The Happiness Monster

Chapter 13

JADE

Jade sat, his legs drawn up and held close against his belly, wet with his own cum. He kept watching the entrance of the cave long after Lise was gone, long after the boulder was rolled up there, blotting out the sun. He hadn't been out in full daylight since forever.

Lise had raped him.

He tucked up the blanket and drew it around his shoulders, just like the day when he had brought her the flowers - the flowers that she'd left in her nest, forgotten when they packed to leave. The blood red petals, crumpled up and dying, and smelling of nothing.

Lise had raped him.

The air was cool and damp, and her aroma lingered in here, as if he was wrapped in it day and night. The brook gurgled behind him, a hellish sound, as if somebody opened a tap and left, and there was nobody who could turn it off.

Lise had raped him.

And it had been so sweet, her closeness, her warmth, her small face focused, frowning like pixie's. She hadn't orgasmed, she never did.

And he had. As always, he was the one to come.

Had she thought that it was all right? Him sleeping there, half-naked, no doubt having a hard-on after her first touch. Had she thought he had invited her? Was it his fault? Had he been asking for it, had he secretly been begging for this wordless sex, this fast and furious copulating, this act of closeness now turned to act of violence?

Hadn't he dreamed about it, about raping, about being raped? Did he have the right to be offended now when it was so different than he imagined - this horror of his won body turned against him, his dick contradicting his words, his blissful groan denying everything he believed was true?

Why had she done it? Why the fuck had she done it to him?

And I will do it again, she had promised, and she'd left, knowing perfectly well that he'll stay and wait, like a good boy, like a good slave, like a good sex toy which was all that he meant to her.

Suddenly, Jade shook and he cried - not the silent dignified tears of the night. He cried, sniveling, tears flowing everywhere, his lips trembling, hands shaking, teeth rattling.

She would come again, and she would do it again and again and again, because he couldn't say no when he was asleep, because he couldn't control himself, and with every time, more and more he would believe that it was all right, that it was the way it was supposed to be. That he loved her awake and asleep and there was no reason for him to say no, his fear replaced by a love in exactly the same shape.

He would come to love her out of humiliation and despair, and she would never know the difference.

Shaking, he took off the shirt she had given him, he drenched it in the brook and rubbed his stomach until he shook with cold, and then he wrung the cold water on his shriveled dick and balls, not even wanting to touch them, the dirty ugly things that had put them to shame.

Never again.

He put on his thermosuit, stuffing his wet skin in even though it hurt, never bothering to drying himself - who cared about that? Not him. He gathered his things - a canteen of purified water, a couple of ration bars, his medicine. He didn't take anything that belonged to Lise. Nothing. It was a weird kind of pride that would likely cause his death, but who cared. Not him.

For a moment he stood there and felt vaguely uneasy, as if he were betraying her - what a stupid, fucked-up thought. Could she read? He didn't know. What a perfect gentleman, he didn't even know whether the girl he was fucking was literate. (But it felt better, somehow, if he was raped by a savage girl, not an intelligent woman.) No matter.