The Chieftain has been increasingly difficult the last few days. It's almost as though he's frustrated with every breath I take. I'm so sleep deprived and hurting that everything has an odd blur at the edges.
I'm surprised I haven't chopped a finger off and served it in supper. Maybe I did and just haven't noticed. I glance down at my hand to see if it still has all of its digits and startle.
I'm clutching my abdomen like it hurts. Like it hurts more than the back of my legs and shoulders. I don't know, maybe it does. I can't tell. Everything hurts. Every molecule within my body throbs in pain.
Maybe I ate something bad. Or I haven't eaten at all. I look over at the shelves to see if I've eaten any of my allotted food.
All of it. At some point I ate all of it.
A vague memory of wolfing it down as fast I could blurs through my mind.
That's not like me. I've learned throughout the years to hoard my food and slowly eat it throughout the day. Even the previous kitchen maid did this.
No wonder I'm grabbing my stomach. I've already absorbed and expended the nutrients.
And I still have laundry and dinner chores to complete.
What was I supposed to be doing? What task did I just finish? Where was I headed?
The wash basin and a mound of fabric waits next to the water pump. Laundry.
I put my body into motion, knowing there's no relief for my stomach.
I lift the basin to carry it outside and a twinge in my lower back makes me falter. The internal ache confuses me for a moment. I've never felt such an odd sensation. But then the memory of backing into the counter during the Chieftess' attack resurfaces, and I shrug in acceptance.
I set it out in the sun and then begin preparing to wash the clothes. Fill the bucket at the pump, lug it outside, and pour it into the basin. After several trips, I refill the pail one last time and set it in the sand beside the basin. Rinse water. I go back inside, gather the laundry, and pick up the soap.
By the time I've returned outside, the water is scalding—the sun is so hot it heats it to almost boiling in minutes. I drop the material into the water, kneel, and start scrubbing. The water instantly turns my skin bright pink. I work as fast as I can, knowing it will only get worse.
The soap stings my flesh, and tears gather in my eyes. The recent lash marks on my arms flair in pain, and I can't help but take a moment to grimace. Then I force myself back into action.
I'm almost done. I've filled two of the drying lines with clean articles of clothing. My body is moving on autopilot. The blurry haze has snuck its way into my conscious again, and this is a task that doesn't need anything besides muscle memory anyway, so blanking my mind is easier than being present.
I'm bent over the basin scrubbing soap into one of the last items when the hair on the nape of my neck stands on end.
Someone is watching me. My senses heighten, and I begin to straighten.
A hand clamps over the back of my neck.
I freeze in terror.
"Don't move," the Chieftain demands. My hands scream inside the scalding water, but I stay as still as I can. My back protests the awkward position, but I tremble in place, afraid to do more than breathe.
His ragged breaths penetrate my misery, and confusion pours through me. He's always so cold and calculating.
"What have you done? You fucking bitch, it's like you've bewitched me!"
He pushes my face closer to the water and I struggle. I grab the lip of the container and try to push away.
My dress tightens against my front, then a horrendous ripping noise fills the air.
"Just once," his voice seeps into my panic. My whole backside is exposed to the elements—the sun blazes down on my skin as the wind cuts sand into my sensitive flesh.
His hand roughly explores my back, causing my wounds to flair into agony. More confusion collides with my fear.
He's never touched me before. It leaves a despair in the pit of my stomach.
His hand leaves my back, but then strikes my rear. A scream rips from my throat. The force of his hit rips my hands from the ledge. My face plummets into the water, and my hips dig into the edge.
Hot, soapy water sears my eyes, deafens me, and invades my nostrils. I try to cut off my scream, to keep some oxygen within my lungs, but water shoots down my throat and fire licks through my chest.
The seconds last for lifetimes. I flail and fight to no avail. Another blow lands on my butt, but the pain barely registers through the panic. I'm drowning.
His hand releases my neck, but before I can lift myself from the water, his fist grabs the hair nearest my scalp. My hair follicles spark in distress as he yanks my head out of the water.
I spit and choke, my whole face stinging. I try to gasp in air, desperate. Through my spluttering and gasping, I realize he's repositioned his body. His knees are inside of mine, forcing me to stay off balance with them spread too far apart.
