Finding Kate

Chapter Twenty Five: World On Fire

Hearts are worn in these dark ages
You're not alone in this story's pages
Night has fallen amongst the living and the dying
And I try to hold it in, yeah I try to hold it in

The world's on fire and
It's more than I can handle

Sarah McLachlan – World On Fire

He was holding me down, just like before, his hands on my shoulders pinning me to the mattress. The springs were digging into my back; I could feel them scratching my flesh through the thin layer. My head was tilted so I could see the curve of the ceiling as it met the wall, the curl of the dull green wall paper, peeling from it and then darkness because I was screwing up my eyes so tightly, I wanted to die. My body was buckling underneath his large frame, out of my control as he thrust into me. He was gentle at first, his face above mine, watching as he drove into me. He wasn't listening, I was talking but he wasn't listening.

There were words, every variation of "no" I could think of. Don't, please no, stop, but he carried on, just jutting ins and out. His moist breath was on my neck, the sweat dripping onto my naked torso as it rolled off his back. His chest was slick with it, his flesh burning hot against my own pale hue.

There was pain, all sorts of pain from the bruises that would mar my shoulders for weeks to come to the searing ache between my legs, and the stabbing sensation deep inside.

The noise he made knocked me sick. Deep ragged breathing, gravelly, attuned to his throat only. The name calling, him telling me how much I wanted it, how much I needed his cock inside me. I felt the tears, and I was sure he did too, because they trailed down my cheeks and onto the back of his neck, as his mouth sucked at my throat.

I wondered if he knew how lucky he was. Lucky that he hadn't been killed when Sully had found me the next day, huddled in the shower, my skin red raw, the hicky on my neck, the bruising on my shoulders.

The only thing that had saved him was the fact I'd kept my mouth shut and hell there were times when I had wished that I'd simply spoken up because then I wouldn't have to deal with this, I wouldn't have to feel the bile climbing my stomach or the panic rising in my throat when I saw him at work.

If I'd told the truth then John Hagen would be dead, floating somewhere underneath the Brooklyn Bridge and me, I would be free from all of this.

My heart was racing in my chest, my breathing shallow as the pain tore through me. The palm of my hand was resting in the space between my breasts as I battled for air. My throat was raw, my head tipping back into the pillow as my body spasmed from the shock of suddenly being awake. By Christ it hurt.

I was panting now, forcing myself to lie still, breathe through the agony, shove the memories away.

It was a nightmare I told myself, it was only a nightmare.

Tim was still asleep in Daniel's room, for once I was glad he wasn't here. There were too many questions, too much to ask. I couldn't face that right now. I'd spent yesterday pouring my heart out to the counsellor Horatio had recommended. Everything had started to resurface. What had started as glimpses of a drunken interlude was now a full blown memory. One that haunted me.

I exhaled deeply, my eyes adjusting to the dark before I reached out and flicked the lamp on. Dim light erupted into the room, blinding me for a second. Everything felt better with the light on, less scary. I pulled myself into a sitting position, rubbing my hands over my face.

This was all going to go away, at some point this wouldn't happen. I wouldn't wake up like this, I wouldn't see his face in my dreams, I wouldn't feel his breath on my neck.