Cleopatra

Chapter 1 - Part 2

Life had never been kind to me. Fate had dealt me a cruel hand of cards disguised with the promise of riches and luxury. But the undeniable truth was that I was as much as a prisoner as the criminals chained in our dungeons. From the day my younger brother was conceived my fate was sighed and sealed. I had to wed him. I had to birth his children to keep our bloodline pure. That was my duty, or so my father told me before he passed away.

I bit my lips and sent a silent prayer to the god, Ra. I shut my eyes, hoping my tears wouldn't betray me by escaping my eyes.

He didn't like it when I cried. My soul purpose was to please my brother, or so he repeatedly told me. And I had to enjoy it.

"Dance for me," he said in a high pitched tone while taking a seat on my bed.

I glanced in the mirror. My eyes were hallow. Lifeless. Dead.

"When did I become like this?" I silently asked myself. "When did my thirst for adventure cease? When did my fiery personality ice over?" Perhaps it was when my brother raped me for the first time on his 16th birthday, or maybe it was when he beat me over and over when I refused to tell him that I loved him. In the end I lied.

Submissive. That's what I was. My brother beat and raped me into submission. As I gazed at my reflection, fear struck me numb as a tear fled my eye and ran down my cheek. My breaths grew heavy. I quickly wiped my traitorous tear away and stood to my feet. I thanked Ra that my brother didn't see me cry. I couldn't survive another beating.

I walked to my bed and stood before him. I motioned to my slave, who sat in the corner of the room, to play his harp.

I set my palms together and slowly lifted them above my head. I swayed my hips to the music and watched my brothers eyes move from my face to my breasts. He licked his lips and stood to his feet. As he approached me I ignored my urge to run.

He stopped mere inches from my face and placed his icy hands on my shoulders. With a click, he unbuckled the two clips holding my dress up. I wanted to disappear as my silk dress fell to my ankles like water.

His hands traveled from my hips, to my waist, stopping on my breasts. His touches terrified me, but what scared me more was the look his eyes held. Pure evil. Lust. Greed.

I hated him.

"She is beautiful, is she not?" My brother asked the slave who was playing the harp.

"Yes my pharaoh," the slave boy answered, never lifting his gaze from the harp.

"How can you be sure if you can not see her," my brother questioned.

The slave boy lifted his fear stricken eyes and replied, "she is, my Pharaoh."

"Do you hear that sister, he thinks you're beautiful," he said before wrapping his lips around my nipple.
"Would you like to touch her?" He added, while he rubbed his thumb over my now sensitive nipple. A lover was supposed to make you feel beautiful, treasured and loved, or so I was told, but his touches made me feel evil, dirty and ashamed.

I was excellent at control my emotions, but I couldn't help my gasp of fear.

"Please brother, I. . ." I was silenced with a loud slap to my cheek. I cradled my now bruised face with my hands and tried to hold back my tears.

"Slave, come here," my brother commanded and the boy quickly obeyed. "Touch her. Feel how beautiful she is."

The boy hesitantly traced his finger across my belly. I pitted the slave as soon as his finger touched me because I knew what came next. A tear fled my eyes as I mouthed the word "run" to the boy.

It was too late. My brother had already drew his knife. Pulling the slaves hair so his neck was exposed, he cut long and deep along his throat. The slaves blood peppered my face and chest and more tears fled from my eyes.

"No one touches my possessions," my brother told the boy as if he could still hear him. Once my brother noticed my tears, he dropped the knife and shoved me onto my bed.

"You're crying!" He yelled just inches from my ear. His grasp around my throat tightened as more tears fled from my eyes. I couldn't breath.

"I should've sent the slave boy away when my brother came! I'm a stupid fool! It's my fault! It's my fault! It's all my fault! I should've been the one to die!" While my thought ran wild and my body shook, my brother roughly spread my legs apart.

"Must I remind you why you shouldn't cry! You have me! You need know one else! You love ME," he yelled, while roughly pressing himself against my core. I felt his hard member and I felt like vomiting. This violence gave him pleasure and it sickened me.

My gaze turned hazy and my head pounded in pain and anxiety.

"No more," I thought and looked away from my brother. Just as he spread my legs even further apart so he could violate me further, I grabbed hold of the candle stick and smashed it across his head.
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To be continued...