when some blonde chick mentioned something about the garage and that Johnny was looking for me. I managed to guide myself to the garage through the mass of people right as Johnny was coming out of it. His straight coffee-colored hair brushed across his forehead and rested on his eyebrows, which drew attention to his round hazel eyes.
“Trinity,” he said while waving his skinny freckled arms at me, “I wanna introduce you to her. You know, my new car? Oh, she’s a beauty. You’re gonna love it.”
He took my hand and led me through the door. I could tell he was excited about it by the way his smile stretched across his face all the way to his ears, plus the fact it was all he had talked about for weeks. First it was saving up the money to buy it, then buying the parts and fixing it all up, so I knew it was only a matter of time.
I laughed and rolled my eyes at him as I was suddenly shoved to the ground, though I hadn’t failed to bash my head into the back of Johnny’s new car. To be honest, it was a used, beaten-up Chevy pick-up truck. I’m guessing it was supposed to be white and maybe it was at one point, but it looked anything but white especially as my blood splashed over the tailgate.
“Dammit guys!” Johnny whined, “Did you have to get her blood all over my car?”
I felt my heart collapse as it reappeared in my throat, pounding fiercely as my blood seemed to run cold in my veins. I looked up to find Chuck and Nick emerging from the darkness.
Nick laughed “Its not like your car’s gonna turn pink.” He glided over towards me and kicked me hard on my side, right in the ribs. “It was the little b***h’s fault anyway, she’s the one who hit the car.”
I looked up at them as I tried to sit back up, laughing nervously as Johnny’s foot kicked me right back down. “Knock it off.” I grumbled, pushing Johnny’s foot off of me. “This joke or whatever isn’t funny.”
Suddenly Chuck was right next to me, laughing eerily with his expressionlessly calm face. “This aint no joke baby.” He patted my head roughly and wiped away the blood from my mouth while he unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers. “Don’t get any blood on it.” He sneered, shoving himself down my throat before I even had a chance to refuse.
I immediately shook my head and opened my mouth, and tried to smack him away with my arms, but they were being held down. I was doing everything I could to break free when I felt my pants slowly descending down my legs, which were trapped under arms. I knew the feeling of the hand well enough that I didn’t even have to see the face to know who it was; it was Johnny.
Chuck laughed and removed himself from me so he could get a better view of the spectacle. Johnny greedily pulled at my underwear with his fingers like he was trying to rip them apart, his eyes filled with lust, saliva dripping off of his tongue that hung from his mouth like a panting dog. I was squirming, trying to get away from him, but every time I came close to making progress he ripped me back down to his level with his dirty hands, which he ran up my leg, to my hip, to my stomach and then proceeded to move down, down, down.
“You knew I always liked you.” He grinned grotesquely. “I was always there for you, I even asked you to be my girlfriend.” He said, his tongue smacking hard against the pool of spit that was rapidly enlarging by every word, and his grin slowly disappearing. “But you told me no. You?!” He was hysterical now, his words stirring faster and faster. “You?” he repeated with ill laughter. “Your mama doesn’t even love you and you tell me no?” His southern accent scattered all over his words thicker than I had ever heard it.
“Stop it.” I growled, grinding my teeth together. I was scared but I wasn’t about to let them see that, I would’ve rather died than let it show.
“Shut up!” Johnny hissed, smacking me so hard that mucus spread across my face and smeared into the sticky, sweet blood that was already dripping down my brow. “Women were made to be seen, not heard.”
That remark caused a riot of laughter from Nick and Chuck as I felt Johnny force his d**k up in me, tearing my skin and pillaging my insides. My eyes popped open wider than what I thought was humanly possible as I swallowed the urge to throw up and scream. He could sense it though; my bones betrayed me as they tensed up harder than stone. It made him laugh, and created a great deal of entertainment for the two-person audience who kept cheering Johnny on.
Eventually they started coming in close to us, obviously tired of just being spectators. Even though I was fighting and protesting through the whole ordeal with as much strength as I could muster, I found more as Chuck and Nick were closing in towards me.
“N-no …please don’t do this. You’re my friends –please!” I screamed out, begging and pleading, squirming harder as I tried to escape. But it seemed the more I begged, the more comical my rape seemed to be to them.
“No –stop!” Chuck mimicked, mocking me as he began to cackle.
“Please –no!” Nick joined in. They both thought this was just so hilarious, this sick torture they pushed on me. I started crying even though I didn’t want to, my will and spirit had finally been broken, and it didn’t matter anymore if they saw what was happening. It’s not like it could make them stop. Nothing could.
