The Rape of Proserpine

The Rape of Proserpine Chapter Seventeen

The Rape of Proserpine

Seventeen

The falling lasted a lifetime, and when I crash-landed, it was hard and shattering. Humans, I thought solemnly, were so breakable; so brittle to the core; so very fragile. And when it was time to fall apart to pieces, the only thing we could do was close our eyes and wait for the impact. Sweet agony, and beyond that was liberation from all the evils of this world. An eternity of sleep. The healing of the deepest wounds to forge scars that would become us. The sweeping of every memory like long-settled dust being blown over by a gentle breeze. The purification of the soul inside of a weather-beaten body. Rest. Peace. Numbness.

It was like waking from a dream after waking from another one. The dream, from what I remember of it, was tiring. It was as if I’ve ran a marathon instead of sleeping and dreaming. And when full wakefulness came after staring at the empty ceiling, I realized I wasn’t alone. You’ve never really been alone, Darrel. I gulped and turned to my side.

Calvin Archibald’s face resembled a boy who was being bullied in school while sleeping. It was a pitiful sight, but then I wondered what was more pitiful: being bullied in sleep or being bullied in reality. I smiled. “Fuck you, Calvin Archibald,” I hissed whilst leaning close to his face. Close enough to feel his breath against the surging hate inside every part of me. “I hope you rot in fucking hell.” The tips of his closed eyes twitched but he didn’t really stir. “You didn’t fuck me. I. Fucked. You.”

“Coward.” I stiffened. “You are a miserable coward, Darrel Connelly, and for that you got royally fucked. Not by Calvin, but by the rest of us.” The voice came from the corner of the room, shadowed by the living shadows residing inside the room. I turned slowly just as a lone figure stepped outside the safety of the darkness. I wasn’t surprised at who emerged from there. I guess I had known. “Hello, Darrel. It’s a pleasure to have you here now and forever.”

A smile for a smile. “Emma. Nice of you to finally show up.” Talking to her and looking at her calm expression was an ugly burden I must bear. I glanced at Calvin’s still form and looked back, an apologetic expression cascading my face. “I’d offer you a space in this bed but your brother’s too greedy to share.” If anything, Emma’s look only intensified in its serenity. It was as if she was incapable of feeling anything other than inner peace. I fought the feeling of walking up to her and simply twisting her long, smooth neck in one fluid motion. I knew there’d be no fun in that. None at all from a quick death. Especially from someone like Emma fucking Archibald.

“Calvin’s a heavy sleeper. He won’t wake up ‘til later,” she said in an almost whimsical voice.

“Okay,” I replied while pushing my torso up using my elbows and then leaned on the headboard. I unconsciously rubbed my wrists, bearing marks of rope and struggle. The sheet fell down to my lap, exposing my bruised body to her eyes. If she looked, she did it very discreetly. I only felt disgusted at the Angels of Appleton. God, how I wanted them bleeding on the floor, gasping for every breath. “You said I was a coward.”

Emma tried for a sympathetic face that ended up coming silly. “It’s the truth.”

I waited for more, anything from her, but she didn’t talk again. No explanations. No reasons. No nothing. Just silence and plenty of eye contact. “I suppose.” I didn’t know if her silence meant that he wanted me to do all the shit-talking.

The quiet was broken by Calvin’s grunt. For a second I thought he’d open his eyes and join his sister. He didn’t. Instead, he snuggled closer to me like a moth to a flame and expelled a satisfied sigh at the touch of my skin. Pathetic.

Emma walked at the foot of the bed and sat ever so gracefully. There we were, like life-long friends in a sleepover. I watched her form sentences in her head and waited for them to flood out of her supple, pink lips. The right time for the perfect conversation had come, it seemed.