Heteronym

Chapter 26

I just want to put a warning o the next five chapters because it's about to get intense in more ways then one and I don't want to upset anyone who isn't ready for violence and suicidal thoughts and actions. Know you always have someone on your side. Safe reading xo.

Yet another win in my rookie career against none other than Zeke and the New Jersey Devils. I had to admit, it felt damn good to win this game and to be able to rub it in his face tomorrow morning in the lab. There was nothing better than the feeling of beating your friends at something and that was a fact.

I was high on happiness as my feet padded against the tightly carpeted floor of my dead silent locker room, pulling my T-shirt over my head after I got out of the shower. Beck should be here soon enough if they haven't already released the press on the guys. I'd have to head over there if Beck didn't come soon. That was the one thing that was annoying about having your own locker room; I always had to leave to find other people. Privacy was nice but sometimes it felt like relative isolation.

I was about to reach my locker when a large hand covered my mouth as I screamed out, the shock taking over my rigid body via adrenaline as the tall figure behind me kicked my feet out from under me. I was forced on my knees before being pushed into the rough, short haired carpet so I was laying face down on the ground. "Get the fuck off of me! What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck off!" I screeched against the cold hand, their grip so aggressive that their fingertips were brushing the front of my ear, holding my entire face in place against their palm to muffle my screams. What's the fuck? There's security here.

I heard the snap of a roll of duck tape, sending a bone chilling warning down my spine and freezing my body with fear. I felt the hand move, sticking the tape over my mouth before grabbing my flailing arms and starting to bind them from my elbows down. This person was strong; too strong to be an average person. They had to have planned this too. No one would be allowed in here.

I knew as soon as his large hands put a death grip on my hips and rolled me over, my arms digging into the suddenly ruff feeling dark beige carpet, that this was no ordinary person. My heart was pounding faster than humanly possible, working double time in my ears as my eyes widened like saucers staring at death themselves while my feet dig into the carpet, awkwardly trying to peddle myself back.

This was not happening. This was not happing. It's just a dream. This isn't happening. It can't be.

The devil laughed mirthfully above me, his eyes holding nothing in them. The thirty three year old scared me more than most people could ever fathom, and he took pride in that. That's when the gleaming of a silver blade, a chefs knife probably taken from his own fucking kitchen, caught my eye. The cool tip touched my temple and scraped down the side of my face without breaking skin. I cringed away, tears filling my eyes. I didn't want to die like this.

In a perfect world I would die on my terms, but this world is far from perfect.

"I'm going to remove the tape and you're going to fucking stay quiet or I'll teach you a lesson you won't ever forget, you bitch. Understand?" I nodded at him because it was the only thing I could do. I gasped for air as the stinging of the tape took over the skin around my mouth. There was so much I could have said; so many snarky comments or sympathy enduring truths. I said nothing. My body was too solidified and my throat too constricted to even think about making a noise. The knife tip at the base of my throat said enough. I closed my eyes so I didn't have to look at those familiar pupils, the same ones that haunted my nightmares and kept me restless. They had a dark abyss in them that tore your insides apart and made you feel worthless without even trying.

The blade moved, slicing through my black T-shirt and exposing my dark bra. I hoped more than anything that he kept that in place but even I knew that was a fruitless wish. I was planning on silently crying the whole time just like last time, but the jaw crushing grip on my face, smooshing my lips together as he stared into my fearful eyes with his emotionless brown ones, told me otherwise. I didn't dare move when he rested the blade on my neck, pulling out his phone. Jensen Spack was a fucked up man and that would never change. I swear to God he'll kill me then masturbate to this later tonight.

You think I'm joking but I'm not.

"It's been a long time, Danielle," he growled like an animal watching it's favorite meal dance before it's eyes. His body was straddling my hips, my shoulder blades burning as all my weight pressed down on them. Tears streamed from my eyes as he held my face and spit on me, his bodily fluids landing on my cheek. "You ruined my life, you fucking whore. Seven fucking years and you've only gotten sluttier. I think I deserve a reward, don't you?"

"Get the fuck off of me, you pig!" I snarled, still not believing this was real. It felt like I was almost having an out of body experience; I wasn't really here. But at the same time I couldn't escape his grip no matter how hard I wriggled.

I barely felt the sharp slap across my face until my left cheek hit the scratchy carpet, the slap so strong my neck cracked like knuckles. I stayed quiet, only a small grunt left my lips but my eyes stayed watery and swollen so I couldn't see straight. Jensen gripped my face again, "Stop fucking crying," he spat, glaring at me with every ounce of hate he'd accumulated over the past seven years, all of it culminating in this moment. "Stop fucking crying. No one will feel sorry for you. No one will pity out; sympathize with you. You brought this on yourself. You walk around with your ass out and your tits in those tight jeans and sports bras. You expect people to sympathize with that? You. Brought. This. On. Your. Self."

"So stop fucking crying," Jensen grabbed my breast, his hand slipping under my bra. I tried to shrug him off but prison hadn't weakened the thirty three year old even slightly. Once an athletic trainer, always an athletic trainer.

My body was on fire, sweat coating my skin as my chest rose and fell too rapidly to be healthy. It was like my corpse was drowning in lava, forbidden from taking a real breath of fresh air.
"Does your boyfriend know what a whore you are? I remember when you fucked Allen Norse in the boys locker room after his basketball practice. Did you ever know I was watching that?"

"No because I never thought my trainer was a fucking rapist," my jaw tightened as his nails imbedded into my skin, freeing my breast from my bra. He moved down my body, forcing his hand under my joggers. I was going to get myself killed. I was going to end up with my blood splattered on the ceiling but I couldn't let this happen again. Willingly, I would give up my life to make it stop.

So at the top of my lungs I let a scream rip through to throat, turning it bloody raw as I practically made my own ears bleed.

Jensen dropped the phone, letting it fall against the role of duct tape, probably still showing the fear in my face in the corner of the screen. His hand covered my mouth while his other stayed in my pants, pushing my lace underwear aside. "Maybe I should silence you the way Allen did. You look much prettier with a cock in your mouth; I'm sure your boyfriend would agree. Though you seem to have gotten braver, Danielle. I don't trust you to play nice."

I thrashed back and forth, trying to get his hand off my mouth and away from my vagina. His nails dug into my pussy lips like knives, an agony filled yelp leaving my mouth as more tears pricked in my eyes. "You like that idea?" Jensen mocked as slaty tears rushed down my cheeks again, my emotions becoming uncontrollable. I could feel the stress and anxiety in my stomach building and my heart hammering faster by the second. "God, your boyfriend doesn't know what a slut you are, does he? How many guys have you slept with, Danielle? Twenty? No, that's much too few. Fifty? You should be ashamed. At least you're mother admits her daughter's a fuck up who only knows how to suck dick and take it up her ass like the worthless piece of trash she is."

My lungs were burning and aching like they had rug burn, the hand over my mouth shifting to punch my nostrils closed. My eyes got wider, a new layer of panic rising in my veins. I knew what was about to happen and that only made it worse. The reality of this situation was setting in, my out of body experience and my courage leaving faster than I could blink away my tears.

"Stop," became a mumbled noise behind Jensen's hand as I became powerless, every ounce of willpower and strength leaving my body weakened as the black edges descended on my vision.

It was too late. I was about to pass out and ruin my life because I couldn't control my PTSD. Seas of brown stared down at me with an evil smirk, the visions mixing with my woozy head and producing a vivid memory I was too petrified to process.

That's when my body went limp under my rapist and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I was about to die or be raped again, if not both and there was nothing I could do about it.