Up in the Stars

Life and Death

Present tense.

Her glower deepens as he chuckles.

"You know, it's really such a shame that you cut your hair. I much preferred it long. It was more tamed then. Less wild." He continues, studying the way her curls brush against her neck.

His eyes dip lower, languid as they run along her collarbones.

Hunger in the curve of his lip.

She folds under his gaze, trying to become so small that she might just disappear.

There is no where left for her to go as he takes a final step toward her.

His hand reaching out to tug on one of her curls.

Enid tries to hide the way her body quivers with anxiety.

Keeping her eyes firmly on the blanket beneath her.

A finger drags along her cheek, over the bruise he had put there a few days before.

His breath brushes against her arms as he leans down toward her, goosebumps erupting across the flesh.

Terror stealing her breath.

Fragments of a memory of tree bark and smoke and another pair of unwelcome hands.

"Please stop." Her plea is frantic as one of his hands falls to her thigh.

She is grateful that she had been given pants instead of shorts or a skirt.

He laughs softly, tilting her head up.

Her hands are on his chest.

Pushing, pushing, pushing.

But he is much stronger than she is.

His lips ghost across her own and she wretches her head away.

Bile rising in her throat.

Hyperventilating as fingers begin to toy with the hem of her shirt.

"Flynt." A voice comes from the doorway and she nearly cries in relief.

The man tenses, his grip on her tightening before releasing.

She has never been so happy to see Armad Almalfi before in her life.

Flynt steps forward, blocking the burly man from her view.

"You're needed downstairs. Something about a trespasser." His Slavic voice is like music to her ears.

She barely notices as Flynt curses, storming from the room.

Shaking hands pressing against her mouth as she tries to erase the feeling of his lips on hers.

Almalfi stares at her from the doorway, sorrow and guilt in his eyes.

"The plan is set for tomorrow. Just hang on a little longer, little girl." He shuts the door behind him and for once she is thankful for the sound of the lock.

She does not sleep that night.

The meager contents of her stomach emptied into the toilet as the memory of his head lowering toward her loops in her mind.

It is all she can do to pull herself up from the tile floor.

Standing for a few hours under the spray of the shower, she washes the memory of his hands away until her skin is red.

Nothing makes her feel clean.

In the morning, she eats the apple from the tray that was delivered.