“Aww, don’t cry.” Chuck slithered towards me, his smile oozing on his face. He was patronizing me. He took his insignificant manhood out of his pants and back into my mouth, feeding his oral sex craving again. “Kiss it, it’ll make it all better” he crooned, voice filled with laughter and I could not take it anymore. I still had fight left in me, so I bit down with a daring force.
Chuck’s eyes almost exploded as he cried out in pain. “You mother ********!” he hissed, pulling out a knife and thrusting it to my throat. “Now you do it right.” I had no way out this time; I had to do what he wanted. My skin was crawling like it didn’t want to be a part of me because this was so sordid and I couldn’t blame it. I just wished that if it ever crawled completely off of my skeleton that it would take what was left of me with it.
Nick finally built up enough courage around this time, for mere seconds later he joined in. He crawled onto my torso and ripped my shirt as he pulled it up to my neck. He fondled my breasts in his clammy, perverse hands until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He started to nourish his oral fixation by biting into my flesh, shredding up my old scar until it was completely outlined in my blood.
Suddenly, it all stopped. He had gotten up. And so did Chuck. Johnny did too. ‘Is it finally over?’ I asked myself silently as I saw them moving away from their positions, only to learn that it wasn’t. They were trading locations. Chuck went to my torso; Johnny came to my face, which obviously only left Johnny’s place open for Nick. And so went on my very own little piece of hell for hours and hours until sunrise.
It reminded me of low caliber zombie movies, where a group of the undead would corner some bimbo and feast upon her flesh until the sun came up; then they would flee as if they were allergic to their banquet that they couldn’t have had enough of only a few minutes before.
Johnny, Nick and Chuck came up just as the sun did too. They looked at each other as a strange silence filled the room and they suddenly started to laugh as high-fives went all around. None of them seemed to care that they were sweating and dirty, covered in my blood, their own juices, and each other’s bodily fluids. They made me sick.
Then all at once, they turned to me and snarled.
“Look at the little b***h, she’s exhausted.” Chuck laughed, his face always frozen in a menacing glare and his voice still a level above monotone. “Good thing you didn’t go out with her Johnny, she’s so easy.”
Johnny shrugged, “Not like I would’ve really gone out with her for long, I just wanted her for sex.”
“Ha, we all knew that.” Nick replied supportively, patting his friend on the back.
Chuck slithered his way towards me again, his slimy green eyes swarmed over my fundamentally naked body as he slinked down next to me. He grabbed me by the throat with just one hand and lifted my fragile body into the air and off of the ground.
“Now little Trinity, you know what to do since I’ve already picked your trashy body up off my floor. Do not return to the party and don’t you even think about telling anyone about today, you shouldn’t brag about being a damn slut. If you feel the slightest bit of temptation, maybe little Kate can be next.” He threatened slowly as he dropped me back to the ground, his every word sticking into my body like shards of broken glass. “Get your s**t. Get dressed. And get the ******** out.” He snickered, hitting a button that opened the garage door.
I rushed my hands over the shredded clothing to try to have it cover me up, and I was trying to limp far away from Chuck’s house when I was kicked in the back, knocking me down to the floor.
“No.” Nick ordered with excitement over his newly found sense of power, shaking his bleached and tangled hair in an exaggerated manner. “Little bitches crawl.”
I exhaled quietly but deeply and scrunched my eyes shut tightly, forcing back tears of shame as I was forced to crawl out of the garage. When I got to the street I picked myself up, when I noticed the bloody Chevy right behind me.
“Hey,” Johnny said as he pulled up next to me. “We said crawl.” Nick swung the passenger door open at me, which knocked me back down to the dirt.
They followed me all the way home as I crawled on my hands and knees through the gravel, mud, cigarette butts and broken beer bottles; I crept through puddles of my own blood that came from my ripped up hands and through their echoing laughter. My neighbors were securely tucked into their beds or watching their televisions from the safety of their homes; too busy to care about the exhausted, bleeding whore that was crawling past their clean, white driveways.
My so-called friends only stopped the show once I had gotten near my house since they had always been afraid of my mother. ‘At least she was good for that,’ I thought to myself as I summoned up the last bit of effort I had to climb up the drain located on the side of the house.
I went in through the window to my room and crept to the shower, just wanting to feel clean again. I scrubbed myself for what felt like hours until I finally felt alone and as unmolested as possible. I headed back to my room and crossed yesterday off of my calendar. I looked at today’s date, the 22nd of November.
“Happy Birthday to me,” I whispered to myself as my voice cracked, and spent the rest of my 16th birthday in my bed, crying myself to sleep.
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