When the Dark Wins

I don’t know how long since my accident.

It was becoming harder and harder to remember who I am… or was.

My name is Jane.

Like my body, my mind is starting to become still. Numb. Motionless. Worn out from the constant spin of my thoughts, I now think of nothing. I don’t wonder how or why I got here. I don’t think of my family. I don’t even have random songs or scenes from old television shows pop into my head anymore. Like this closet, my mind is dark.

The only thing I still cling to is my task of counting the days by the whir of the air conditioner. I wonder when I will stop doing that? At one hundred? One thousand? At what point will my mind finally join with my new body and become nothing more than an empty vessel?

This time I didn’t even hear his footsteps or the turn of the lock.

I wasn’t listening.

The door opened, and my little cocoon was flooded with bright, harsh light.

“Fuck! Dammit. I forgot this is how I left you.”

Reaching down, he pulled me out of the closet by my feet, dragging me along the dirt of the floor.

Flinging me over his shoulder, I was carried out of the room and up the stairs.

Unable to lift my head to truly look around, all I could see were the patterns of Persian throw rugs and polished hardwood floors. I could smell the clean scent of furniture polish. I couldn’t be certain, but it felt like I was in a rich home. He carried me up a second flight of stairs and into a large, cold room. Leaning down, I was placed on a toilet. Looking around I could see I was in a bathroom. It was extremely sleek with white marble floors and counters. Steve leaned over and started the shower.

“Let’s get this wig off you. I have a new one anyway.”

I could feel him prodding at the back of my neck. Then the sensation of having a Band-Aid torn off my skin. He stepped back, and my tangled bleach blonde hair hung limp and loose from his grasp.

“Crap. Thank god I got a new one. Looks like I got jizz all over this one. Have to make sure to bury it in the trash outside so the wife doesn’t see.” Steve chuckled at his own conniving.

All I could focus on was the sound of the water streaming behind him. A shower. A shower! The feeling of water caressing my skin. To at least feel clean again. For the first time in countless days, I started to feel something again. It was as if the prospect of doing something so mundanely human made me feel human again.

His brow wrinkled in displeasure. “Christ. You’re all dusty and what the fuck is that smudge on your stomach? Thank god these things can be submerged in water.”

Steve lifted me high and carried me to the shower stall. I could feel the rush of steam hit my face as he opened the glass door. The scalding hot water hit me the moment I was pushed inside. It burned and seared my skin. I silently cried out in pain.

“Almost as good as boiling water, I figure. Need to get all that cum off you.”

The pain. It was everywhere. My skin was on fire.

Steve grabbed me by the jaw and tilted my head back. Blistering hot water poured into my perpetually open mouth. Steve finally leaned me against the tiles. They felt cool in comparison. I watched as he spun a bar of soap between his palms. Lifting me by the shoulder he shoved four fingers into my mouth. I started to gag and cough. Twisting around and around he coated my mouth with bitter foam. I could feel the suds drip down the back of my throat. Pulling his fingers free, he shoved all four painfully into my pussy.

“Let’s see if you can take a fist.”

Oh God! No! Please! Please, why can’t you hear me! Please don’t do this to me! Please!

Forcing his four fingers into my tight passage, he twisted and turned them. The nubs of his knuckles bruised my insides. Pushing further in, there was the scrape of his thumb nail as he thrust it alongside his fingers.

This was too cruel. Unbearably so. To trap me in plastic yet force me to feel as if it were flesh.

With his thumb stretching me painfully wide, he twisted his hand again till he was fully seated inside me to the wrist.

My arms hung uselessly at my sides, unable to defend myself as I suffered through the indignity of having his whole hand shoved deep inside my body.

“It’s pretty fucking tight in your snatch. Let’s see if I can make a fist, huh, Darla?”

So now I was Darla I thought with a rueful laugh.

His fingers wriggled inside of me, every movement sending a shock of pain between my legs as my thigh muscles cramped. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist. My whole reality was nothing but agony. The blinding pain. It felt like a bowling ball was being forced inside me, crushing my organs.