He grabs my right ass cheek, and I struggle, still spitting water, expecting another blow.
Instead, he squeezes, and the worst kind of despair infuses my body. His fingers travel towards my most intimate area, a place no one has ever touched, and understanding slams into me.
He plans to rape me, out here in the sand, pinned to a laundry basin, smothered in pain and despair.
He grabs my whole feminine self, his hand rough and impatient, covering me in dirty filth. He squeezes my intimates and grunts in excitement.
"Fucking dirty little bitch," he groans, tightening the hand in my hair. My arms burn in the water as my face stings from the soap, and my scalp screams for relief. The sharp edge of the basin pinches my hips and my thighs tremble in exhaustion. My stomach hurts so much I may vomit.
His hand leaves my crotch, I hear him spit, then his slippery fingers search for my entrance.
With an inhuman, unexpected scream, and a burst of desperate fear, I throw my weight to the side. Two of his fingertips breach me, but with all my weight on my right arm and hip, I reach out to my left and grab the far side of the basin, pulling and rolling in tandem.
The container capsizes, water splashing into my face, but freeing me from his molestation.
The lip of the basin cracks against the arm holding my hair, and the sound reverberates through every cell in my body. It's like a bell being struck, and I'm stuck on the inside.
An agonized yell bursts out of his lips, and his hands leave me. Our legs tangle, but I kick in panic, striking whatever part of him I can reach.
His angry, pain-filled cursing rings on the other side of the container. Realizing that I have use of both my arms, I fling the metal basin off, sand flying everywhere.
It hits him, but I'm not sure where. I roll to my hands and knees and scramble away. After extracting my legs from his, I try to rush to my feet, shaking and exhausted.
My legs take a moment to catch up to my brain, but once I get to my feet, I sprint toward the gate.
With less than two feet to go, I'm yanked back by my ripped clothes. My feet fly out from under me, continuing forward while my torso falls backward.
My back slams into the hot sand, and pain threatens to engulf me. The raw, open wounds on my back hit the scorching surface, sending agony throughout my existence. The breath in my lungs whooshes out, and my diaphragm seizes.
The Chieftain's face fills my view beforee rips my useless garment from my body.
With a terrifying expression, he lifts his tunic, frees his cock, and falls on me. His eyes shine with a maniacal, unhinged quality. His angry, single-minded focus is chilling.
Trying to force my lungs to work, I curse my weak body. I try to will my diaphragm to relax, but the overwhelming adrenaline and pain fight against me.
Maybe if I just pass out, I won't have to endure this torment.
His hard cock lines up with my dry entrance, and every part of me wails in distress.
My diaphragm finally relaxes, and I greedily suck in oxygen, still intent on fighting back.
His disgusting hand wraps around my shoulder, and he thrusts into me.
Invasive, horrible, tearing pain makes every muscle in my body contract. My spine arches, my head flies back, and a scream tears from my throat.
Unbidden tears clog my eyes, the agony intimate and revolting.
He pulls back, but I know how this works. I've seen my fair share of unwanted consummations in the alleys.
With a determination I've never displayed before, I suck in another breath and wrap my palms around his temples. He looks straight into my eyes—a monster, crazed and unreachable, stares back at me.
Before he can surge into me again, I plunge my thumbs into his eye sockets.
He opens his mouth to scream as blood starts to seep around my thumbs.
I jerk my hips, kneeing his thigh, desperately needing to disengage. His cock rends from my entrance, and more pain shoots through me.
I squeeze my hands together, flexing my fingers, hating the squishy warmth, but needing assurance that I've damaged the monster within.
A deep, tormented scream releases from his mouth, and he grabs my wrists.
I use his unbalance and my hold on his head to my advantage. I roll us over until he's under me.
With a surge of nausea, I dig my thumbs in further. He pushes my wrists away and claps his palms over his face.
Heaving uneven gulps of air, fighting to keep my bile down, I scramble to my feet.
I yank down the two closest pieces hanging on the clothesline and dart towards the gate. His howl of pain follows me through the alleys, echoing the anguish roiling deep inside of my heart.