"Why do you care?"
"Because you let me. No one's let me care for them before...but you did."
"I've never allowed anyone to care for me before you showed up."
"Well..."
"I suppose we're in similar predicaments."
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A Carl Grimes/Walking Dead F...
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TRIGGER WARNING: Rape - Sexual Assault - Torture
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I try not to focus on it.
I focus on the fire, the way it feels warm against my skin as my head lays against the wooden log. I focus on the sounds of the cicadas and crickets chirping and chattering in the trees, the noises of birds as they nod off to sleep in the late night.
I try to focus on my surroundings, but my mind drifts back to the people I miss so dearly.
I focus on Carl. Rick, Michonne, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, everyone. I focus on the group and where they could possibly be now. I focus on hoping that they are safe, that they do not need to go through what is happening to me presently. I hope they've all found each other, hope they've found another safety sanctuary. I hope Rick and Carl have found each other, I hope Judith is safely with them. I focus on that.
I don't focus on the way his hands feel like sandpaper against my skin. I don't focus on the way the phrases and words he calls out are utterly disgusting and make my skin crawl in the most uncomfortable way possible. I don't focus on how he throws my t-shirt of my body and how my hands can't move from their tied position when I attempt to cover my chest. I don't focus on the way he touches himself through his pants, getting off from watching me sob and scream as his other hand horribly caresses me. I don't focus on his friend that stands behind us, cheering the man on as he proceeds to assault me.
He keeps asking for my name, saying he wants to know what to moan when he starts fucking me. I don't answer. Even when he slaps me across the face and makes my cheek burn red with pain, I don't answer. He doesn't deserve to know my fucking name.
It feels like centuries of this torture, feels like it's been forever ago since I had trusted these men and believed them to be good people. Now the same men stand above me, both of them planning to rape and assault me just as they had with countless others.
"Yeah, that's it." The man above me mutters as he starts to undo my pants. "Keep crying you little slut." My chest feels hollow as empty sobs escape my throat. My throat feels a though my vocal chords will tear any second.
"Please," I beg and plead. "You can have everything I own, take it all. Please just leave me alone." He raises his hand and strikes me again, the side of my face burns and I let out a cry of pure pain and anguish.
"I think I liked it better when you didn't talk." He rips my pants from my legs, leaving me exposed in nothing but my undergarments. After doing so, he brings a hand to my throat and wraps it tightly around the entirety of my neck, partially crushing my windpipe in the process. His other hand removes his own pants and I can feel him rub himself against me. I don't dare to look down, I just helplessly stare at the dark cloak of night above me. His hands grab a handful of my hair and pulls my head up.
